September 14, 2003
Destiny on a Silver Hanger
It was love at first sight.
I'm a taken woman, as my closet at home would amply indicate. Rummaging idly, I was looking just to look. You were there, in the back of the room, barely visible on the crowded rack of vintage. Your pattern intrigued me, shades of blue and green and indigo, with bits of white, bound by a haphazard grid of thick, black lines. I had the impression of modernist stained glass.
As I leaned in to reach for you, my fingers brushed your gleaming surface. Your vinyl caress startled me - I swear I heard thunderclaps, smelled the sizzle of lightning moving jaggedly across the horizon. Suddenly I was overcome with the desire to sing and dance along a curb in the middle of a torrential downpour.
Blindly I fumbled for your tag. What? A mere sixteen dollars for a lifetime of happiness? I was truly, madly, deeply and irrevocably besotted. Together we went before the full-length mirror, the oracle which would pronounce our fate.
I slipped you on like a second skin, fastening the shiny silver snaps. I flapped my arms about, testing the freedom of movement. I stuck my hands into your slim yet generous flap pockets. Finally I dared to look into the mirror.
I squealed. I twirled. I hopped in my high tops. I faced twinkling eyes and a grin of impish delight. Oh, we so go together, rama-lama-ding-dong.
I made giddy conversation with the shop clerks, discussing the necessity of precipitation and the benefits of having a cloud over one's head.
I want us to grow old together. When I am deaf, dumb and blind I hope that we will still venture forth, puddle-jumping.