Summary: What use is one shoe? When your right is gone how do you cope with being left? Sam/OFC
What Use Is One Shoe? by frostygossamer
They call me Jaz, and it wasn't until two years after my husband passed, that I suddenly found myself wondering why I bothered with the nine-to-five job, when there was now only me to feed. I decided to do what I'd always wanted to do, teach. My new job teaching Modern American Literature at XYZ Community College was interesting, nice kids, not too much stress, liberating.
And my love life? Well not exactly love, but there was a guy. We were colleagues, friends, drinking partners, sometimes more, but no ties. I didn't want ties, neither did he.
His name was Hunter. He was 56 years old, tall, still had a fine head of floppy silver-grey hair, very distinguished. He taught a class in Folk Culture and Urban Mythology. An easy class. The students loved it, and him. He was full of amazing stories, totally crap of course. He didn't talk about his past much. Except after a few bourbons at my place, when one or two things sometimes slipped out. But that was OK. I didn't want to talk about the past much either. The past can hurt.
I ran into him in the parking lot, as I made my way home after a long day. He was talking with a couple girls from his class. They grinned up at him and he smiled back, but when they moved away his smile disappeared. I caught his eye as I stepped into my car.
"Hi, Sam", I said. "Wanna come over tonight for drinks?"
He smiled sadly and shook his head.
I knew why. He was down because of his brother. His older brother would have been 60 this month. If he'd been alive that is. Dean had met with some kinda tragic accident, I assumed. He never talked about the circumstances. But he missed him, I know. Most of the stories he told his classes were about him. And even though they were clearly make believe, there was a reason for that. Truth can be cruel.
As I leaned forward to start my engine, suddenly Sam was at the car window. I let it down.
"Changed my mind", he said. "Don't wanna be alone tonight, Jaz".
I smiled. "Sure, get in", and he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat like an old hand.
Later that night, as we lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling, he spoke my thoughts out loud.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"Tell me about it", I agreed, glancing at the photo of my Jack on the bedside table. "Just tell me about it."
The End
A/N: Just a little sad thing that popped into my head today. Hope you liked it.