Henry Harrelson's Custom Fit Boots: A Pirate Out Of Water

By Melanie E.

Nick's Halloween plans are taking shape, but everything goes out of control thanks to a spectacular pair of boots...

-==-

It was painful, far more than it should have been, but I finally convinced myself to go through with it. My face flush and my hands shaking, I grabbed the package off the rack of costumes and walked up to the counter, waiting in line nervously until it was my turn to check out.

The cashier didn't blink an eye as she rung me up and took my money, and like a shot I was out of the store, down the street, across the road, and in my house, slamming the door behind me before collapsing on the floor, breathing heavily after my ordeal.

I did it. I managed it! It's done!

I looked down at the bag in my hands, and carefully opened it to gaze at the contents within. An eyepatch, a tricorn hat, and a plastic sabre —with sheath and belt — stared back at me. With relief I picked myself up off the floor and made my way on unsteady legs for my room, proud of myself for fighting my urges and making it out of the store with what I had, and not some piece of lace or other.

My mind started to wander to all the possibilities I was missing out on, but I shook my head to remove the thoughts. No! I was a boy, and... well, I can't very well say boys don't wear those things. This was for Halloween, after all, and many of them WOULD.

But I couldn't. I shouldn't. I wouldn't. Because one of two things would happen.
A: I would pass, as I was sure I could. There would be an uproar, and I would be called a fag, and a fairy, and tons of other things before running home in tears. I had avoided that since middle school, and I certainly didn't want to do it again now.

Or, B: I wouldn't, and everybody would laugh at how I would look, thinking they were laughing WITH me, and I would try my hardest to keep a happy face on, while inside I would be torn apart.

Neither one was a good outcome. And thus, here I was, not clutching the fairy costume, or sexy nurse costume, or any of the others I had so desperately felt an almost primal need to grab, but instead a mid-priced Pirate set that I was sure I could build a costume around that would make it clear to everyone I was a boy, and guarantee that the girl inside was smothered for the night.

For Halloween, they would see Nick as they saw him every day; playing the part to make it through. I wouldn't be hiding behind my Goth facade as much, but the boy facade would be in place just as clearly, and that was all I needed.

With my new treasures — or “booty” I guess, I thought with a grin — laid out on my bed in their approximate locations for the final look, I began digging through what I had to find pieces that would work to complete the look.

Tight black pants? Check on those. The same with the eyeliner and even some black eye shadow to deepen my sockets. Being a Goth had its advantages for a costume like this, above and beyond the normal advantages of just letting me at least pretend in my head I was a girl getting ready for school each day. I already had an idea for my hair, too, and with a quick call another goth, Tamara, agreed to do all the little braids for me the next afternoon. She was ecstatic at the chance to play with my two feet of jet-black hair at last, even if it was just to prepare me for a halloween costume.

That left just two pieces; a top — SHIRT, I mentally chided myself — and boots. The shirt was simple enough as well, since my dad had plenty of white dress shirts, and our size difference meant a quick swipe and “thanks” later I had a to–shirt that could easily be twisted into a rough pirate's appearance. Maybe a cravat? NO LACE, I chided myself. Not even like that. Fighting the depression that was trying to consume me at even thinking about lace... well, anything, I instead turned to my collection of boots.

I had plenty. Work boots, combat boots, the typical chain and buckle-covered goth boots that went up past my calves, a pair of Converse that went almost as high...

But they were all black. Everything I owned was black, pretty much, so that wasn't surprising, but I didn't want black boots for the costume. I knew I should have settled for something I had, it would be easier, it would make sense... but I couldn't. I needed boots for the costume. I needed the right boots for the costume.

For the second time that evening I found myself outside. I knew what my parents would say if they knew I was going out again.

“You're sixteen years old, you shouldn't be going out without telling us where.”

“You need to be careful, son. You don't know what people out there will do to... people like you.”

“Isn't it a bit late to go shopping?”

But I HAD to have boots. Tonight. No waiting. And, if I hurried, I should just make it in time to look around before all the shops closed...

That was when I saw it.

Henry Harrelson's Custom Fit Boots was a fixture in our small town, and I'd heard all the adults around raving about it since I was little. Supposedly the guy who owned the place made the best boots ever, but his personality was quirky at best. Still, most people said that dealing with his idiosyncrasies was a small price to pay for the fit and quality, and as weird as he was he was always really nice.

And he just happened to be advertising boots for Halloween costumes.

I shouldn't. I REALLY shouldn't. They'll be expensive. It's just a costume...

I went in.

The old brass bell 'ding'ed as I swung the door open and walked into the shoe store, only to stop in my tracks when I saw all the goods around me.

