Squid Man Gets A New Pair Of Shoes (standard:other, 985 words)
Author: AJ	Added: May 30 2001	Views/Reads: 3475/2266	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Squid Man when he still lived at home. His relationship with his mom, dad, and sister (Charlotte)...His real name revealed!

The traffic noises were blindingly loud, even on the sixteenth floor at
seven a.m.  Squid Man’s breathing caused the sleeping bag to rub 
against the warm concrete of the balcony with rhythmic scratching 
noises.  Inside the apartment, his bed was neatly made, as it had been 
for three years.  His room was undisturbed and abandoned, and coated 
with a thin layer of sepia-tinted dust.  The covered balcony held his 
small desk, sleeping bag, and a few Rubbermaid bins filled with his 
clothing. 

Squid Man awoke and poured himself a bowl of his favorite combination of
breakfast cereals: Lucky Charms, Coco Crispies, and peanut butter Cap’n 
Crunch.  Lucky the Leprechaun, Count Chocula, and the Cap’n all grinned 
at Squid Man and promised glossy plastic happiness.  Squid Man trusted 
and grinned back.  He was feeling fine. 

“Hey, hey, early riser!  Is that a dimple I see, or did a giant mosquito
get t’ya during tha night?” 

Squid Man’s smile evaporated, and the mildewed drops of condensation
collected in his throat.  His father, Joe, stood awkwardly at the door 
to the balcony, his own dimples puckering in and out of his cheeks with 
joyful uncertainty.  He looked like a thirteen-year-old kid who was 
standing backstage with his favorite rock star.  Squid Man cleared his 
throat, and then spat a colorful, marshmallow wad off the balcony.  
Behind Joe’s shoulder, a face appeared.  It belonged to Squid Man’s 
mother. 

“You know all that sugar will just ruin your beautiful teeth, Theodore,”
she said shrilly, shakily. 

Squid Man crunched emphatically on a peanut butter chocolate marshmallow
mouthful.  Through the open door, he could see his sister, Charlotte, 
nibbling daintily on dry toast at the kitchen table.  She was staring 
at Squid Man.  When he looked her way, she blanched, then blushed, then 
smiled at him.  He didn’t return the smile.  Squid Man only smiled when 
he was alone.  For one thing, he was only happy when he was alone.  He 
could barely tolerate other people and their voices.  And his smile was 
so ethereally beautiful that most people didn’t deserve to see it 
anyway. 

Squid Man’s mother, Mary, touched a clump of his jaundiced, creamy white
curls, which matched her own white-blonde hairdo and Charlotte’s fine 
hair, which was pulled back neatly in a blue Alice band.  Squid Man’s 
curls were a little greasy and matted.  Mary was proud of his looks and 
his intelligence.  Everyone knew that Squid Man was blazingly smart.  
He wasn’t a good student, nor did he score well on tests, nor did he 
ever make any intelligent remarks.  But people just sensed his 
brilliance smoldering under his pale skin, popping out of his pores in 
steamy geysers of pure charisma. 

Joe’s pulse was still erratic from the fleeting glimpse of Squid Man’s
smile that he had been blessed with.  Both Joe and Charlotte shared 
Squid Man’s always-moist red lips, straight teeth, and deep dimples.  
But somehow, Squid Man’s smile, if they were lucky enough to catch it, 
had the ability to suck the breath from their lungs.  It was like the 
sight of a wounded deer within touching distance, that evokes a 
debilitating melancholy, overpowered by exhilaration at the rare view 
of such a shy and beautiful creature. 

Mary’s teeth glittered and the corners of her mouth curled and uncurled
nervously as she pulled a shoe box from behind her back and presented 
it to Squid Man.  Charlotte watched curiously from inside, then averted 
her eyes, focusing on her scuffed, shiny patent leather Mary Janes, 
which were half a size too small.  The lacy edges of her clean white 
socks peeked delicately out from under the glossy black straps. 

Squid Man wore hi-top hiking boots, but they had chafed his ankles, so
he had cut off the tops.  The crippled remains had been strapped into 
shape with pink and white striped glittery laces.  He didn’t wear 
socks, but on warm days he wrapped his feet in gauze to absorb his 
sweat. 

With a crinkling of stiff tissue paper, Mary pulled two brand-new penny
loafers from the box.  They were made of soft, supple, brown leather, 
and had painfully bright pennies glinting out of their slits.  She 


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