The ratty blue housedress. I’d worn it so much I could almost see through the material, as Shahnaz had snickered and pointed out one day. I’d been embarrassed but it was hard retiring it. The navy blue reminded me of a pair of blue jeans I’d happily worn for a few months. Denim. In denim, I had been free to run down the block, to walk with my best friend’s arm around my shoulder, to kick a soccer ball between the goalkeeper’s legs. That ratty blue housedress was my freedom flag, but no one else knew it.
