It Looks Like Something Mara Would Wear.

Jan 04, 2008 - 21:39 PM PST

I wrote this a couple years ago after a week of unsuccessful consignment shopping. I found plenty of items I liked, but none that I liked for me. What I found, time and time again, were garments that were perfect for my friend Mara.
This story is undeniably dedicated to the lovely Mara J.

xx becka p.


It Looks Like Something Mara Would Wear
Rebecca Pilling


The two women wandered trough thrift shop after thrift shop. They flipped through rack after rack, looking at garment after garment. The first was tall and dark, she had a pouty look on her face and her eyebrows were drawn together. Her friend was petite and blonde and kept glancing at the other woman.
“What are we looking for again?” she asked her.
“Something sexy that doesn’t say ‘I charge $100 an hour’, but not too reserved.”
“Are you meeting his mother?” the blonde asked sarcastically.
“No, Eloise, nothing like that. I just don’t want to look like a tool, you know?”
“Sure,” Eloise answered rolling her eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, darling, I do. What about this?”
The blonde snatched up a red tunic style pantsuit and brandished it at her friend.
“Are you joking?”
“Yes.” She dropped the suit back on the rack. “You really haven’t seen anything you like?”
“I know. I think I’m just going to have to raid my closet again. I just thought it would be fun to get something new.”
She poked through a few more garments and perused a couple of blouses.
“You know what’s weird?” she said to Eloise a little while later.
“My brother’s lazy eye?”
“No, dumbass.” The blonde stuck her tongue out at her laughing friend. “I see things I like, but none of them look like something I would wear.”
“What do they look like then?”
“They look like something Mara would wear.”
“What?” Eloise chuckled incredulously with raised eyebrows.
“They do. Look at this.”
She pulled a blouse off the rack. It was a pale yellow with a brown and orange pattern. It had long sleeves and a floppy bow at the collar. It was charming. It gave her the impression of a smart aleck librarian – one of her many ambitions. But every time she looked at that blouse she could only see Mara in it.
Somehow this blouse, the red skirt on the first rack, five different pairs of trousers and every dress she wanted to, but did not try on, looked more appropriate for Mara than for herself.
She shook the blouse at her friend.
“I love this blouse. Love this blouse. But it’s not for me. This blouse screams Mara!”
She could see Mara, clear as day, her slight figure encased in the pale yellow blouse paired with the brown trousers from two shops previous, her hair pinned up and dark plastic frames perched on her nose.
Eloise examined the blouse carefully. She considered and realized her friend was right: that blouse was perfect for Mara.
“Why am I only finding clothes for Mara?” she exclaimed.
“I don’t know, hun. Maybe we’ll still find something for tonight if we keep looking?”
“No,” she answered somewhat dejectedly. “I’ll just wear something I already have; I have clothes.”
“Yes. Yes, you do,” mocked her friend.

