The Perfect Dress
By, Caitlin Simkovich
The dress had been in her family for generations. Lovingly crafted by her great-grandmother, it was a masterpiece of intricate patterns traced with delicate lace and finely spun cotton. Elegant yet simple, it bore full sleeves, a long flowing skirt cinched at the waist, and just a hint of a train in the back. It was exquisite in its detail and execution. And, despite being slightly discolored from age, the condition was impeccable. Even time couldn’t wash away its enduring beauty.
It had been made for a daughter to wear on her wedding day. A tradition upheld and held dear by the women in her family since its creation. Often, she would imagine her great-grandmother sitting peacefully in her favorite chair, adding one tender stitch after another, until, at long last, it all came together. These thoughts and more came flooding to her as she soaked in the new morning. The sun had filled her small room with a delightful soft light and luxurious warmth. This past winter had been an unbearable one and everyone was grateful to be on the other side of it. She closed her eyes and basked in its pale yellow glow. Robins sang cheerful songs in tandem with those preparing for the day’s activities. She couldn’t help but to smile as she stared thoughtfully at the beloved garment hanging by the open window.
Through this window she could see the farm in full view, another long standing point of pride for the family. It had fed the community almost since the town was founded nearly a century ago. Outside she could hear the muffled voices of her neighbors, metal tools clanging, and a few of the remaining chickens squawking. The planting season was upon them and everyone was hard at work. She very much enjoyed this time of year and longed to join in. It was a time of hope and anticipation. A time for reflection and preparation. When the harvest would arrive several months later, a great feeling of joy and relief would wash over the whole town. It made her sad to think of leaving and that she wouldn’t see it come.
But, she reminded herself, this was not a day of sadness. This was a day of celebration. A splash of cold water to her face brought things back into focus. And as she stepped into the dress and slipped it on, she felt as if it were made for her. Sure, others had worn it before her, but to her it felt brand new. The connection to her kin and and family legacy that it provided brought a serene sense of calm as laces were tied and buttons fastened. She wove her hair into loose braids and brought them together at the base of her neck. A few blonde curls framed her rosy face.
Descending the stairs, she saw her father was already at the bottom waiting for her. Holding a crown of dried wildflowers, looking quite handsome in his suit, his smile was beaming. Beaming with just the slightest hint of sadness behind his eyes. She could sympathize. He was losing his little girl after all, his eldest and most precious. As a child they would often read together by the fire when the long work day was finished. She would crawl into his lap and map the words with her fingers. Tiny fingers, he would tell her, perfect for turning pages and plucking pests from fresh leaves. Now, she took his hand in hers and gently moved a stray hair from his face. She would be ok, her eyes told him. She was ready. She was happy.
Together they stepped onto a path that began just outside her family’s doorstep, landing first on loose dirt and eventually trailing off into soft grass. The morning's dew had not entirely evaporated and it felt a little wet and cold under her bare feet. Small bouquets of heather and goldenrod lined this neat but steady walk way. The birds continued their chirping songs and a light breeze brought a little relief to an unusually warm day.
It wasn’t a particularly long path, and up ahead in the distance, she could make out the figures of her family and friends. Figures she’d come to know her whole life, playmates, workmates, teachers, companions. They had all taken a respite from the morning’s work to participate in the afternoon’s festivities. She was thankful. These people had been her haven and it put her at ease to have them all by her side.
The procession finally ended at the foot of a large, majestic oak tree. As children they had scaled it’s tall branches, napped in its shade, and picnicked at its base. Offering relief and inspiration during the few moments of leisure they could steal, it was, and still is, an incredibly special and cherished place. Today, it would mark the spot of the most important day of her life.
Still holding her father’s arm, he led her to the middle of where the crowd had been gathering. They were met with kind greetings, embraces, and handshakes. A few handwritten notes were passed along, as well as some small gifts. Tokens of their love and gratitude. It was a truly lovely scene. Rows of chairs had been set up in a semi circle, colorful ribbons were tied to various tree branches, and wind chimes provided an enchanted melody. Later, there would be dancing. She loved to dance.
As was the tradition, there wasn’t much ceremony. Just a few solemn words and readings followed by a compassionate hand to the forehead by one of the elders. There were tears of course, but mostly smiles.
When it was over, she turned back to face the tree and an imposing hole about eight feet deep. It was expertly dug and impressive, made with care and not haste. As they led her down into what would be her final resting place, she released a contented sigh knowing what her contribution would do for her community. She felt proud to take part in this custom despite that it would mean leaving everything, and everyone, behind. They would all follow her eventually.
While the dirt began to fall on top of her, she laid back and stared up at the sky. Peeking through silky white clouds, was the clearest blue she had ever seen. A blue so sparkling and vibrant, it was like peering into the heart a rare gem. Made more beautiful only by the graceful sunlight.
But the earth was dark and heavy. And over time the crystal blue gave way to brown, and then finally black. Above her, a few fallen leaves from the nearby tree swirled in the wind. The robins persisted and the voices became muffled once again. She could hear all of it, she clung to all of it. But saw only darkness. A darkness so deep and vast it was like swimming in a night sky without stars. A darkness, she realized, that would never leave her now. And once the sounds and memories from the above world were gone, the endless black would be all she’d have. A stark contrast to her golden locks and perfect lace dress.
THE END
Also by Caitlin Simkovich:
Winter Salvation
Bowtree Drive
You Are.
Perception vs. Reality
Photo credit: Katy Duclos, @katdu_photograph
