ashes and sparks

The racks of clothing run long in lines that are blurred by the rising and falling crests of collars and hemlines. It's our tenth store, on the third week of the hunt. Only now are we getting serious.

Dress hunting with a gymnast. Her problems are practical; her arms too build for the narrow sleeves, her waist too small, her legs too long, her chest not a soft cupped curve but a ridge of muscle. This is not the body of 15-year-old hiding in an oversized t-shirt at the pool.

She walks like she is driving a machine. In many ways she is; finely tuned and out for display. But the skin is that of a girl, imperfect, constantly fused with. And the hair, only this year has she allowed it to go free. It explodes like champagne bubbling and fizzing down her back.

She could wear anything. I fish the racks pulling out dresses to display, "I don't hate it," she says tilting her head. "Okay, I can't tell if you are joking," she says to the next.

I sit and I stand in the corners of dressing rooms staring at myself in the mirrors waiting for her to appear. No, not this one, no, it's cute but not for the banquet, no, the cut is wrong, no, oh god no!
 
Then there is the one. I pull it from the end of a rack where it is peeking out. It's a head tilt one way, then the other. "Oh I couldn't....could I?" She squints her fingers running along the soft waves of the fabric. It is a white 2-piece dress with a fitted top and full skirt.

"How much is it?" she asks reaching for the tag.

I brush her hand away.  "Try it on, then we can worry about the tag."

"A 2-piece?" She questions it three more times before finding some bravery in that it is her mother offering her the dress.

She takes 2 dresses in with her.  Only one comes out.

She nods. "This is the one." It will have to be taken in at the waist but that can be done.

The sales attendants smile. They like the girl but not the dress. They would have preferred she picked the blue one. They say nothing but I can tell their judgment is on me as a mother.

In defense of the 2-piece dress; the skirt is longer than what she normally would wear and after the alterations, it will sit securely above hips leaving no gap between the top and the bottom... unless she salutes.

And as for the open back, my god, she certainly has earned that.      

"How much is it?" she asks and offers to buy it.  I tell her that with the sale discount of 50% off the cost is $21.50.  And no, I will pay for it and the alterations.  The clerk asks if she going to a dance.  No, a banquet.  A sports banquet. They place the dress in a bag, staple it shut, and staple on the receipt. All sales are final in bold black.

In the car with the bag on her lap, she looks up the label on her phone.

"Mom," she gasps, "these dresses are like $300! How scary. This is a really nice dress!"

I nod. I smile. I drive.  

She is already dreaming of shoes.