Although she’d stuffed it to the back of the cupboard, every so often a small patch of the brown dress peaked out. But, unlike her regular well-worn clothes, the brown dress never enjoyed the light of day.
Ten years earlier she had tried the dress on in order to show her mother that her gift was appreciated; since then it had been relegated to the shadows. The dress just wasn’t her. It was too assured, too out of the box, and with a strange bird design. The sort of dress someone would comment on.
In any event, she seldom wore dresses. At work in the winter, she stuck to tried and true navy slacks, a light colored blouse and a grey jacket. When summer arrived, she switched to beige slacks and a short sleeved blouse, occasionally with a pattern.
As the dress was the last piece of clothing her mother had bought her after she graduated from high school and got her first job, Jennifer hadn’t the heart to dispose of it. Not that her mother would know.
Well into her twenties, Jennifer still felt bereft without her mother’s presence. And although neither of them had believed in life after death, Jennifer continued to rely on her mother to help her work through things. When a new or unexpected situation presented itself, she scrambled to discover what to do. She replayed long ago conversations with her mother, looking for hints. If only she could contact her, attend a séance and ask a few questions.
When Jennifer entered her teens her mother had warned her that she had to develop the skills to deal with the day she would be on her own. But when this type of comment hovered above like a hawk, Jennifer had blocked her ears.
Since her father had deserted them on Jennifer’s fifth birthday, she and her mother had been inseparable. Although her mother had urged Jennifer to develop stronger ties with friends the few acquaintances the young girl made at school had overwhelmed her. They were all smarter, better looking, more popular. It was more comfortable to be with her mother.
Had she suspected that her mother would die so young and so quickly, Jennifer would have begged for one last session of advice, in order to find the answers for all the ‘what if’s’ she could think of. But once her mother was diagnosed with cancer both their thoughts were focused on what to do, how Jennifer would manage financially—the will, bills, deeds—and the young woman hadn’t accepted the fact that every conversation might be their last.
It was while cleaning out the cupboard on a lonely night after her mother had died that the brown dress presented itself to Jennifer, falling from the hanger as slowly as a feather. She lifted it gently and stripping off her nightgown, slipped it over her head. The touch of the soft fabric on her skin had a calming effect. Her mother had bought it, thought of her wearing it, left it to her. For the first time since the funeral Jennifer felt reassured.
She stepped unto the back porch still summer warm under the night sky, snuggled into the comfortable sofa chair and nodded off. Within minutes she slowly began to rise high above the house. Glancing down, she saw the lake where she and her mother had spent the summers—more a pond than a lake—shrinking below her. Above her the black sky was pierced with a sprinkle of stars. Up she went, higher and higher, until the earth was so small the countryside melted. And then a bolt of fear: how would she get down?
She was rising higher and higher. Like an astronaut heading into the blue but she had no ship. She would be abandoned in the black expanse of the sky, left floating alone in the void. She cried out, desperate to grab on to something, to escape the dark sky and the stars, which encircled her. She gazed down where far below the tiny lake and the small house were the size of a fist.
Jennifer was trembling and shrinking into her self when suddenly before her there was a woman—as slight as herself—but calm and sturdy. The figure dressed in the same brown dress was also cross-legged and reached out her thin pale arms. Jennifer grasped the outstretched hands: cool and dependable. The two connected, and slowly, together they descended to earth.
~ Melodie Corrigall
Published in Founder’s Favourites, Nov.17, 2017