(33) Considering the Lilies

The air is filled with the quiet screeching of metal hangers scraping across racks and ladies chattering to each other across counters as I stand hopelessly in front of the mirror. “What about this one, Allyssa?” A mother calls from not too far away. I can tell from her lack of enthusiasm that she is getting exasperated with a daughter that doesn’t seem to want to make up her mind.

“Mom, what are you thinking! Purple is my worst color! Besides, I’m almost positive he’s getting me a red corsage this year. The two would just not work.” Obviously, Allyssa is obsessing over her prom ensemble; something I am not, well, at least not now. I on the other hand have come for an emergency shopping trip since I conveniently forgot about this week’s sophomore “semi” formal and remembered fortunately, the exact afternoon before it. The lucky partner for this nearly impossible mission, is not my father, my friends, or even my sister. The person stretched out on the chair next to the full-length mirror outside my claustrophobic dressing room, is my mother.

I refuse to invite my father to partake in the fun and excitement of these specific tasks, simply because of two reasons. The first being I feel slightly uncomfortable having him spend almost an hour examining every inch of each dress, making sure everything is “covered” and two, because the poor man will have a heart attack if he inspects the price tag and discovers it to be more than forty dollars. I prefer not to shop with my friends because either I will feel rushed with their impatience, or they might end up buying my favorite choice themselves. The rest should just be a given.

“Well I told you this store wasn’t going to work. Why don’t you ever listen to me?” I stand staring at my reflection in my bright white ankle socks and the not so “perfect” little black dress and begin to work at getting a tiny piece of chicken from my lunch out of my teeth as I listen to the rest of this mother-daughter dialogue. I think to myself that if I was the mother, I would probably be getting to the point of insanity, but from what I can hear, the mother seems to be staying relatively calm.
I glance at my face and find myself looking sallow and pale. I instantly decide that this definitely would be categorized as an ugly mirror, but then rethink the decision and question whether or not mirrors are the ugly ones or it is actually the people they are shining back. It’s definitely the mirrors, I decide and then glance at my watch. It’s almost six o clock already and I still have a whole paper to write, not to mention the fact that I still don’t have a dress. “Mother, is Roberta back yet?” I call towards her direction and then sit down to wait. It seems like the little old lady in the violet skirt, brown polka dotted blouse, and dark green knee-highs has been in search of dresses for almost an eternity. So far, the one choice she did in fact return with didn’t work at all. “Daria, some of us just aren’t as well endowed as other women.” My mother gently had told me. Roberta had promised us that she would find dresses that have no “sag” and so far we haven’t seen her since.

“Daria, it’s getting late, I’ll go find a dress.” She drops her purse over the top of the door and I continue to sulk, experiencing one of the few moments of my life when I actually wish I am a guy. How can guys have it so easy? Girls have to be wearing the perfect dress, their hair has to be just the right style, and usually manicures won’t hurt. They also have to be wearing not too much makeup, but not too little, just enough perfume to create the essence of an aroma, and fresh breath is almost required. I won’t scare the men who might be reading this with the other atrocities women go through just to feel attractive. Guys? They can wear the exact same pair of khakis and blue blazer every single dance of their life, and no one would give their clothes at least, a second glance, unless they forgot to spot-check that obligatory red tie for traces of salsa. Who created this standard for women of having to have a brand new dress for every dance?

Just then a loud knock sounds on the door, and as I open it my mother thrusts the most beautiful dress I have ever seen into my face. “Try this on, quickly now, Daria.” I can tell by the way she says this that her teeth are gritted, but it doesn’t matter because right at this very moment I am in ecstasy. The smooth and shiny fabric easily slides over my head and around my body, and as I pull it down firmly I am in love with the girl smiling back at me. Instantly a vision of Jeff Waters twirling me around across the gym floor with the folds of this dress twisting and turning with the beat makes my own heart’s pace start to quicken. As another mother and daughter walk past my door and enter the door next to mine I turn my body from every angle of the mirror, taking pleasure in the way it shimmers and swishes. “If I walk into that gym looking like this, there is no way Jeff won’t notice me.” I think to myself with delight.

Suddenly though, as I pull my hair up so that I can see a representation of how my tresses should look with the whole outfit, I hear the situation in the next stall.

“Mother, is this the only one?” A girl asks weakly.

“Honey, I know it’s not your idea of the perfect prom dress, but unless your father finds another job and I don’t have to work all day to make ends meet, we can’t exactly afford any of the other ones. I know it needs a few adjustments, but we’re lucky this one was at least is on sale. The lady said the only problem it has is that there is a tiny hole in the armpit. We’ll just have to patch that up and pull in the waistline a little bit and maybe if I find time I can sew something on it.”
“But Mother what if I pay half for a dress that I really like?”

“I’m sorry, but with our situation right now, it isn’t logical to risk not being able to buy groceries and other necessities just so you can have a new gown that you’re only going to wear once. Even half of that other dress is just too much than I can spare right now. Oscar will take you to prom no matter what you wear.” The mother’s voice is calm and gentle. The girl doesn’t understand the obvious pain that her mother is also going through of not being able to buy her daughter the dress of her dreams.

“Fine! You know what then, Mother? I won’t even go to prom!” The door slams loudly, echoing through out the store and muffled sniffling fills the hall. I peek out slowly and see the aggrieved expression of the girl’s mother as she sadly stumbles past my stall. I look back at my reflection and can no longer bear to walk out of the room to model for my own mother.
I sit dazed on the floor, trying to sort out my emotions and feelings at this very minute. I have an extremely strong desire to purchase this brand new dress but at the same time what is the point? I know for a fact that this particular garment probably costs twice as much as the girl in the next fitting room would dream of being able to spend herself with even the financial help of her mother, and this is isn’t even for my prom. At the same time, it isn’t really my fault that that girl’s father doesn’t have a job, you win some you lose some. But yet, I can’t possibly walk out of this store with this brand new apparel and be able to dance the night away feeling good about myself when I have four or five other dresses from past dances that are perfectly wearable. Is it really that important that I look that new and perfect if I really want Jeff or any other guy to like me for who I am anyway?

I quickly slide out of the blue dress and into my jeans and sweater. Fingering the almost glowing threads one last time, I slip my dream back onto its hanger and place it on the hook next to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I think to myself that there are much more important things in life right now than a certain dress for a certain dance. And perhaps it was the flowery print on the last dress I waved my hand through on the way out of the fitting room but I was reminded of a favorite saying of Grandmother’s.

”Consider the lilies” she will say when the things of a temporary nature start creeping in. She is referring to a cross-stitch that hangs in her front hallway….it says…”Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these.”