my little black dress

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

terrible picture, but this is my black dress

I smiled, my dad had already complimented me upstairs, I didn’t expect it again.  He leaned in front of me to unlock the car door.

“She does,” my aunt replied and I was sure a smile hung on her lips.

I didn’t feel like I should look pretty.  We were going to a funeral and most are meant to be sad.  Actually, we were headed to an Orthodox held funeral and therefore, I knew the atmosphere would be gloomy.

For a split second I questioned my hidden desire to make sure I looked good.  Either way, the compliment was accepted and appreciated.

“It’s the first time she’s wearing the dress,” he said.

“Yes,” I mumbled and let out a nervous-feeling-laugh, low and quiet.

First.  Previously, while we sat in our living room, I told my father this fact.

Two years ago, it was summer and my mother had brought me to this fun new shopping store she and my sister had discovered.  I loved the clothes, immediately.  And so, my venture for nicer looking clothes began.  Only because I finally came to understand my preferences.

This shop has ‘new season clothes’ and sale racks.  My mom told me to stick to the sales.  As I walked through my eyes fell on a black dress.  It was hanging in the new season, but I forgot about the sales.  It looked nice and I was sure it would fit.  I took it with me when I went into the fitting rooms and knew I wanted it by the time I got out.

My motivation: I needed a black funeral dress.  I know the thought might be disturbing, but having one was a desire I had kept in the back of my mind for a while.  I hadn’t gone to a funeral since my grandma died and I couldn’t shake out the feeling of embarrassment.

My black clothes at her funeral had mismatched and were ugly, plus I only had a bright turquoise coat to wear.  Least to say, I felt very unhappy with the clothe I wore and stored a thought in my mind.  One day, I would buy a dress I would have for funerals.  In case I ever needed to go.

For two years, I never wore the dress.  My sister wore it once – a few months after I had purchased it for a date.  It was during the years she lived in America and her boyfriend lived in England.  She wore it for a date night they had over Skype.

This dress has gone from Greece to America and now back to Greece.  I brought it with me.  I tend to carry it wherever I go. I’m not sure why.

Half an hour before we had to leave for the funeral today, dad told me.  I got up and I knew immediately what to wear.  I walked up the stairs, went for my sister’s closet and grabbed the dress.  I was sure it would still fit, regardless if I hadn’t worn it ever since the day I tried it on.

I wiped it down to get the fur and hair off.

Finally, I would wear it.

I got the dress on and looked at myself in the mirror, it felt surreal.  The moment had come and I was sure it wasn’t worth it.  If dresses or clothes had souls….poor thing, its first real wear was to a funeral.

I suppose, just as I had planned.

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