The Fabric of Life

            “Molly?” I heard the big voice say over the intercom. “Molly Mullen, your mother is looking for you and worried. Where ever you are, come out please.” The big man voice said and had to spoil all the fun. See, I had found the best spot in the whole store. I peeled back the clothes like a curtain and step into a spinning colorful and textural world of magic. As people came in and browsed through items of clothing, I’d sit in the center of the clothing rack and watch. They’d look, spin, stop, look. Look, spin, stop, look. Look, spin, stop, and sometimes dig inside the piece to check the price tag. If the number was low enough, they’d place the hanger around their hand that was piling up other possible purchases. My mother almost tried to put me in one of the children leashes that you see parents holding at Disney World.

            When it came time for my birthday, it had to be themed. This particular year I decided to have a tea party. All the neighborhood girls would put on their Sunday best but no ensemble could be complete with out its accessories. Straw hats with a ribbon tied around the rim, dainty white cloth gloves, lace socks, and classic black Maryjane shoes would do just the tick. I, of course, would add an extra touch with my mother’s pearls, clip-on Pretty Pretty Princess earrings, and to make the outfit –a silver and diamond bedazzled tiara. But before we cut the cake I made an outfit change into my star spangled bannered bikini to show off to everyone (my birthday is on Flag Day after all).

            When I was able to pick out what I was able to wear to school, I always chose a dress. My favorite was a hand-me-down from my older sister. It was a pink, spaghetti strapped dress with a built-in, white frilled t-shirt underneath. The straps met in the middle with a silk rose bud on the front and my mom tied them together in the back since I still had a little more growing to do. It was snug until it hit my waist and it flowed out enough that when I spun around it twirled with me. That is, until my mom put me in private catholic school. I was furious that I was forced to put on dress that everyone else would be wearing. At least it was a flattering baby-blue cotton, pleated jumper and not plaid wool.  It wasn’t until I showed up to the bus stop and every 3^rd grade girl was wearing shorts. Heinous shorts, made out of the same color and material as my jumper but which bunched in the front and made them resemble the boys. I later found out they did this so they’d get picked to play flag football. I hated it. But eventually caved in to their appalling customs. Up until the 6^th grade and all the girls were required to wear skirts (Thank God).
            Every year for Christmas my mom’s dad would always give us gifts like Alaskan scented candles and or trivia book with animal facts. He finally caught on that we were trained to fake a reaction like, “Oh! Pop-Pop, how’d did you know I always wanted a Paint By Number of Big Ben?” when we unwrapped his presents. When I was in 7^th grade he gave me a year subscription of Seventeen Magazine. I made a booklet of cut outs from my favorite articles, hair tips, makeup guides, and clothing advice. I would make lists of new products to try when my mom made a CVS run and would thoughtfully premeditate my outfit for next weekend’s school dance. I was even voted “Most Likely to Become CEO of Seventeen Magazine” in my 8^th grade yearbook.

            Although I was not yet seventeen, I soon felt that I had outgrown their style. I replaced turning the pages of the magazine with running my fingers through the clothing racks with my eyes closed to just simply feel the fabrics. Finding sheer cheetah button downs at T.J.Maxx or the perfect balance of Megan Fox and biker chick leather jackets in Lloehmann’s became a weekend hobby. I would collect new and old, cargo and lace, leather and turquoise contrasts alike.

            I quickly began to crave more originality than I was getting from retail stores and stumbled upon small boutiques and antique malls near me. The personal touches of the beading on a velvet belt or the uniqueness of pearled rings that are adjustable to any finger and rusted engraved necklaces. I am drawn to pieces I collect from stores that I feel a connection to. I think as if they had a life before me and I am resurrecting their relevance. Or perhaps it is the articles of clothing I choose to wear that give me life, that give me a new story to tell.