A Dress for a Funeral
by Bob Buckley

 

Gina drove her small car to the mall. It traveled along as if by memory. It looked good, except for the paint job, which had faded from too many days of hot sun, except for the treadless tires and the cracked windshield and the out of date inspection sticker. The December sunlight was more nuisance than blessing. Her head ached, hands barely responsive. She tied one on last night. The gathering of family and friends fracturing her; she needed to breathe, to grieve, and to drink alone. A hive of family bees made that impossible.
    An hour earlier, her mother had asked, “Could you buy a nice dress today? I'd do it or at least go with you, but . . .”
    “Don’t worry about it Mom,” Gina quipped. “I'll handle it.” She braced for a browbeating about her lack of concern as she brushed hair from her face.
    “I haven't bought a dress in a long time, Mom. Any suggestions?” Gina asked, taking a seat near her mother.
    “No. I guess you haven't. Use your best judgment,” her mother said from her white wicker chair, casting a glow of helplessness at her daughter. “I hope you are able to. It’s so important.”
    The itty-bitty shitty committee in Gina’s head often ran her affairs for her and left her discouraged. Now atop guilt and grief, her mother’s comment, “. . . it’s so important . . .” landed like another well-placed jab.
    She found a parking place, then made her way to the entrance. Not for one second had she considered where to shop or how much to spend. Her mother had handed her a wad of twenties, but Gina refused them, though she was nearly broke.
    “The next right thing, is this?” Gina’s asked herself as she walked up to the dark-glass door at the main entrance of the mall. Her reflection seemed ghost-like as she pulled the handle; warm air was definitely inviting.
    The sights, the aromas, and the stunning clamor of busy shoppers overwhelmed her senses. Reds and greens of the holiday season dominated everything. She hadn’t considered the season, but still she was distracted and relieved for a moment, but soon the desire to relieve her anxiety pushed forward. Her hands trembled; cold sweat formed. “Coffee,” She whispered to herself. “Coffee first.” She worked her way through the hallway, through whining children and stressed-out mothers, beyond the fray for at least a moment and found a small coffee stand where she ordered a tall cup of their strongest and took a seat.
    The coffee was warm, sweet, heavily saturated with cream. Her head eased, and the ruckus began to make sense. From her chair and down the cavernous hall, Gina spotted a sign, “A Dress Shop.” Luck seemed to turn her way. Nervous jitters passed as the coffee steadied her hands. She took a deep breath and rose from the table then trudged the few steps.
    She found the store calming. The colors and fabrics were simple. Over to her left, a small woman contemplated shoes from a clearance shelf. “Shoes,” she thought. “She won't need shoes.” The store itself was painted in plain cream, lighted adequately; the walls oddly adorned with columns of gold. She milled around, passing among the few customers.
    Two young girls, 18 or 19, walked in right behind Gina and picked through the racks, holding pieces of clothing up to themselves. Like playing dress up, they laughed hysterically at the outdated outfits. They both selected matching outfits for no apparent reason and turned to face the mirror. Gina was in their way.
    “Miss? Miss? Excuse us please. We’d like to use the mirror.”
    Gina looked at the mirror then glanced up at the girls. Gina felt the blood leave her face and the room spin uneven. Perfectly identical twins. “Why twins?” She muttered to herself. “You have a terrible sense of humor, God.” Gina stepped aside, realizing she must have put on an awkward show for them.
    “Miss? Are you OK?”
    “Sure. I mean, thank you. Yes, I’m fine.” The girls startled Gina, recalling some distant memory. “You two seem so happy. Merry Christmas, girls.” Gina surprised herself with her warm and festive tone.
    “Merry Christmas to you, too,” a twin answered and went right to her shopping.
    The infectious spirit of the girls lifted Gina’s mood. She selected a dress from a clearance rack, lifted it by the hanger, and studied the patterns, delicate tiny pastel flowers, and gentle fabric. “Perfect,” she thought. She looked for the tags but none was there. Her heart sank. Spirits wilting, she held the dress to her side, hanger in hand, fabric piling on the floor.
