My light blue gingham sundress with the peaches, butterflies, and grapes on it… My mom made this pretty thing for me. She was sewing clothes for me even as I stepped into my 30’s. I wore this dress to poetry performance rehearsals, to ride my bike through Lowry Park and Flatwoods, and simply to clean my house. I wore it with sandals, boots, and Chuck Taylor’s, depending on my mood. I wore my little dress barefoot.
It was sleeveless with a scoop neck, fitted in the bust with a tie around the back, and flared a bit at the hips. It hung just above my knees. I wore it showing off my tatoos. It was the perfect dress for hot, steamy Florida.
I packed it and took it to Chicago with me. I didn’t have many occasions to wear it there, in the near freaking Arctic, but on rare, hot-enough-for-me days, I did wear it. I danced around our apartment when Benjamin wasn’t there. I put on Cajun music and wore it while it was snowing. I imagined I was somewhere I could smell wet trees in summer every day.
I moved my little gingham back South when we headed for North Carolina. I could wear it again on my front porch with my petunias and my vodka lemonades. The fabric was starting to thin, but I didn’t care. My dress felt at home in Raleigh.
That dress traveled to DC, then across the big old pond to Germany. I wore it until it was almost falling off my body, until it had several tears in it. Now it’s finally given up its ghost. I’ve “buried” it as a dress, but I’ve kept it as fabric, fabric that I’ve already used to make collages for sweet friends.
Bon Voyage Little Gingham! You wore me well.
