My Big Toe and I have been through so much together - ice skating lessons, ballet recitals and impromptu pick-up basketball games at the park in junior high (when I had some cooked-up notion that guys liked butch girls who were good at sports and wore knee-length Bulls jerseys). The love my Big Toe and I have for each other is strong, unconditional. He helps me walk, and I give him love by occasionally washing him or having some weird lady rub him at the salon.
My Big Toenail and I are even closer. It's a result of the annual pedicures I gift him every time I get some spare money (probably from my Dad or some other man who likes my feet). My Big Toenail has gone through all my stages with me - classic red for my sophisticated stage,"" black for those rebellious years I listened to bad emo music sung by guys I really could have beaten in basketball, and neon green, for when I was having an identity crisis and wanted to ""stand out.""
Like my Big Toe, I thought my Big Toenail and I could survive anything, that our relationship was indestructible. That was until yesterday, when he up and left me.
There wasn't much warning. I assumed everything between us was fine. I mean, sure I hadn't cut him for a while, and yeah, I had just bought an uncomfortable pair of shoes, but I wouldn't say our relationship was troubled, maybe just strained.
Maybe he didn't appreciate that I hadn't painted him since the beginning of the summer and hadn't gotten that new foot cream from Bath and Body Works that I swore I'd try just for him.
I was in my living room, and we were waiting for my Dad to arrive, who was visiting for the day. Mr. Big was looking forward to it, I mean, he's known my Dad practically as long as I have. But I could sense that he was distant and uncomfortable, so I took off my boots to give him some space.
We sat in silence.
""So..."" I said, clearing the air.,""wanna watch some TV?"" I waited for a response, but he ignored me.
""Where do you want to go to dinner tonight? I was thinking we could go to The Square. Maybe The Old Fashioned. What do you think?""
I looked at him, but his blank face gave me no indication as to what he was thinking. The stale air hung between us like a canopy, draping us in a silence we had grown familiar with ever since I'd lost that toe ring during this one night I went swimming and left it on the edge of some dude's pool. The next morning my Big Toenail couldn't even look at me. He was disgusted.
""What's wrong? Are you mad? Are you still angry about that summer? It was just one time in his pool, I swear. And I mean, you were there, you know what happened. If I could take it back, I WOULD!""
Still, he said nothing, only wiggled in place. I rubbed my nail, and pinched the top of Mr. Big's head because he loves when I do that shit. Totally gets him in the mood.
""You know I love you, right?""
My cell phone rang, ""Daddy"" flashing on the screen, and I've never been so thankful to have an interruption.
""Hey Ash, I'm almost there, could you run outside and see if there's any street parking?""
""Sure.""
I rush over to the door and whip it open, only to feel a sharp stabbing pain shooting up on my left Big Toe. The door crashes right into the nail, and I can feel it lifeless and loose inside my sock. It is at this moment that I realize the truth - he is really leaving me.
I scream, drop to the ground and begin to rock back and forth. I do not take off my sock because I am too scared to see what it looks like without him there. I can feel it hanging, but the thought of actually seeing it is too painful.
So I take off my sock, and without looking at the remains of something that used to be a piece of me, I toss Mr. Big into the trash. And into my apartment steps the man who's really been through everything with me - from those basketball games to my license revocation - my Dad. Wearing his favorite T-shirt, the navy one that says COLLEGE, Mr. Edward Spencer.
If you'd like to donate a pair of shoes that don't scrape the top of Ashley's newly hyper-sensitive big toe, e-mail her at aaspencer@wisc.edu.
