The label is Italian. I haven't worn it once, ever. It's called a tent dress because once you slip it over your head, the shape is an upside-down V. It's supposed to be "forgiving:" no waistline, loose around the hips, stopping just at the knees. Some …  | Luisa A. Igloria May 11 | The label is Italian. I haven't worn it once, ever.
It's called a tent dress because once you slip it
over your head, the shape is an upside-down V.
It's supposed to be "forgiving:" no waistline,
loose around the hips, stopping just at the knees.
Some kind of costly pink fabric, just hanging
in the back of my closet. A friend I no longer
speak to (she stopped speaking to me first)
sent it as a Christmas present some years ago.
She bought it during one of her many trips
all over Europe. It came in a box filled with other
expensive items for the family: designer purses,
luxurious leather; Russian bonbons, trinkets
from other far reaches of the earth. From the time
we sported the same inverted bowl haircuts, we lived
and grew up in the same small teacup of a city, went
to the same grade school where the bathrooms had
no running water or toilet paper. Now, as they say,
she's made it. But what is it with generosity and
indebtedness, about how it can also turn the one
receiving a gift into a kind of vassal? Actions
never quite measure up to the benefactor's
yardstick. You wonder if you've really been so
ungrateful, or if after all this time, you were simply
judged as not good enough at anything you did. | | | |
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