Thursday, October 7, 2010

cardigans. chapter one.

There were days, I remember, of feeling young and jubilant. The world was my oyster. And then there were those days when all I wanted to do was stay curled up on the floor with my favourite jeans and just be still. I didn't have any control over that. None. For the most part, I stayed on the hanger, watching my friends get swept away, anxiously waiting my turn to venture into the brightly lit world companion to a flouncy skirt or hip cuffed pants. They'd come back a day or two later, still brimming with glee and thrilling stories to tell. Those of us left behind would would hang back in wonder and listen in awe, story after story, our buttons standing on end. We heard tales of international adventures, local park rendezvouses, nuzzle time with furry friends and sometimes special occasions that were so incredibly perfect we could hardly believe it. But it all happened, it was all true, for our friends didn't lie or stretch the truth. 

Tale after tale, memories were made in that closet and friendships tightened like buttons under a bust that didn't quite fit right yet secure. We all hung out there—airing out our bodies and waiting for our next shot. Every morning when the light would pour in, we'd stare at each other wondering who'd go next. Who would be chosen. We understood there was a bit of a rotation method, but that was all in theory. She had her favourites and we all knew it.

I'll never forget the day when the Easter egg pink and green striped one was introduced. 

Late one night, the door opened unexpectedly. The Easter egg pink and green striped one came in to join us and was holding hands with a tan one of the same family. She looked nervous. A little unsure of herself. I could tell her self-confidence lacked though it shouldn't have. She was striped in beautiful Easter shades of pink and green. Shades that made Springtime the choice season. The colours everyone wanted to be. Her colours made people happy. The one with her, the tan one, looked cool, calm and collected, like he'd done this a million times. He comforted and reassured her, speaking in soft cotton tones of love and respect.

I could already tell she was going to be an instant favourite. All it took was one look for me and I knew the others would agree.

As soon as I saw her, I was overcome with nerves. I suddenly felt unsure of my own situation. Not that I would be thrown out or abruptly tossed aside, but she was so perfectly delicate and beautiful it caused this sensation of unworthiness sweep over me—like I should hide myself from her very presence. Before she entered my world, I felt bold and secure in my position. After her arrival, I talked myself into accepting the possibility of being moved to the back of the closet where I would be constantly overlooked and passed over. The closet may have been colour-coded, but I've seen friends shoved to the back and never experience the light on their buttons again. For days it was all I could think about. I'd stay awake at night wondering what the next day would hold for me, for any of us. And then the realization set in: I was a classic. I was black with 3/4 inch length sleeves and pearlized buttons. I fit very well, snug, beautifully, and was versatile through all the seasons and could be worn so many ways: over a t-shirt with jeans and flip-flops; over a camisole and a dainty skirt with slingback heels; with chic cuffed pants and a pearl necklace. A peace swelled through me, from cuff to cuff. I was safe and had nothing to worry about. Classic never got tossed.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...