Sunday, December 11, 2011

Doreen, Age 34

Doreen Morales, Costume Designer, Fall 1943

     I have it down to a science now.  When I turn my Singer just right, I fits perfectly in this old splintered crate.  I don't mind packing most days.  But today feels different ... 
     The morning's cold rain has muddied my spirits, and I shiver because the next time I hear his voice, I'll be too far away to feel its warm raspy crackle.  The rain smells strange too --- a mixture of exotic animal fur and year old dust collected from all the cities we've visited.  My stomach runs through its normal tumbling routine, as if it needed the practice, and by mid afternoon the rain has stopped.
     From no where Cesar barks a suggestion masquerading as a command.  I oblige --- partly because it's a good one, and partly out of habit.  The atmosphere seems freshly laundered now.  I decide to inhale. 
    Cesar is wearing the bow tie I birthed from a belly of boredom one spring afternoon; and I, a scarf embroidered with a single leaf not unlike like the multitude Fall would harvest from my grandmother's front yard each and every year.

In Doreen's Closet...
Doreen's Closet

Doreen's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring peep toe high heels

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph by John Midgley.

1 comment:

  1. Such poignant writing! I love it. And I die for that skirt. Such a cool idea!