Later that night, the dark haired woman went on her date looking stunning in her little black dress and strappy heels. Her boyfriend was blown away by how beautiful his girlfriend was. They had an excellent time that night, they laughed, they talked, they kissed, and they ordered red wine and ate an exquisite French meal. They talked about art, the recent drug scandal of their mutually favorite sports team and they discussed, in detail, the film they watched together the night before. They had a spectacular evening, but still she found herself pondering the same question from that afternoon; why was she seeing Mara everywhere she went?
When she got home, she stood in her pajamas on her fire escape with a glass of wine. The city was hot that night, what breeze she could conjure reminded her of Mara even more. She thought back over her evening and was surprised that she could not remember what either of them ate. She could recall that the woman at the next table was wearing a large, gaudy string of pearls Mara would have adored and that the waitress had her hair up in a simple, yet elegant twist that would look charming in Mara’s hair.
Literally every garment she’d looked at that afternoon had reminded her of Mara. This fact did not really bother her, but it was odd. She had not talked to Mara in a while, which, not unacceptable, was not usual. She looked out over the steamy city and watched the lights blink on the tops of building and in the harbor. One light in particular caught her eye. It was the only purple light she could see from her apartment. That light was the light of her aunt’s house situated almost directly on the harbor.
She and Mara had grown up in this city. They’d spent large amounts of time at her aunt’s, more accurately, in her aunt’s attic. Most of the family heirlooms and possessions were housed in that attic. All her grandmother’s old clothes and her mother and aunt’s old things were up there. Her grandmother had loved clothing and never threw any away. Her great grandmother’s coat from when she arrived from the Old Country was folded carefully in a cedar chest along with her grandmother’s wedding dress and the dresses mother and aunt had worn to their proms, cotillions, first communions and other major events.
She and Mara started raiding the attic for clothes for school dances, weddings and general use. She’d found a crate of old flapper dresses of her grandmother’s that she used to wear generally. Then the girls discovered another crate of fancier flapper dresses they started using for grander events.
She stared fondly at that purple light that reminded her of how their obsession for vintage clothing began. In high school they’d started searching vintage and thrift shops all over the city. They’d spend hot days, like that day, in stuffy crowded vintage stores trying on old dresses, hats, gloves, blouses and trousers. Each of them had their own style that overlapped the other girl’s that led them to not only raid the attic, but also each other’s closets on occasion.
She pushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear, there was little breeze reaching the fire escape, although there were small ripples in the harbor. She loved this time of night. Just past midnight, most people were home and in bed, except for some whores on 2nd avenue and the city’s social youth that gravitated to the nightclubs to drink and dance the night away, the usual nighttime debauchery. But she did not love this time for any of those reasons. This was the time that she and Mara used to creep out and sit on the roof watching the boats in the harbor and staring at what stars pollution and lights from the city allowed them to see. They sat up there talking for hours, sometimes until the light of dawn was beginning to turn off the stars and turn the sky pink. Very few people could say they’d seen a sunrise in that city, but she and Mara had seen many.
She took another sip of her wine and laughed a little as she thought about how the alcohol was only aiding her nostalgia. She was not melancholy, however, and for that she was grateful. She was happy. It had, actually been an excellent day. There was really only one thing that would make it absolutely perfect.
She moved inside the apartment and picked up the telephone. Before she could dial a digit there was a quick knock on the door. Startled she went to answer it. A face she knew better than her own smiled shyly at her. The two women stood in silence in the doorway smiling awkwardly until they started laughing. Their laughter was joyous and sad at the same time. Tears of a similar nature welled up in their eyes.
She threw out her arms and embraced Mara tightly never wanting to let her go. The two women did part and she started to pull her into the apartment.
“Wait,” said Mara, pulling back. “I wanted to apologize. . .”
“No, you never have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do. I said some horrible things and I feel awful.”
“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve.”
“Ok, you did not feel this way when I told you Bobby Thompson was a wanker and you shouldn’t date him.”
“Um, yeah, cause that was the ninth grade and I didn’t know the difference between harassment and affectionate flirting.”
“Still, what I said was out of order . . .”
“Stop. I said some pretty horrid things back and for that, I am sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” said Mara with mock mercy. The other woman laughed at her absurdity.
“You’re forgiven, too. Now get in here. I have something for you.”
“Ironic. ‘Cause I have something for you, too.”
“Go out on the fire escape,” she called from the kitchen.
She joined Mara on the windowsill with a plastic bag and a glass of wine. She handed her both.
“Ooo, fancy wrapping paper,” Mara joked.
“Shush. Open it.”
“Open yours first.”
Mara handed her a box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a purple ribbon.
“At the same time?”
“Yes,” said Mara.
She ripped the paper off the box, opened it and pulled out the red skirt from the last thrift store. She looked at Mara holding the yellow blouse. They both had tears in their eyes and started laughing just as they had in the doorway.
“I saw it and immediately thought of you,” said Mara.
“Are you serious? I went there today, too, saw this skirt and thought of you!”
“Yah?”
“Yah! I got that blouse there!”
The two women laughed and laughed out there on the fire escape; they remained out there laughing and talking, drinking wine, and looking at what stars the city lights and pollution would allow them to see until the light of dawn turned them off and turned the sky pink.
They sat on the edge of the landing to watch the sun rise over the harbor.
“Hey,” said Mara after a significant amount of silence. They’d been soaking in the radiance of the sunrise wrapped tightly in afghans and blankets.
“Yah?” she replied.
“Happy birthday. If I haven’t said that yet.”
“Happy birthday to you, too.”
“I love you, Magda,” said Mara.
She put her arm around her and the women held each other.
“Love you too, sis.”