The store was a bit run-down, with the tiles on the floor scuffed, even cracked in places, and a clear odor of wood and leather polish hanging about the place. But the boots. Oh, the boots.

They were beautiful, every single one of them. Cowboy boots, work boots, ankle boots, leather, cotton, canvas, nylon, high-heeled, flat... everything you could imagine was there!

Except the boots I needed, I thought to myself as I fought the urge to start walking around and just touching them.

I had just turned around and was about to open the door again and leave when I heard a quiet cough behind me and turned around.

“Can I help you, dear?” Asked the old man standing behind the counter, his spectacles sitting low on his nose as he smiled at me over them, dusting his hands on a white apron tied around his waist.

Dear?

“Umm, I don't think so. I don't see what I'm looking for, but thanks.”

“You don't?” He asked in surprise, looking around the store himself with a critical eye. “I could have sworn... why, you're certainly right! One moment,” he said, scurrying off through a door behind the counter and leaving me standing there, bewildered, as I heard boxes shifting and a few half-hearted grunts from the back room. “Ah, here they are!”

“They are?” I asked, more intrigued than I really wanted to be.

“Ah, yes!” He crowed as he walked out of the room with a long, flat box in his hands, smiling broadly. “I must have forgotten to put them out with the rest. Here,” he said, lifting the lid with flourish.

I gasped as looked at the boots within.

They were perfect. More than perfect, they were me! Soft leather in a rich, chocolate brown, knee-high with a turned-down top and a series of brass buckles going down the front. A small heel helped to elevate them just a touch, giving them an elegant but still functional look that I couldn't help but adore.

They weren't just the boots for my pirate costume. These were boots I could see wearing with everything. Jeans, a kicky skirt or dress...

With a sigh and what I'm sure was a sorrowful look in my eyes, I lifted the lid and closed the box. “No, I don't think these are them,” I said, downcast. “These are too... too feminine.”

“For a pirate costume? Not at all! They'll look ado-- splendid, I assure you. And I promise, if anybody makes fun of you or thinks less of you because of them, well, I'll make you a deal.”

I thought about it. “What kind of deal?” I asked, unable to stop myself. I couldn't keep from staring at the box, longing to pull the boots out and try them on...

The old man gave me another pleased grin. “Take the boots home. No charge.”

“WHAT!?”

“Now now, just hear me out,” he said, with a calming gesture. “When you get ready tomorrow, put them on, but not until then. Decide whether you want to wear them. If you don't wear them, or anybody gives you problems over them, you can bring them back to me on Saturday at no cost to you. If things go well, though, you have to keep them, and you can come in on Saturday to pay for them.”

“H-how much?” I asked, hoping the price would be high enough to stop me even thinking about taking him up on his deal.

“Thirty dollars.”

“You've gotta be kidding me, these are...” They were at least one hundred dollar boots, I knew from experience shopping for the ones I had, probably much more given their quality. No way was he serious.

“I couldn't bear to charge you more. You're just buying them for Halloween, right?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah...”

Before I knew it the box was in my arms and I was outside the store.

“Enjoy your party Nicky, and don't worry too much, I trust you with the boots.”

I gave him a small wave as he turned off the lights and locked the door, and I started my walk home.

Wait. Nicky?

-==-

The next day at school was agony as I spent the day doing my usual act of playing up the Goth stereotype but still trying to pay attention to my teachers. Not that they were trying to get anything done, since they all knew that the only thing any of us students were worried about was costumes and parties, but it was the principle of the thing.

Tamara stopped me on my way out of the school, though, and took my arm as we started the walk back to my place.

“I'm coming home with you, so we can get right to work on your hair. It's the only way we'll get it done in time to make it to any of the parties tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, looking down at our entwined arms confused.

When she saw my look she gave me a small smile. “I'm sorry, it just seemed... right. And I'm SO glad I finally get to mess with your hair!” She gave my arm a squeeze and bumped shoulders with me, and I couldn't help but smile myself.

Tamara was more of the bubblegum goth type, all hot topic and bright colors balancing out the black, as opposed to my more classic style, and her bouncing, curly blonde locks proved it. Still, she HAD been trying to get me to let her do something for a while, and it WAS Halloween...

She was right, of course, and it took her nearly three hours to do all the little braids I'd asked her for, talking all the while. At first I tried to maintain my aloof Goth attitude, but it was so fun, and such a change from what I usually put up with, it wasn't long before I was chatting right back, even laughing as we talked.

“And then Aaron told her... oh! We're done!” She said at last, standing up from where she had been sitting on the couch with me in the floor before her and clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, god, Nicky, it's awesome!”

