When is Returning a Gift its Own Gift? (Part II: The Spirit Dress)

(Continued from Part I)

About a year ago Marsha and I went together to a friend’s house concert. We were sitting cross-legged on floor pillows and drinking wine. “How’s the dress?” she asked at one of the set breaks. “It’s good,” I said. “I wore it a lot. It must be awfully tired by now.” We laughed. “Yah, it’s even older than we are,” she said. We agreed the poor dress might want to retire one of these days.

[Here is the soundtrack for your multimedia reading experience.]

I went home that night thinking about the dress, down in my winter closet zipped up in its plastic shell. If a dress could have a spirit, this one did. We didn’t know any of its stories, except that Marsha had found it in a second-hand shop some years before.

We had made up stories of where it might’ve ended up on its journey—in the wardrobe of a member of the WAC in World War II in London, for instance. We imagined she wore it out dancing in celebration on Armistice Day. In the ’60s, we thought it might’ve ended up in a flower child’s duffel bag traveling cross-country in a Volkswagen mini-van on the way to Woodstock (though not worn there). In the ’90s we saw it on a popular high school teacher who was always ahead of fashion trends, going vintage before it was cool, wearing it with stack heels and an up-do to chaperone the prom.

Not just dresses

A few months later I was making more simplifying decisions and decided to finally part with my show wardrobe, which held many memories for me. The dresses were more than just clothes; they represented some of the most wonderful times of my life—the pink beaded silk I wore when we opened for Oscar Lopez at the Broadway Theatre; the pale green beaded silk I wore at one of our most special nights, opening for the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at the Broadway Theatre. The black velvet full-length gown I wore for our last performance in a small rural Saskatchewan coffee-house. I sang Body and Soul with all my heart, and as purely as I ever would, that night. But of all of them, Marsha’s black dress was the one most directly connected to the heart of my music, to the bounce and jive and joy of swing music, which was the basis for all our original music. I thought there was no way I could do anything with that dress, because it had been such a special gift from my dear friend.

And then an idea came to me. I called Marsha and invited her over for coffee. “It’s been way too long…you haven’t even seen my new place!” She agreed and the next week was sitting in my new condo. We did our normal catching up. She had been ill but was better. She had lost weight. She didn’t say why or how; I didn’t ask. I figured she’d tell me if she wanted to.

“I have a present for you,” I said, producing a wrapped gift box. Puzzled, she opened it to find the black dress. “I’m giving it back,” I said. “I have enjoyed it so very much, but I feel like it belongs back with you. I always felt like it was only meant to be mine for a bit. And now it will fit you.”

Marsha grinned from ear to ear, and clasped it to her chest in her lovely dramatic fashion. “How wonderful! I have somewhere I can wear it next week.”

“That’s not all though,” I said. “I have a story to add to the spirit dress’ history before you take it back. And this one wasn’t in my imagination.”

I poured her another cup of coffee. We settled back into our seats and I proceeded to tell Marsha the story about the last time I wore the black dress…

(Continued in Part III)