Jesse removed her
clothes from the dryer hastily. It’s getting late she thought, and I haven’t
even started dinner yet. My children are probably at home wondering when dinner
will be ready. “Are you okay”? She asked Collin (her boyfriend), who was
standing just a few feet away. He was trying desperately to fold a fitted sheet
neatly. “I’m fine baby, just a little tired”, he replied, and continued to arm
wrestle the fitted sheet. Jesse was wearing her earplugs as was her habit when
she did laundry, and would only remove one earplug when it was extremely
necessary. They had no machines in her apartment complex, so every couple of
weeks they went to the laundry mat. Jesse was folding as quickly as she could,
singing and dancing, when she reached in the basket for another piece of
clothing to fold, and found herself holding that dress. They were starting to
pile up those dresses. Beautiful, tainted dresses with bipolar memories of
being dolled up with powdered cheeks and red lipstick, taken out to floss, then
after hours had passed and a few glasses emptied, bruised and confused she
returned home, beaten down physically and mentally. She’d pass by the mirror,
noticing that the beautiful creature that had walked out in the dress earlier, stayed
out in the street and sent home this mess. The dress wore not a snag, nor
stain, nor a stitch out of place to tell the tale; never got ripped or damaged
in the turbulence. All was intact, as if oblivious to the facts of the outing.
Her eyes began to burn as the scene replayed in her mind just as vivid as the
first time. “Are you okay, he asked? You don’t look so well”. “I am okay baby,
just trying to figure out how i’ll cook the chicken tonight. Turning her back,
she blinked several times trying to keep her tears at bay before they gave her
away. “Baked chicken you think, since it’s getting late”? Jesse asked, he said
“fine”. But she could see it in his eyes that he knew, something was out of
place and he was being played by her poker face. She pretended to be too busy
to notice. Jesse thought of the beautiful pictures she took in her short, tan
and black, leopard-spotted, dress, with black patent-leather and mesh stilettos
when she first got dressed. How he held her close to his side, proud to
brandish this delectable dish on his arm, she felt proud too, but now the
sentiments’ gone leaving only bruises, deception, and her feeling forlorn.
Dresses retain these memories, like souvenirs of our travels, anchored to our
timelines. She wondered if rich women throw out these types of dresses, or if
she’d keep them if she had a choice. Why bother to throw them out she thought,
we keep the culprit who stains them again and again? We should probably not
wear dresses, since they’re so prone to stains, she thought. Why bother to wear
them when love only smears them on date night? Why is it always the pretty
dresses that are stained in these excursions, she thought? “I took away you
sparkle didn't I, Asked Collin with tear filled eyes as he stared at her hands? She had been folding the same dress much longer than she'd noticed. She pushed
the object towards him, covered her face with both hands and ran to the
bathroom. He watched as she hurried away, and then held the dress
up to his face kissing it softly then gently whispered into the fabric; I am so
sorry I stained you.