Nicky? I didn't let myself dwell on it as I stood up and headed for the hallway mirror, too excited to see what things looked like.

She was right! It was perfect! Tons and tons of little braids fell down around me, and with a smile growing on my face I found myself rearranging them in different ways, seeing how the changes affected my looks. Was it masculine enough though? I wasn't sure, there was something there that was nagging at me...

Tamara came up behind me and smiled too, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. “You look great! Everyone's going to love it.”

I hope so, I thought to myself as I looked into her eyes and grinned.

“Now, put on the rest of the costume so I can see it!” She said, clapping her hands again and shooing me off to my room with a giggle.

“What about yours?”

“It's in my bag, I'll change while you are! Now scoot!”

I stuck my tongue out at her, but did as I'd been told.

Changing was a quick affair, with the clothes being not all that different than my usual except for the blo-- SHIRT, and the eye patch. I had paid enough for the costume pieces that they were better than the normal elastic band and cheap plastic variety, so that helped.

Shirt kind of billowy and loose, with the sleeves doing the same thing? Check, and a black tank underneath so I could leave it unbuttoned a little low. Tight black pants for that all-important Pirate vibe? Check. Eye liner and eye shadow to give me a deep-set look? Check. Some gold earrings and the eye patch and I had the face somewhat finished. Maybe some black lipstick too? I decided it couldn't hurt, and quickly added it.

The eye patch was far from comfortable, though. It wasn't one of those cheap ones that just has an elastic band. Instead, this one had a ribbon with an adjustable buckle at the back. It was also throwing off my depth perception, so I decided to loosen it up and push it up on my forehead until I needed it.

The entire time I was getting ready, though, my eyes kept going back to the box sitting at the end of my bed, holding the much dreaded and desired boots. It took all my willpower to not put them on right then. Instead, I wrapped the faux-silk belt around my waist and hung the sabre on it, then grabbed the box plus my next best boots for the costume and took them into the living room, where Tamara was already sitting, rocking the Sexy Witch look.

“Oh, wow, Nicky, that's great!” She said, standing when I walked in. “I'm not so sure about the boots, though.” She gave the black boots in my hand a small grimace.

“I've got some others, but I'm not sure about them...” I trailed off as I set the black boots to the side and laid the box on the table, opening it more reverentially than I had intended to.

“Holy mother of... put them on,” Tamara said, not waiting for an answer as she pulled one of the boots out and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me into a chair faster than I could protest.

“Here,” she said, handing me the boot before turning to the other one and examining it with a critical eye.

With a gulp I lowered the boot, set my foot into it, and began to pull it on.

I felt a tingle across my entire body as the boot slid up and enveloped my foot, seeming to conform to every curve and turn in both my foot and lower leg as it rose up. The buckles went together easily, but still tight enough to give the boots a good fit over my pants. Without looking up I reached out for the second one, and Tamara handed it to me without a word.

It felt almost as good going on as the first one had.

Then I stood.

Tamara gasped. “My god, those boots are so great! They make the costume so much... more! You're going to drive them crazy!”

I pulled my eyes away from the fantastic — and perfect — boots to give her a confused look. “Who?”

She just shook her head, giving me a crazy grin. “You don't know? Nicky, you're... come on!”

“Where?” I asked, but it was too late, and we were already on our way out the door, with me never getting a chance to see the final look.

-==-

“Hey Nicky!”

“Nice costume, Nicky!”

“Good to see you coming out of your shell girl!”

I cringed, keeping a tight grasp on Tamara's arm as we made our rounds through the house on our way to the kitchen where all the drinks were being kept. The party was well under way by the time we'd arrived, but even that wasn't enough to distract the party-goers from our arrival.

“Great boots, Nicky!”

I tried to smile, but judging by my complimenter's expression I'd guess it came out more as a grimace.

“Hey, ease up on the arm a bit, or they'll think we're here as a couple!”

I tried to relax, only to tighten up again when one of the basketball players — dressed as a professional basketball player, not surprisingly — gave me a once over and a thumbs up, a cheesy grin on his face.

“Tamara...”

“What... are you okay, Nicky? Come here.” She changed our direction and quickly pulled us into a room off to the side, that turned out to be a utility room. She shut the door before turning to me and giving me a hug.

I hadn't known I needed a hug, but it helped.

“What's wrong?”

I laughed. “What's wrong? What's WRONG? WHAT'S...” She waved her hands in the universal gesture to quiet down, so I did my best. “What's wrong? Tamara, they all think I'm a girl!”

She gave me a 'well, duh,' type of look. “What did you expect would happen if you dressed up as a female pirate?”

“Wha? I'm a GUY pirate!”

