the black dress of second chances

The black dress. The last time I wore this black dress it was a thanksgiving celebration years past. This black dress found in the abyss of the growing smell of oldness in a second hand store in Santa Cruz. Not the type that overcharges you because its vintage no the type that gives you a great deal. The ruffles fall down the my neck down to the core of my stomach. Buttons who refuse to obey that I must keep rebuttoning. And the sheen of it all needs the right undergarments. Either nude or black make. The skirt is big and moves around further as if dancing with the stars could be mine. I gave it another chance to go outside the store and live a life beyond the confines of other forgotten clothes.

The last time I wore this dress. I went to an early Thanksgiving. The last time I wore this dress I realized I might be on a sinking ship of a relationship. The last time I wore this black sheen dress- I saw red. The waves of the red flag movement and sound telling me pay attention. To this. What is happening. Right now. The lightness of this dress propelled me to the bar to see the guy I had been dating. Him playing pool. Surrounded by a fan base of ladies. Me in the dress coming in stuffed with turkey but with buoyant possibility. He had beckoned me. Of course. I am not of the stalker make. And there we play and drink and be. Together. Until. It was closing. And there came part of his cheering section coming over. The woman looks at me. Unable to pick up on the social cues of dating. Are you guys together? She fires at me. Yes. I respond. That was not clear enough for her. I guess I was speaking in tongues again. Stupid. Me. Again. This time she throws the ball in my face. Like are you dating? No we are brothers and sisters. Who make out. Bitch. I repeat the words again -Yes-in the slowest, most threatening, the most step off bitch kind of way that three letters could ensue. She got the picture and bounced away looking for her next victim. It pissed me off to have such audacity.

Away we went home. My dress swayed in the laughter of what just happened. But there was a change in the pace. Of him. What should I have said? We were brother and sisters. Wishing maybe that I would have thought of something funny. But somehow we are still laughing. Til home. And upstairs. And then the redness of warning flew. As I turned on the light. The fan began to circle around the room spreading a collection of dust down on his bed. An accident. Of course. Kate I can't believe you did that. I am going to be sneezing for weeks. Don't touch the light switch. Again. Let me do it. It wasn't his words but his tone. That frighten me. That and being reprimanded for turning on a light. As an adult. From a lover. The flag arose and waved and colored the room of potential a deeper red than I was ready.

I stand in my dress of dance and lightness and sink. It was an accident I said. You can't be mad at me for an accident. But it keeps going. Let me show you how to do it. More. And then help me help you. I am getting a tutorial on light switch protocol in a scathing tone that makes me freeze. I clam up. Something inside of me tells me this is the tip of the iceberg of him. And my fear of him. Grows. I shut down. I never do. I never have. Being scared of someone you date. Might not the best of all scenarios. Might not be the dreams I have ever dreamt for myself. My hope for him feels to be diminishing. As he goes through the spiel in a tone left for no one but for me.

I stand in my black dress of potential. The dress of second chances. I gave it another. To breathe outside the confines of the box of the store. And wonder what the fuck am I going to do. Tonight. And the next day. The last time I wore the black dress of second chances. The light breezy material became heavy. The last time I wore this black dress. I didn't know what to do. But take it off. Lay in bed. Next to him. And decide tomorrow what to do.