The Wedding Dress by David Molina

 

THE WEDDING DRESS

David Molina

The Child

Magdalena began to feel faint flutters inside her and knew there were only a few weeks before her child would show. Jose insisted that they elope, leaving their families behind. His cousin Paco told him there were jobs available in Las Vegas, and the two of them could stay in his small apartment, at least until the baby was born.

Magdalena knew her mother did not approve of Jose. Her father, even more so. It was almost a family tradition. Her father ran off with her mother when they were in their teens, angering her abuelo and disappointing her abuela. Still, somehow they made a family out of it. Magdalena’s father was still a month from returning home from the orchards. As much as she would feel the loss of her parents, she was determined that somehow they would accept Jose once the baby was with them.

The Wedding Dress

The bedroom was already filled almost to the ceiling with boxes, bags, and suitcases, when the old water heater gave up and soaked the closet carpet. She now had to remove every last item from a closet that had accumulated four decades of shoes, clothes, and more boxes. Piece by piece, as an archeologist uncovering strata of a lost civilization, she unburied lost treasures, forgotten memories, and not a small amount of useless, random items that once in a past life she had hopelessly hoped would miraculously serve some purpose. 

Skeins of yarn. A brand new purse, never used. An exercise step that never managed to make it out of its box.  A basket filled with an assortment of buttons. Boxes of infant clothes, hand-made, and still in good condition, but hardly likely to be of use for future generations, because there were none.

In a remote corner, buried under decades of dresses that came in and then out of style - and a few that came back again - she found the wedding dress. It was snugly zipped up in a vinyl dress bag. She unzipped it slowly, reverently, almost as though touching the dress could have caused it to disintegrate.  She inhaled the scent of the cedar block that embalmed and preserved the dress for more than half a century.

As if meeting a lifelong friend unexpectedly, she hugged it to herself, then held it back at arm's length to get a better look. Her eyes glistened. She found it more beautiful than she remembered.

Her thoughts wandered into the house where she was born, the adobe built by her father brick by brick. She saw a tiny girl in a nightgown, excitedly scampering toward the entrance. To her joy and wonder, she found a few shiny pesos in the shoes that she had left for the Reyes Santos to fill. 

Her mother taught her to save them, not to spend them. She added to her savings - pesos from doing little chores, pesos from aunts and uncles, and later sewing and selling embroidered handkerchiefs. Her mother helped her open a bank account, and from the time she was a tiny girl until she became a young bride she accumulated enough in her savings to pay for her wedding. And for the fabric to sew her white satin bridal gown and veil.

She spent months tailoring the dress to a perfect fit, all the while imagining how her novio would feel when he stood at the altar and saw her for the first time in the dress. The final piece was the veil, and she spent the entire night into the morning of her wedding to get it perfect too. She continued sewing, almost to the hour of the ceremony.

She was 22 years old and in love. The quality of her aim and action made impossible things possible. Twenty-four hours without sleep, she proceeded up the aisle on her father’s arm, beaming and smiling, her new wedding dress sweeping elegantly with her every step.

She stood in the closet, still hugging the dress, remembering all of her memories from half a century ago.

How long had it been? How long would it be? 

She knew in her heart, given the circumstances, it was time. It would have solved her dilemma to be able to pass the wedding dress on to a family member, but sadly that was not to be. The house that had been a home for forty-five years was to be sold. She knew in her heart it had to be left behind, a heart that had weathered so many storms already. 

She gave it her blessing.

The Mother

Sara knew her elder daughter Magdalena was spending time with a young man. Mothers always know these things. She cornered Magda’s little sister, Flor, whose accidental slip of a 12-year-old’s tongue confirmed her suspicions. Flor would not tell her mother any of the details. If her mother knew that Flor also had a boyfriend, Flor believed she would be sent to reform school or the convent. 

A month before, Sara knew Magda was pregnant, and doing everything possible to hide it. When her husband would return…she did not want to imagine that. She and her husband had gone through so much suffering in their youth. Somehow, she knew there had to be a better way. 

As the month passed, Sara thought about how to best handle this. She wondered how the news would affect everyone, both her daughters, both her husband and Magda’s, and her parents as well. All these lives would change, and the more she thought about the storm brewing, the more anxious and confused she was. But she knew it was time.

“Magda! Come with me. Let’s go shopping. I need to get out of the house.” Magdalena immediately felt this would be more than just shopping.

“Flor has homework to do. It’ll be just the two of us.”

Resignedly, Magdalena assented. The bus was crowded so there was little conversation. Once they stepped off near the shopping center, Sara began.

“I’d like to look at the new thrift store on the corner. My cousin Tencha says they have some really good items at good prices.”

Magdalena said nothing. It seemed that most of their shopping outings were to thrifts, swap meets, and garage sales.

Sara began. “You know mija, your father and I had to struggle when we were married. It was a long road together. It could not have happened without love.” She noticed Magda looking downward, perusing a shelf of stuffed animals, barely pretending to be interested.

Sara was trying her best, but it was not working. Suddenly —

“Ay Dios!” she gasped.

Magdalena was startled and looked up at her mother, whose eyes now were as big as if she had seen a ghost. Sara’s gaze flew right past her daughter’s off to some far point behind her.

Half afraid and half curious, she turned to look at what caused her mother’s astonishment.

There was the dress. White satin with a veil. 

The manager explained that it had just been donated that morning, just set out on the front of the row of dresses. She guided Magdalena and her mother to the changing room, and when Magda stepped out and saw herself in the mirror, they all saw that it was perfect. The manager, a grandmother herself, saw that there was no price tag to be seen yet, and insisted that this was a sign. She did not dare to set a price for a match clearly made in heaven.