It was destined to be one of those bad shopping days. Nothing fit, the colors were wrong, everything was too young, too old, too not-right. The racks in all the usual good luck places were out of magic. No marked-down sale items on hangers calling my name as I walked by. I remained unmoved by their fall from retail grace. Maybe I just wasn’t under the usual spell of enchantment, oblivious to the charms of the pianist gliding her fingers over the keyboard as she played show tunes and standards designed to make shoppers reach eagerly for their credit cards, trancelike, at the counters throughout the cavernous store.
Half-heartedly running my hands along fabrics in spring colors, occasionally taking a hanger off a rack and putting it back—this was worse than I anticipated. What was I doing there anyway? Was shopping the best thing I could think of to do right then? What did that say about me?
And then something caught my eye. It was a red jacket, a blazer. The color was more of a sedate scarlet than a perky cherry red; it had a quiet dignity that didn’t scream “red” so much as say it: I’m red. Don’t make a fuss.
I heard a voice then. A saleswoman. “May I help you find anything?”
“No, ” I said. “But thanks.”
She introduced herself as Esther. I nodded, thanks again, and reached for the jacket.
As if on a blind date with someone I had doubts about already, I walked back to the dressing room with it, certain to be let down. I tried the jacket on, avoiding my reflection. I knew the harsh lighting would reveal the dark circles under my eyes, my washed-out skin and dull hair. Finally, I looked in the three-way mirror. I liked it, but the sleeves were several inches too long. The sign on the way into the dressing rooms designated a day too far in the future for alterations on purchases made that day. It was not to be, this red jacket.
Esther knocked, then peeked into my dressing room and cocked her head.
“We can have those sleeves taken up and have it ready for you by, oh, let’s say next Tuesday.”
“No,” I told her, shaking my head slowly. “I need it for tomorrow.” I took one more glance in the mirror, and then began to take the jacket off.
She looked at me for a moment. “Can you find something to do for about an hour?” she asked. “We can have it ready for you then. I’ll be at lunch, but someone else will keep an eye out for you.” I nodded, mumbled my thanks, and waited for the seamstress to come in.
A short woman with a pincushion on her wrist entered the dressing room moments later, quickly pinned up my sleeves, then gestured for me to go as I shrugged out of the jacket.
I went out into the April sunshine and found a pretty card in a nearby stationery shop. I sat down and wrote a note to Esther, telling her that my father had always liked me in red and that I would wear the jacket at his funeral service the next day and how much it meant to me that she was helping me, and as I wrote I could not keep the tears from falling. Shoppers passed me by, enjoying the afternoon, pretending not to notice the sobbing writer on the bench pouring her heart out to someone she would never see again.
I took out my cell phone and called my sister, letting her know that I had found a nice red jacket and that by some miracle of understanding, through the kindness of a stranger, it would be ready in time for the service.
When the hour was up, I left my note for Esther, claimed the red jacket in its zippered bag, and drove home in tears.
I will always be grateful to the kind woman who saw something urgent and desperate in a grieving daughter’s face. All these years later, every time I see that flash of red in my closet, I think of her—and how much my father would have loved hearing the story about Esther and the red jacket.
Beautifully written memory. Poignant and bitter sweet. Blessings on your loss.
Thanks so much. Still miss my dad…
I found this post via Already Pretty, and it struck a chord with me. When my grandfather – who helped raise me – passed away last year, I had a similar experience in trying to find shoes. Nothing fit right. All of the black shoes were terrible. Why was I even there? (Oh, right, I’d forgotten to bring shoes that I even could wear because I was so torn up. That’s why.) I was not lucky enough to have an Esther. Instead, my mom and cousins and I went hunting for a decent shoe, and it took me back to childhood Saturdays shopping with all of the women in my family. We’d go back home to show Pawpaw what we bought. So I bought some lovely coral wedges – perfect for the season, at least – knowing that he liked me in bright colors. I’ve worn them a few times since, and it helps me feel a little connection to him every time. We all mourn & remember in our different ways.
Thanks so much for sharing this memory. Love the idea of coral wedges and the connection to your grandfather.
My dad loved red, and all my sisters and I wore scarlet for his funeral, too. Your post took me back.
Thanks so much for your comment.
Thank you for this post about kindness and grief. It resonated with me, sent me back to a similar experience.
And thank you for your comment.
I saw this through Already Pretty. A dear friend of mine is likely wandering through a store looking for something to wear to her mother’s service tomorrow.
My heart aches for you both.
Oh, I feel for your friend. Thanks for your comment.
Amen. I’m so glad you found kindness. I have a blue silk jacket that looks like stained glass–I can’t bear to wear it or give it away because I wore it to the funeral home to sign the paper’s for my late husband’s cremation. I bought it after we went to Berlin because its color reminded me of the windows in the Kaiserkirche. After the bombing of Berlin in WWII, they made the new church’s windows out of the shards of the old windows. It’s like being inside a jewel.
Wow–that sounds so beautiful. Thanks for sharing the memory.
Risa, I stopped in today because I got such a kick out of your comment at Grown and Flown about the washing machine and the kitchen counter being the gauge for when your kids could do laundry and make their lunches. Loved that.
But this post is so poignant and reminded me of a sales clerk who convinced me to buy a pink dress coat that I was hesitant to buy when I was going through a divorce, a very caustic divorce after 26 years of marriage. It seemed so frivolous. It seemed so young. I still have that coat and I still think gratefully about that woman who assured me I was worth it.
My sympathies on the loss of your father.
Thanks, Barb. I loved hearing about your pink coat. Weren’t we lucky to have the help we needed when we needed it most?
Like Barb I was thoroughly entertained by your comment at Grown and Flown so stopped by. What a beautiful memory. Thank you for sharing it with us. Just a reminder of why we should be kind to everyone because who knows what they are struggling with. Im so happy Esther was able to be a ray of sunshine during such a trying time for you. And I am so happy you told her the impact she had on you! That was sure to encourage her to continue reaching out when she got that gut feeling.
I will always wonder how she knew–that isn’t something they train for, I’m sure! But I hope you’re right. She had wonderful instincts and a kind heart. Thanks for stopping by!