Jelly Shoes

When I was a kid, jelly shoes were a BIG THING. You were respected and admired if you had them. Somehow, whether as a hand-me-down or because it had been my birthday, I ended up with a pair of my own. Let me tell you, as a 6 year old, that is the absolute best thing that could've possibly happened to me!

The town we lived in at that time, Woodville, WI, was fairly small. It was the perfect place to grow up though, because we totally owned it! There wasn't a rock or crevice that hadn't been explored by my brother, sister, and I. Life was good! Plus, I was the pastor's kid, so I led a super privileged life. (Hahaha, totally kidding. Don't get me wrong, life was, as I mentioned, good...but jelly shoes were the most exciting thing to happen to my wardrobe and my life at that time.)

Anyway, one day, the three of us decided to do some more exploring. I got super dressed up for the occasion in some extravagant black and purple dress and my purple jellies (slang for jelly shoes. Keep up.), because why wouldn't I?

We headed up the street to the middle school so we could explore the creek (crick) some more. The creek (crick) ran all the way through town. It was super huge, like the ocean. As we were walking up and down the length of the creek (crick), we saw a log that had fallen across the water.

Perfect! A bridge!

With my brother in front, me in the middle, and my sister holding everything together at the back, we headed across.

It.
Was.
Awesome.

Keep in mind, I lived in landlocked Wisconsin. This was, at the time, the biggest body of water I could remember ever seeing. And we were walking OVER it at the deep part! We were so daring!

Now, it might have rained recently, or maybe it's just that the tree wasn't wide enough. Whatever the reason, my sister started to slip...

And obviously, she shoved me in so she could save her own life. And of course I fell right in, because jellies have absolutely ZERO grip or support.

I went down and under, my life flashed across my eyes quickly (because I was six, so there wasn't much to see), and then I came up, screaming bloody murder. I must've blocked out parts of the story because it was so traumatizing, but somehow I ended up back on dry land.

Minus one shoe.

We made it home after many tears had been shed, and I'm sure there was much limping, stumbling, and forgetting how to walk because I'm dramatic. I changed out of my gross, soggy clothes, and immediately forced/guilted my brother and sister to go back and help me find my beautiful, wonderful, lonely jelly.

No luck. I went back every day for about a week after, but no. It was gone forever.

Gone, but not forgotten.