Wedding Dress

On Sunday, while my parents take Audrey to the park, I wander around their home- where we lived together once when Audrey was first born…and look for remnants of our life.  I find a few mix tapes that you made for me up in my old closet.  You designed the covers and wrote the songs in your handwriting.  I am too tired to go get them and copy what you wrote verbatim, but they were things like, “Yay!  You’re the best!”  “Hope you enjoy these songs while you’re commuting to work.”  Very innocent- very child-like…

Then I find myself, in my brother’s old room opening the closet to see my wedding dress hung up there.  I took it off the night we were married when I changed into jeans and a white shirt before we went into the city to stay at the W.  I take it out, zip open the cover, and take a look.  I take my own clothes off, unzip the dress, and put it on.  It still fits.  I admire the silk taffeta that had sold me on the dress even when it was a wrinkled, dirty sample, the little embellishments on the sides and waist.  Surprisingly, I feel sad, but pretty again.  I even feel a bit of hope and excitement.  Just something I suppose about putting on a gown like that.  But my excitement is deceitful.  I take it off, hang it up, zip it up, and put it away.

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