The Bra

The Bra:

rachelmckibbens:

Do you know how difficult it was to find a pretty one my size? Do you know the worry I had of it getting ruined, that I only wore it on special occasions? Do you understand how a good one is supposed to fit so you don’t even feel it? Can you imagine the time it takes to sew together silk and lace and wire and hooks? Do you know how hard it was to let the woman with the measuring tape come near me? Do you know I couldn’t look her in the eye as she wrapped it over my ribcage, that I held my breath the entire time? Do you know buying something of quality for myself took twenty-four years and a third of a paycheck to do? Do you know I sat ashamed in my car, staring at the receipt, for the rest of my lunch break? Do you know I only wore it two times before that night? That I sprayed it with perfume like I saw a French woman do once in a movie? Do you know I was dizzy halfway through the first drink? Orange juice. I said “no” to a beer and you brought me orange juice. Do you know the walls seemed to stretch, then fade, that I felt my jaw turn to stone then drop to my chest? Do you know I couldn’t hear myself speak, but heard the conversation of your neighbors, two doors down, perfectly? Do you know how grateful I am, still, that I never heard the pop of each silky thread, the roar of each hook tearing from its eye? Do you know how cold I was waking up in the middle of your hardwood floor? Do you know the first thing I thought of was The Bra. Do you know I was so terrified I didn’t even try to find it? Do you know the saleswoman winked at me in the mirror, then wrapped it in thin peach tissue paper? Do you know I packed a lunch for seven months and ate it in the bathroom? Do you know it’s been twelve years, and I still never answer my phone? Do you know I laughed, not too long ago, remembering the Garfield poster at the abortion clinic? Do you know how, most days, it’s the little things that kill you? 
 
- Rachel McKibbens, 7/9/14