What Do You Do With the Dress You Were Fired In?

by ALLISON STAULCUP

Does it sit in the back of your closet? Do you pass it off to a friend it would flatter? See if you’re still in the window for a return or an exchange? Burn it to the ground and watch the ashes blow away with the next gust of wind?  

Or maybe you still wear it. On a date with a boy you’ve swiped right for. A boy that you have to lean in to catch every word, because he is quiet, because he is shy. A date where you found out before you walked through the door of the bar that your ex is across town in a hotel room and you would love to get some closure. Or maybe just pour some salt into the wound. Ex is a generous word. A boy who broke your heart with silence. A boy who shattered your daydreams and expectations.  Maybe you wear this dress as you talk to him on the phone on the bus on the way to your date. You say, I’m so mad at you. And then later you go to the bathroom just to text, Can I come see you?   

You give the date two drinks, because you feel bad. You want to leave after one. You want to leave before you enter the bar.  But you play out the date, because you believe in karma. Because you have Catholic guilt. This is so unlike you, but this is the year where everything is so unlike you and you keep on riding it like a wave, unsure if you’re about to drown or be spit out on the beach gasping for air. No one notices. Or at least no one says anything. You tell your date you’re tired. He walks you home, but you have no intention of sleeping in your bed tonight.  When he is out of sight you call an Uber. When he is out of earshot you call the ex and tell him you’re on your way. 

Now this is the dress you were fired in and the dress you rode in an Uber Pool on the way to meet a lover across town. An Uber Pool that picked up every car-less person in the city making it the longest ride of your life. Eventually you get to him. And it gives you closure and it opens a wound. He doesn’t notice the dress. But your date didn’t either. 

There is nothing interesting about this dress except in your mind– where it is a good luck charm and omen all in one. You know these memories now. But to anyone else it is just a forgettable dress. You saw another girl wearing it on the train the other day, which made it feel more generic. How can a dress hold so many stories and also be uniform for others?

It hangs in your closet until laundry day grows closer and closer and then you wear it. No one says, Oh, it’s the dress you got fired in! or How’d it go with that guy? No one knows. You debate giving it to Goodwill. You wonder if this is reclaiming it. You tell yourself to get rid of the memories, but then catch a glimpse in the mirror and think, This isn’t so bad. 

Then you remember the walk to the boardroom and sitting at the head of the table as the termination date of your benefits was explained.  You remember the elevator ride down with your manager, excuse me, former manager, and the way she said, Let me know if you need anything. The call to your mom sobbing in the city streets as you waited for the next train home. What book did you read on the train?  Should you burn that, too?