It was still here after all these years – not forgotten, just tucked carefully away; out of sight, but never out of mind.
She had been looking for a spare set of gloves; the kids always seemed to lose them… at least twice a week.
Don’t ever forget.
It was amazing how one piece of clothing could make her feel so many conflicting emotions.
She reached out her hand, running the silky satin of the material through her slender fingers and letting it drift softly back into its place in the back of the closet. Reaching up, she grasped the hanger and lifted it from the rod, parting the surrounding clothing with her other hand as the brilliant white fabric began to emerge from its relegated corner.
No one will ever love you like I do.
The skirt had flowed gently to the floor, a snowy cascade of shimmering silk that seemed, with her every movement, to drift in slow motion. It had fit her perfectly that day, sitting snugly around her torso, gripping her curves as the narrow straps floated lightly across her collarbone. It had been pure, elegant simplicity.
You will always be mine.
All eyes had been on her, walking down the aisle, saying “I do” to the man she loved. To the man she thought would give her the kind of love she had always dreamed of having. It was like the fairytales always told to her as a little girl.
‘Til death do us part..
Every step out of the small-town chapel had been filled with bliss, the traditional white swishing against her legs as she stepped into the sunlight. This was what forever felt like. She couldn’t imagine how things could get any closer to perfect than they were in that moment.
You would be nothing without me.
They had shared their first dance as husband and wife, the fabric billowing around her as she spun, head thrown back, laughing until there were tears. No one could take away these carefully planned moments; the hours spent deliberating over invitations, napkins, colors, guests.
She’d smiled, gracious, taking the hands of family and friends, thanking them for coming. For sharing what should have been the happiest moments of her life.
His eyes, so cold.. how could this have been the man she had married? Love shouldn’t leave room for him to have so much hate. Her head swam.
You fucking cunt. Look at me when I’m talking to you.
Him, hands wrapped around her arms, squeezing, pinning her to the wall as he yelled.
Her, cringing in fear, praying she could just melt into the background. To be anywhere but here.
I’ll fucking kill you!
This dress, her aide-mémoire.
Thin spaghetti straps held it firmly to the hanger and, as it broke free from its confinement, the sun through the open window hit the bodice and thousands of intricately placed beads sprung to life.
She fingered the clasp that had held it closed around her that day.
No longer was this her satin casket.. she had made the choice to live.
This is a fictional piece written in response
to a prompt by The Red Dress Club.
“Write a piece – 600 word limit – about finding a forgotten item of clothing in the back of a drawer or closet. Let us know how the item was found, what it is, and why it’s so meaningful to you or your character.”