“You have a dimply face, a tragic face with sadness all over it – it makes me want to take care of you” he said as he drew close to her and turned to poke the dimples he thought he was seeing in her face as if to fill them up. It was very soft and tender, the poking he was doing with his long and pointy nose yet it still gave her an uncomfortable feeling like she wanted to back away but she didn’t. He was very tall and she had gestured for him to come closer so that she could ask him if he was a genius or something because that dress he had sneaked in the pile of foundations fit her as if her body had been made for it. She had gone in looking for a bra, even though she doesn’t wear bras anymore but for some reason she wanted some support and something that would make her feel sexy. She went in with layers and layers of other things on and as she peeled them off and dropped them over her shoulders to hang on her waist so that she could try on the foundations, she kept hoping that the others in the room would leave. Sure enough, one by one, they did except for the tall man who was standing on the edge of the room with his back to her like a guard. When one last one just wouldn’t leave, he left too, dragging the other with him saying “let’s give her some privacy”.
Someone was there with her, another female, as she tried the things on and kept feeling more and more worthy of their fitting. Each article telling some part of herself to herself – her breasts were big enough, she wasn’t too fat, she could float and dance and feel happy. She was lovely.
She wanted the dress but imagined it was $500 and upon turning over the tag to read that it was $698 she said to herself “Not too bad at guessing.” Or was it the bra the tag was attached to and maybe the dress was $3000? It didn’t matter either way because she didn’t have enough for a strap but wanted to find a way to have at least one foundation and that dress.
The tall man was wearing something like a tuxedo and she started bombing him with questions, “Are you friends with the Vanderbilts? Do you know so and so, or so and so, or so and so?” She needed to figure out how he could be so intuitive and know exactly what would fit her and make her feel so good about herself. She started trying to neatly arrange all of the items that were no longer on her in an orderly fashion so that she could leave but by that time he and the Vanderbilts and all the other so and sos were sitting at a lavish dinner table in the next room eating.
The last man that the tall man had dragged out so she could have privacy came back in and got close to her and started trying to sell her something. The tall man left the table and came over to separate the salesman from her and then the two of them went off to wrestle with words and their bodies to decide something she had no clue about.
All that she did know was how perfectly that dress had fit her and how wonderfully sexy under it the foundations had let her feel. The tall man had brought those things to her as if he knew exactly. How could he have known? Under the dress and in the bra, she didn’t feel naked but didn’t feel dressed – she felt whole, a way she had never felt before. Years and years of trying to make things fit and nothing would. This had pleats and tucks in all the right places and hung on her with no more than the weight of a feather. Maybe she didn’t need the dress to own — perhaps it was enough that it had informed her of her wholeness. She was thinking that she loved that man in the tuxedo now.
Her shoulders started to ache enough to wake her up and it was already late. This must have been a good year for baby bird hatchings because they were in a loud chorus outside her open window trying to tell her it was a new day and that anything was possible again. As she tried to get the sleep out of her eyes, one of the kitties jumped up on the bed and started meowing. Reality was back.
The last time he had emailed her, he asked if she was tired yet of his daily calls and she replied, “No darling dear” which was just a little too close to “I think I love you” informing her that she needed to take a spoonful of temperance again — her emotions so untrustworthy and willing to betray.
Dreams are wonderful at sorting things out and filling dimples. She would think about that dress all day now and feel whole and light and happy. That was enough. Maybe she could make that dress. No, it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t need a dress to confirm what she was starting to know by now — that it all comes together just right in the end — at least if a dream has anything to say about it and that outside forces prevail to congeal it all.
She would have to trust that “Everything will be alright in the end. If it is not alright, it is not yet the end.”