"Oh, honey," is what I want to say. I want somebody to say "oh, honey, I know, I know," to her, and pat her on the back, and bring her a cup of tea. I want someone to hand her a tissue, and I want someone to take her to the movies, and I want someone to understand her as well as I do.
I don't want her to be falling asleep with the radio on, shows she doesn't even like, just because she can't fill up the house with only her own voice. I don't want her to be eating one solitary, unwinking egg, dinner after lunch after breakfast after dinner, just because washing up more than that one pan and that one plate and that one fork is too much for her to handle. I don't want her refrigerator to have only eggs and milk on the verge of turning in it, but I also don't want her to be driving to the next town over to do her grocery shopping, just because she can't face one more too-familiar face screwed up into that "I don't know what to say" grimace. I don't want any of that.
I don't want her to be sitting there, striking matches, just for their sweet sharp sulfurous smell, or lighting one of the cigarettes left in the pack just to watch the lazy arabesques of the smoke as it rises. I don't want her to be setting two places out of habit, and then standing there, staring at the other place. And yet I don't want her to wearily put that other plate and napkin away, either.
I don't want her to stand over the phone as it rings, and then snatch for it just as it stops. I don't want to hear her say "Nothing. I'm fine." to the person on the line, or "Tuesday's not good for me. Wednesday -- no, not Wednesday either; maybe next week." I don't want her to pick up the receiver and then put it down again, realizing that there's no number to call.
I don't want her to fold the laundry and then, crying, dump it all back in the basket, furiously unmatching those socks. I don't want her to hang up that coat and then throw it over the back of the chair again, or to move those boots from the doorway to the closet and back, over and over.
I don't want her to pick up the book that was on the arm of the chair, and read the right-hand page over and over again. I don't want her to flip the calendar back to May again.
I don't want her to sit there with that watch pressed against her ear, listening to the ticking. I don't want her turning that lucky piece over and over in her hands.
I don't want her to pass by me in the closet, reaching for that black cotton shirtdress again. I don't want her to jerk her comb through her hair, not even looking in the mirror. I don't want her not to notice that she's wearing two different shoes. I don't want her to notice that other people have.
I don't want her to be so bereft. I don't like that there's nothing I can do. And I especially don't like knowing that there's nothing anyone can do.
I want there to be something to do.
Erin, you have made me cry! **sniff**
Posted by: nadine | 02/09/2007 at 09:48 PM
This was fantastic. Thank you.
Posted by: Julie K. Rose | 02/09/2007 at 10:05 PM
This made me SO sad. Well done.
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 12:35 AM
Maybe Secret Life of Dresses #10 and this 'un can go into town together and fill that prescription for anti-depressants.
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 04:09 AM
I love, absolutely adore the plisse dress. Of course, right now I'm a sucker for any floral print with chartreuse accents. This frock is the right price but the wrong size! Thank you, too, once again for another Secret Lives....11 is one of my many lucky numbers!
Posted by: the_lazymilliner | 02/10/2007 at 04:32 AM
OMG.. WAAAAH!!!!
Posted by: Jen ~ MOMSPatterns | 02/10/2007 at 06:25 AM
Ohh... that was so pathetic... that poor lady...and her poor wonderful little dress. I'd like to pat her consolingly on the shoulder and offer her a cup of tea myself... and tell her to put on that happy dress and feel better... though having just lost someone myself I know that that doesn't always work.
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 07:23 AM
That one read like a dress's monolouge, to wonderful effect.
Posted by: Aya Soya Douya, The Cracklepuffen | 02/10/2007 at 07:35 AM
They're getting better and better, Erin.
Posted by: bani | 02/10/2007 at 08:19 AM
This was lovely. And not to bully, but do you still owe us drabbles? Because I greatly like these.
Posted by: Diatryma | 02/10/2007 at 08:47 AM
I love your stories. Still waiting for the book to come out.
Posted by: Sherry | 02/10/2007 at 08:59 AM
I want her to go buy a pair of red shoes.Just wonderful, Erin. Love it.Julianewww.retrograce.blogspot.com
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 09:55 AM
I honestly cried.
Posted by: kk | 02/10/2007 at 11:17 AM
Oh, Erin, I'm all choked up and my eyes are burning. This is superb. *sniff*
Posted by: Jen | 02/10/2007 at 11:46 AM
You write beautifully. I meant it when I mentioned the book. I really enjoy these stories. Keep them coming.
Posted by: amisare waswerebeen | 02/10/2007 at 12:01 PM
Dear Lovely Dress:It is hard to be passed over so many times, especially when you were such a favourite and he thought her even more beautiful when she was wearing you. It is also hard to be worn day after day, not because she likes me but because I am convenient and she doesn't have to make an effort when she puts me on. I have never been to any of the places you have and I miss your stories. What you can do now is wait. And believe. Those are hard and lonely things.Love, The Black Cotton Dress
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 01:23 PM
I am presently grieving the death of someone dear to me who passed away suddenly in October, and who had been a very big part of my life. So, from that point of view, I can say that in Secret LIves of Dresses #11, you capture very well the sense of what it's like to experience that kind of loss. I second anonymous of 1:35 AM: Well done!
Posted by: oracle | 02/10/2007 at 01:27 PM
Damnit. You kill me. Can I say that I love you? Damnit.
Posted by: valentina | 02/10/2007 at 04:44 PM
Beautiful.
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/10/2007 at 05:12 PM
I second Oracle's comment. I lost someone suddenly, many years ago, and you expressed the bereft feeling and bewilderment that accompanies it just beautifully. Thank you for sharing.Especially love the detail of looking at the calendar...
Posted by: Lami | 02/11/2007 at 02:37 PM
Yes, very poignant, well written. But, darling, when is one of your dresses not going to be sad and depressed? I like to think that many of them have fun stories to tell.
Posted by: Anonymous | 02/11/2007 at 05:33 PM
Beautiful, just beautiful! When are you compiling these into a book? I'd buy it!
Posted by: DivaShop | 02/11/2007 at 06:18 PM
I don't think this is a sad depressing story myself, just real.
Posted by: Well Rounded Dresser | 02/12/2007 at 01:50 AM
Oh my - I think I need a tissue now too. Love this.
Posted by: Claire | 02/12/2007 at 06:56 AM
A friend of mine recently committed suicide and that story really puts into words all the feelings I have not been able to. Thank you. Please write a happy dress story next...maybe one about a dress coming out of the back of the closet for the first day of Spring. I really like the Koi fabric. It would make such a pretty dress with a full circle skirt. That fabric is just begging to be a dress!
Posted by: Tess | 02/12/2007 at 07:19 AM