    “Why don’t you try it on, dear?” Gina heard a woman’s voice. “It’s beautiful and such a bargain. Looks like it would be a perfect fit.” The woman, an elderly store clerk, took the dress from Gina and held it up to her. “My how this is made for you. Your hair and eyes just come alive.”
    “It’s not for me.” Gina said, turning her head, fighting tears.
    “Oh?” The woman replied and looked at Gina quizzically, then to the floor, folding the dress over her arm like a winter coat. She offered her experience, strength, and hope the way a loving grandmother would comfort a trouble child. “You know, I might be wrong, but the holidays are always difficult for some of us. My children are grown and living other places, and my husband passed a year ago, last week.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” Gina said, meekly, wiping tears from her eyes. “I just need to buy a dress, but all these choices,” Gina looked around the store. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I want to get something nice.”
    “What you selected is beautiful. There couldn’t be a better choice.” She studied Gina’s expression a moment more then asked, “Who’s it for dear?”
    Gina closed her eyes as a heavy wave of sadness built. The woman put her small, soft hand on Gina’s arm, “Come sit with me for a moment.” They sat against a wall out of earshot. A young clerk scurried busily to the register to ring up a mother with three small children in tow. “My name is Angelina. Everyone calls me Ann.” The woman started.
    “I’m Gina. I’m here to buy a dress. My mother was going to do it but . . .”
    “But she’s too tired,” Ann interrupted. “Too nervous, just too . . . everything.” Ann finished, holding her hands over her heart. “That’s the way parents are, you know . . .” Ann looked away from Gina, placed her hands in her lap, and said, “. . . when they lose a child.”
    “What? How do you kn . . . ?”
    “I’ve seen the look a thousand times. I’ve worked in dress shops since high school. Oh, but that was long ago. My mother made my dresses. They were so beautiful, and my friends were all so jealous. She made dresses for parties and for weddings.” The old woman smiled as she took Gina’s hand. “Things have changed these days, but not people. They buy dresses here for a million different reasons. Tell me, who is the dress for?”
    Gina sank. Tears began to flow gently. “My sister. She died three days ago, killed herself.”
    “I’m sorry Gina. That’s so awful. What’s her name?”
    Wiping tears from her face, Gina looked. She smiled a little and chuckled through her pain, “Tina.”
    “Oh how sweet. A twin?” Ann asked, her tone becoming light and playful.
    “Identical.” Gina said, pulling a tissue from her pocket. “She was my soul mate when we were little; I hated our corny names, so embarrassing.”
    “Oh my,” Ann whispered to herself. “Gina, I understand.” Ann knew that it was better for Gina to move on, “Let’s decide on a dress. Now, go over to the mirror and see how beautiful you are. Just hold it up.” Ann said, as she walked Gina to the mirror. They faced the mirror. The dress hung beautifully from her shoulders.
    “Step a little closer dear, more into the light.” Gina moved forward a step or two. "That’s right.”
    Gina was chilled, the floor and room uneven again. “My God,” Gina said, breathlessly.
    “Yes, dear. This is the one.”
    “No, I mean. Look. It’s me; it’s Tina. I . . . I . . .”
    “This dress is only ten dollars dear. I don’t think you need to look any more.”
    Gina looked at the dress in the mirror, then to her face, then her body. She was her sister. Gina was always different, her eyes a picture of loss and pain, her smile mostly lifeless, yet Tina was the chipper one, happy, energetic, the diamond girl. She had the right dress; she was certain about that, and she was sure that Ann was a blessing from God. She turned to say thank you to Ann, but she wasn’t near. She took the dress to the counter, muttering while scanning the store, “Uh, I need to pay, and hmmm. The woman who was helping me, where is she?”
    “Who?” The clerk said, stopping her task at the register to look at Gina.
    “The older lady, Ann.”
    “Ma’am, I’m the only one working here today.”

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