The podiatrist gestured to my x-rays and proclaimed, “You have extra bones on your toes, nothing that needs surgery,” and that was that. They were thin little bones jutting out of the right side of each of the phalanges. I didn’t use my voice to ask anything about it. Sometimes it takes me a while to process information, and then the moment to ask has passed. My feet don’t hurt, and the ten extra bones don’t make me walk funny, so I guess they’ll be sticking around.

I have flat feet, I got them from my dad. Not as a gift, just as genetics. Sometimes my feet create a suction on the cold tile floor as I walk, so when I lift my foot to take the next step, a squishy popping sound is created, and that always makes me think of my dad.

I used to use these feet to jog around the lake. I would jog six days a week with my teacher friends, along a popular jogging trail in the city. Those were good times. We would chat, burn calories, and make plans for the future.

Now I use my feet to walk my dog. Occasionally a student will run off and I will chase after them; I’m not as fast as I used to be. My body has slowed down. My favorite thing to do with my feet now is put them in the river in a small town in Texas, sitting beside my husband as we take in the beauty of nature around us.