Even with just three pairs of shoes, the entryway of a six-pyeong studio apartment loses every inch of floor space. When I pushed aside my worn-out canvas shoes and the three-stripe slides I wore every day, a box with sharp corners emerged from the deepest corner of the shoe cabinet, covered in a thick layer of dust. When I opened the lid, a pair of sleek black five-centimeter loafers with a subtle sheen revealed themselves alongside the crinkling moisture-absorbing sheet.
Shoes I'd worn only once. After brushing off the fine dust clinging to the soles, they looked so new I could have claimed I'd just taken them off a department-store display.
I turned on my camera and set the loafers on the narrow floor of my room. I took pictures from every angle, capturing the toes sparkling under the fluorescent light and the solidly squared heels. “5-cm heels,” “true-to-size 235 mm,” “worn once, like-new condition.” I was typing out the keywords when I stopped and gently rubbed the gold brand logo stamped on the inside sole with my fingertip. The day from two years ago came vividly back to me over the cool, stiff feel unique to leather.
It was the day I had just graduated from college and received my first notice that I'd passed the resume screening. My first-round interview was only three days away, but when I stood in front of the mirror, I realized I didn't own a single respectable pair of shoes to wear with a suit skirt. I didn't want to ask my parents for money, so I emptied the emergency cash envelope I'd built up by saving bits and pieces of my part-time job pay. After circling the shoe department at a downtown department store again and again, I finally chose these loafers. The sales associate stood me in front of the mirror, saying, “They're neat and polished, and the five-centimeter heels make your legs look their best. They have great cushioning, so they're our most popular interview shoes.” When I walked three or four steps across the store's plush carpet, I truly felt like an adult, and confidence surged through me, making me feel like I could accomplish anything.
But the asphalt roads of reality were nothing like the department-store carpet. On the day of the interview, as I dragged my body, stiff with nerves, up and down the subway station stairs, the hard leather mercilessly squeezed both my heels. Before I even reached the interview site, the skin on my heels had peeled away, and red blood spread across my white stockings. Cold sweat streamed down my back from the pain that felt like it was carving into my flesh with every step, but in front of the interviewers, I had to force a smile and pretend nothing was wrong.
I didn't get the job. On the way home, I limped into a convenience store with my stinging feet, bought some bandages, and stuck them on. I remembered bursting into tears the moment I opened my front door and kicked off my shoes as if throwing them away. Ever since that day, these loafers had been sealed away in the corner of my shoe cabinet as both “proof that I had slipped spectacularly while trying to set foot in the adult world” and a brand of my hurt.
“I don't have to feel a pang every time I look at these anymore.”
With a bitter smile, I posted the listing.
[Excellent condition / worn once] Polished 5-cm interview/work loafers (235 mm) — 15,000 won “Only worn once because I got the wrong size, then stored them. Pretty, neat line across the instep.”
Less than five minutes after I posted it, a cheerful notification rang.
“Carrot!” • Clover: “Hi, are these still available? I usually wear a true-to-size 235, but would they fit if my feet aren't wide? I have my first job interview this Thursday, so I'm trying to find a pair urgently—I'm kind of desperate!”
The profile picture showed a youthful character, and the number 36.5° was displayed as her manner score. At the words “my first job interview,” something in my chest dropped with a heavy thud. It felt as though the twenty-four-year-old me from two years ago had suddenly popped out, wandering the subway station on bloodied feet.
• Inseon: “If your feet are average width, they should fit comfortably. I can meet you for an in-person pickup tonight!” • Clover: “Thank you so much! Could we meet in front of the Hyehwa-dong Post Office at 7 p.m.?”
After arranging the meeting and setting down my phone, I rummaged through a drawer and pulled out two new Band-Aids and a pair of soft silicone heel pads. I hoped that the girl who would wear these shoes would never have to experience the bloody pain of that day.
At 6:50 p.m., the chilly air of sunset cut into the mouth of the alley. I stood beside the red mailbox in front of the Hyehwa-dong Post Office, my hands shoved into the pockets of my thick puffer jacket. At my feet sat a paper shopping bag containing the shoe box, neatly taped shut. Inside the lid, I had carefully tucked two pairs of thick heel protectors and three or four flesh-colored bandages.
When the meeting time of seven arrived, I saw a figure running toward me from far away, breathing hard. She was a woman in her early twenties, with her hair neatly combed and tied back, a beige trench coat, and a document bag hanging from her shoulder that looked somewhat heavy. After catching her breath, she looked around, and her eyes landed on the shopping bag at my feet.
“Excuse me… are you Inseon, the Carrot seller?”
Her voice was clear but cautious. Her cheeks were flushed, and a peculiar tension lingered above the tip of her nose, reddened by the cold wind.
“Yes, you must be Clover. It's pretty chilly out, isn't it?”
“Yes! I ran all the way from the subway station because I was afraid I'd be late. I'm sorry. You haven't been waiting long, have you?”
She kept bowing and held up her phone tightly with both hands. White breath scattered between her hurried breaths. I handed her the shopping bag, then lifted the lid slightly to show her the loafers.
“Take a look and make sure everything's okay. I only wore them once outside, so they're almost like new, but you never know.”
Her eyes shone as she looked down at the shoes beneath the streetlamp. She stroked the smooth leather so carefully, as if it were precious, that my heart grew warm just watching her.
“Wow… they're so much prettier than in the pictures. The leather is really clean, too! This is my first time job hunting, so I had to buy a suit and shoes from scratch, but department-store shoes were so expensive that I couldn't even consider them. They're exactly my size, too. I can't tell you how nervous I was when I saw them go up.”
She gave a shy smile, then took one neatly folded ten-thousand-won bill and one five-thousand-won bill from her coat pocket and held them out. The bills were crisp, without a single crease.
“The shoes are so pretty, seller! I'll do great at my interview Thursday wearing these!”
Those words, delivered so boldly and brightly, struck deep in my chest. The five-centimeter heels that had been stained with memories of failure and abandoned in the corner of my shoe cabinet were becoming the strongest wings to help this girl take her first steps into a new world.
I took the bills and placed the shopping bag handles in her hands. Then I told her about the little secret I'd put inside the box.
“I put in some heel pads and a few bandages. Since they're new shoes, they might rub your heels a lot before the leather softens. You should wear sneakers on your way to the interview and change into these in the lobby of the interview building. Your feet will be less tired that way. In front of the interviewers, you have to stand tall right down to your toes.”
Her eyes widened, then quickly filled with emotion.
“Oh my goodness… you even packed pads? My feet blister so easily whenever I wear dress shoes… What am I going to do? Thank you so, so much.”
“It's nothing. I remember struggling with terrible foot pain when I went to my first interview around your age. I'm sure you'll do much better than I did. Don't be nervous. Go show them everything you've prepared. I'll be sincerely cheering for you to get the job.”
“Yes! I'll imagine that you're cheering me on and do my best. Thank you so much, and please don't catch a cold!”
She hugged the shopping bag to her chest, turned around several times to bow and say goodbye, and walked down the alley. Her steps as she disappeared looked much lighter and more cheerful than when she had run toward me.
When I returned home and opened the door, the spot where the loafer box had sat in the corner of the shoe cabinet was now an empty space no bigger than my palm. It felt as though an equally small passageway for cool air had opened in my heart, which had been clogged tight with defeat and self-reproach.
The wounds of the past weren't merely scars that could only hurt. As I looked at the empty corner of the shoe cabinet that night, I finally realized that they could also become a gentle warmth—something that let me place a small bandage beneath the feet of someone who would one day walk the same road I had.