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Authors: Alyson Richman
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her fingers drifting to touch each dress. Some of them contained memories that were secret to her and Pietro. A stolen kiss beneath St. Mark’s Church, or the dress she wore the night he proposed. She could tell a hundred stories just by gazing into her wardrobe; her mind traveling back to the first time her skin slipped against the fabric. Beneath the fluttering hems was her red suitcase, the one she packed with so many of the same dresses when she left her home in Venice to go to Verona all those years ago.
This moment now with Elodie was a rite of passage, which she savored. It brought her back to her own youth, when she had stood at a threshold that soon brought her into a world of marriage and children.
She had thought that Elodie would enter this world a few years later than her peers. That her cello would distract her from more simple matters of the heart.
She watched as her daughter caressed the fabrics with her hand. The lemon chiffon, the red one with the grosgrain sash, and the one with spring flowers, which was Orsina’s favorite.
“May I wear the yellow one?” Elodie asked. The first threads of maturity were woven into her request. A desire to push the boundaries and be a little less cautious, a bit more bold.
“Yes, of course,” Orsina said, as she slid the dress off the hanger and handed it to Elodie. She smiled at the choice, knowing full well how a beautiful dress had the power to transform the wearer.
That afternoon at school, nearly every male student seemed to turn his head as Elodie walked through the halls. Boys who had never noticed her now craned their necks to get more than just a passing view.
“What’s gotten into you today?” Lena asked her. “You look beautiful, but this isn’t your typical outfit, that’s for certain.”
Elodie stopped in front of one of the tall windows in the hall. The sun behind her illuminated not just the beauty and angles of her face, but her entire being. She looked celestial.
“I just felt like a change today. I was tired of always wearing navy and white.”
Lena nodded. She herself was wearing a very unremarkable gray shirtdress.
“You know, you can’t attend a meeting wearing a yellow chiffon dress. The whole point is to not attract any notice.”
Elodie’s entire face fell. “Of course,” and her voice began to shake as she tried to hide her own sense of failure.
“Well, yellow does become you,” Lena said as she patted her friend’s shoulder. “So next week, just stick to navy or gray.”
That afternoon Elodie did not accompany Lena to Luca’s bookstore. She knew her friend was right. Already, as she paced through the square, she felt eyes upon her as she never had before.
In the glass of the storefronts, Elodie saw her reflection. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders. The dress’s long bow, loosely tied at the neckline, the path of white buttons from the top to the hem. There was a lightness to the material that she loved but that also made her feel vulnerable, and she wondered which was more dangerous—the transparency of a fabric or of a soul? Elodie was certain Lena knew why she had chosen to dress that way. After all, as a fellow musician, Lena would have sensed the escalating tension between her and Luca.
She knew Lena was right, that she couldn’t appear in the bookshop dressed like she was about to go to a tea party. She would stand out, draw attention to herself, and not in the way she hoped, but rather as someone who simply didn’t belong. But still, Elodie couldn’t quite convince herself to walk straight home. Instead, she found herself walking in the direction of Luca’s store.
Her arm ached from carrying her instrument. For the first time, she considered her cello more of a burden than a beloved companion, and wondered if she was making a huge mistake.
Several times she stopped to catch her breath. Her dress became damp from perspiration. With both hands, she lifted the heavy curtain of hair from her
This moment now with Elodie was a rite of passage, which she savored. It brought her back to her own youth, when she had stood at a threshold that soon brought her into a world of marriage and children.
She had thought that Elodie would enter this world a few years later than her peers. That her cello would distract her from more simple matters of the heart.
She watched as her daughter caressed the fabrics with her hand. The lemon chiffon, the red one with the grosgrain sash, and the one with spring flowers, which was Orsina’s favorite.
“May I wear the yellow one?” Elodie asked. The first threads of maturity were woven into her request. A desire to push the boundaries and be a little less cautious, a bit more bold.
“Yes, of course,” Orsina said, as she slid the dress off the hanger and handed it to Elodie. She smiled at the choice, knowing full well how a beautiful dress had the power to transform the wearer.
That afternoon at school, nearly every male student seemed to turn his head as Elodie walked through the halls. Boys who had never noticed her now craned their necks to get more than just a passing view.
“What’s gotten into you today?” Lena asked her. “You look beautiful, but this isn’t your typical outfit, that’s for certain.”
Elodie stopped in front of one of the tall windows in the hall. The sun behind her illuminated not just the beauty and angles of her face, but her entire being. She looked celestial.
“I just felt like a change today. I was tired of always wearing navy and white.”
Lena nodded. She herself was wearing a very unremarkable gray shirtdress.
“You know, you can’t attend a meeting wearing a yellow chiffon dress. The whole point is to not attract any notice.”
Elodie’s entire face fell. “Of course,” and her voice began to shake as she tried to hide her own sense of failure.
“Well, yellow does become you,” Lena said as she patted her friend’s shoulder. “So next week, just stick to navy or gray.”
That afternoon Elodie did not accompany Lena to Luca’s bookstore. She knew her friend was right. Already, as she paced through the square, she felt eyes upon her as she never had before.
In the glass of the storefronts, Elodie saw her reflection. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders. The dress’s long bow, loosely tied at the neckline, the path of white buttons from the top to the hem. There was a lightness to the material that she loved but that also made her feel vulnerable, and she wondered which was more dangerous—the transparency of a fabric or of a soul? Elodie was certain Lena knew why she had chosen to dress that way. After all, as a fellow musician, Lena would have sensed the escalating tension between her and Luca.
She knew Lena was right, that she couldn’t appear in the bookshop dressed like she was about to go to a tea party. She would stand out, draw attention to herself, and not in the way she hoped, but rather as someone who simply didn’t belong. But still, Elodie couldn’t quite convince herself to walk straight home. Instead, she found herself walking in the direction of Luca’s store.
Her arm ached from carrying her instrument. For the first time, she considered her cello more of a burden than a beloved companion, and wondered if she was making a huge mistake.
Several times she stopped to catch her breath. Her dress became damp from perspiration. With both hands, she lifted the heavy curtain of hair from her
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