Threads

     I picked up my clothes from the store as I went over the lace detailing with my fingertips. Each detail immaculately put together and threaded like a weave. Intertwining as if they’d never break. One of the immaculate threads belonged to a Chanel dusty pink knit dress. It was long sleeve perfect for those winter months as the snow fell at least 6 inches in New York City that day. The thread not only reminded me of the intertwined relationship I was so desperately in love with but the heartbreak that came with it. That thread of pink became the color of what once was. A promise of forever, never lasting. The stunning beauty of lovers intermingled & a pink sunset lay on the New York City Sky. I put on my makeup for the day as I applied a clear gloss. A tear ran down my cheek as a memory of my boyfriend played in my head. He was surrounded by white walls laid out on a white bedspread. His skin like jaundice, his lips like snow. I wiped my eyes as I got on my favorite dusty pink Chanel dress, getting out my favorite fashion book about different threads and how to design clothes out of different fabrics. I touched the slightly torn page as I started reading.
      

                                                                                                ~ Flashback

     I remember the day my boyfriend got me this dress and book. I had spent hours in my room learning about different threads and pattern making. I impulsively decided to make a dress out of Nylon as I hung the black sheen of fabric on my white mannequin. Nylon I knew would be more durable, resistant to abrasion & less prone to shrinkage. Little did I know he was at the store buying that dusty pink dress, knowing me as a hopeful designer tended to always work for days on end. He always dressed in Ralph Lauren, 100% wool. The suit was always navy blue or black with a silk tie. It was good the suit was a wrinkle resistant type because of the wool. My boyfriend didn’t iron and would never learn how, insisting that was the women’s job. The fiber in wool resists soiling and helps with insulation as each thread helps keep you warm, little did I know the insulation was good for him as his figure withered away. My boyfriend walked the sidewalks of New York City making his way to my apartment. I hadn’t known my boyfriend had been depressed, he was in a bad mental state as he became skinnier although I didn’t realize till months later. He hid things well and his depression was one of them. But what I didn’t know is he bought smaller sizes as his body wore down to bone and his cheeks protrude out. The world was in turmoil and that wasn’t an exaggeration. Everyone wore a mask everywhere we went and in the city of New York a sudden lockdown took place for months on end. The days became darker and my boyfriend was no longer him, but a skeleton of his former self, literally. He held a Burberry scarf in his hands, the one his mother got me so long ago. He brushed my brown hair from my face and kissed my cheek. I was laying in bed as the steam from my tea rose filling the room with a light honey smell. He gave me the scarf as he wrapped it around my neck. Burberry’s classic cashmere scarves are made in Scotland in the towns of Elgin and Ayr. The fabric reminded me of the time we met in Scotland many years ago, when I was on a study abroad trip after college. He smiled and for the first time in a while I had noticed something different. His smile changed into tears as he took off his shirt and showed me how his depression had been eating away at him. I was horrified, tears were in my eyes as I called 911. An ambulance came on the street to my apartment on RiverSide drive. I hopped in the ambulance remembering how my boyfriend's mom had died years earlier. She had always dressed impeccably with a minimal style, her closet featuring an array of quality clothing made from designers such as Carolina Herrera, Chanel & Armani. She always dressed monochromatic in black and white most of the time, but in good taste. She would always tell me how Carolina Herrera had expensive tastes such as quality french and italian fabrics, my taste reminded her of the famous designer. My boyfriend never understood my love for fashion or his mom's love for it, but nodded his head as if trying to understand. His mom always wore the most beautiful pearl necklaces and earrings by Mikimoto and said she never took it off. I remember his mom with the same jaundice-like skin, her last words were,

“It's not so much about being strong but to feel strong.”

I hugged her body tightly as her last breath drew from her lips. She held a pink rose to her chest, the one I gave her. As I looked at my boyfriend on the stretcher as we made our way to the hospital room, the smell of fresh roses filled my nose. Instantly the smell reminded me of his mother as it engulfed the room. I held my boyfriend's hand as the doctor told us,

” he was dying.”

I looked at him with tears in my eyes as I looked over at the clear table beside the wall, a vase of pink roses filled it. I picked one up as I brought it to my boyfriend's hands. We held it together in our hands and thought of how the color pink had always been his mothers favorite. We fell in love with each other and we were joined together like a thread of what always had been. We were inseparable and by the time my boyfriend wasted away in a bed that smelled of dust and two white walls that seemed to cave in, the rose had fallen limp. I put on the pearl necklace as I looked at the dusty pink Chanel dress in the mirror.

I  had told myself I’d pick myself up again like any woman would do and be the woman his mom was.

They had died the same way, as depression and the Covid pandemic took the breath out of their lungs, a tear fell from my eye. I took the limp rose from my boyfriend's hand, the color fading to white like snow reminding me of my boyfriend's lips. I kissed them as I whispered in his ear to say goodbye and as I left the hospital, I took a look in the mirror and the pearl necklace around my neck. As tragic as it was I left with the strength his mom had.

                                                                                              ~ Present

Years passed as I decided to name my fashion store my boyfriend's name, Christopher. I decided to always incorporate the color pink in my clothing as a memory of Chris and his mom. I wore a black dress to my first fashion show with small dusty pink polka dots on the tulle sleeves and a pearl necklace by Mikimoto. The last of the models walked out to model my line. I clapped my hands in unison with the models as I walked down; bowed on the runway. I spoke to remind people who Chris & his mother were and said to the crowd with tears in my eyes,

It's not so much about being strong but to feel strong.”