She actually laughed at me! At least, until she saw the hurt in my eyes, then she came in for another hug.

“Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry! I thought... you didn't even realize, did you?”

“I, I...” I sniffled, trying to fight back the tears. “I was trying to be a boy. Why do I keep screwing it up?” The tears came whether I wanted them or not. “I just, I can't, I was trying so hard, and I still can't do it!”

“Can't do what?” She asked, keeping one arm around me as she reached into her purse and pulled out some kleenex. “It's okay, you can tell me.”

“I... I can't be a boy! No matter how hard I try!”

I heard her laugh again, more of a gentle feminine chuckle really — a chickle, if you want to call it that — but she kept drying my tears. “Well, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you keep trying?”

“Because I AM a boy, damnit!” I said, taking a tissue from her hands and kneading it for a bit before blowing my nose.

“Nicky... Nick... I'm sorry. I just have to ask. Do you think everybody at school is stupid?”

“What? No!” I said, looking at her in shock.

She waved her hand to me to be quiet before she continued. “We've hung out at lunch almost every day for six years. I remember when you started your Goth phase, I remember when you used to spend all your time drawing horses, I even remember you coming to my eighth birthday party and dancing with me to Justin Timberlake. You know what I've never seen?”

I shook my head.

“I've never once seen you as a BOY. Oh, I know about what's supposedly between your legs, but hon, you were a girl to everyone a long time before you realized it.”

“Oh, come on, you can't be... you're serious?”

She nodded.

“...Seriously?”

“Seriously serious,” she said with a grin, wrapping one of my pinkies in hers and giving it a shake.

“But, I thought... everybody?”

She laughed again before giving me another quick hug. “Wow, and I thought some of the cheerleaders were wrapped up in themselves. You've never even stopped to pay attention to how everyone treats you, have you?”

“I just tried to avoid everyone.”

She nodded. “Hon, I don't know how you pulled it off, and I KNOW you don't know how incredibly, mind-bogglingly lucky you are, but pretty much everyone, well, I'm not gonna say everyone knows, but pretty much nobody cares that you're a girl. It's a non-issue. We're used to it.”

I was stunned.

“...Seriously?”

“You already asked that.”

“What?”

“That too.” With a gentle pull on my hands Tamara dragged me into the middle of the utility room floor. “Listen, I know this must be a huge shock, but you've always been Nicky, not Nick, alright? We might have played along to humor you, but it's time for it to stop. Now, let's step out there, and have fun, okay? You can find some girl, or some boy,” she said, grinning when she saw my blush, “and dance the night away, and just be yourself. If fuddy-duddy Nick wants to return tomorrow, whatever. But tonight, and tomorrow night, just be the girl you are and have fun, okay?”

“But--”

“Nope! No buts! Now come on and have a good time!”

And with that she pulled me back out into the room, and proceeded to try and help me do just that.

-==-

The bell 'ding'ed again as I walked into Henry Harrelson's shop on Saturday, a spring in my step I couldn't remember having since... well, ever.

It was only a moment before the pleasant old man came out of the back and gave me a wide-eyed once over before grinning like a fool. “Well, don't you look better today!”

I felt myself blush, but it was a happy blush. I had stayed the night over at Tamara's the night before, and this morning she had insisted on me walking out in what she called “norm drag,” consisting of a pair of plain jeans and a tee shirt that was an intense shade of yellow. With the curls and waves my hair still had from having been up in the braids two nights in a row, plus my fantastic boots, there was no way anyone would take me for anything other than the happy girl I was finding myself to be.

“So, did the boots work out well?” He asked, giving them only the smallest of glances.

“Better than I'd ever hoped,” I said, surprising him with a hug the moment he stepped out from behind the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

“I told you, the boots are thirty dollars.”

I shook my head. “Nuh uh. These are worth way more than that, and way more than just a Halloween costume. How much?”

A look of contemplation crossed his face as he took his chin in his hand and looked away. “I really only made them for... oh, you don't need to hear that. You're serious, though?”

“Seriously serious,” I said with a grin, bouncing on my toes as I waited.

“Alright then,” he said, after a little more thought. “I'll make you a deal.”

I let out a small groan, but listened eagerly as the old man laid out his new scheme.

-=End?=-

NOTES: yeah, yeah, as normal it's fluffy-cheesy-happy stuff. Feh, I like it!

Melanie E.

Oh! For those who are interested in the other Henry Harrelson stories:

A Miss-Matched Pair by Rev Anam Chara

Booted by Maeryn Lamonte

A Red Pair Of Boots by Faeriemage

You Can't Always Get What You Want by 'Drea DiMaggio (I'd forgotten about this title...)