The Roads That Takes Us

This morning, Sunday, I was preparing my vintage choice for shops. By preparing I hear: washing, ironing, choosing, fitting, styling, imagining, with what, how etc. Etc, I think about it the night yes, too.

I was returning a beautiful French slip dress of the 70s (yes, soon online), while ensuring that the windows open, the terrace and the fan are on "ON" because JL was making mackerel - fries potatoes at the Kitchen and I do not like the smell of mackerel on vintage clothes.

A souvenir visited me.

I walk in New -York, many years ago, when I was flying everywhere under the flags of the "shrimp" (the affectionate name given to the hippocampus on Air France aircraft). I'm at large in New York City, alone. Because I loved walking alone on Manhattan, be dissolved in it. Because it is made for - Manhattan. I see a big showcase and teaches it, "Old Jack", I'm sure about "Jack".

I enter. It's a vintage clothes shop, with this scent ... mixture of leather, old wool ... but not stuffy. Just what it takes to take a shot.

I'm starting to walk there, it's big enough, but not a supermarket, just a big shop with high ceilings and the decoration so much, so much in what knows doing the best America with its "Wild West".

I look at everything, I touch everything. I feel like I drank 3 rosé glasses on the line and smoked half of my "Vogues" blue, yes I smoked at the time.

I wear jeans and a loose t-shirt. I want to try a dress, 50's, very curved, sleeveless, underlined size, pencil skirt below the knees, green gingham. I take it and I go to space fitting. One of the sellers, a young man, mouse me, but surprised a little: the dress is very finely cut and my attire leaves not a lot of place to imagine me in this dress.

But I know she's going to suits me. I always have an eye for sizes - mine and those of others. I put the dress and I have to get out of the cabin, because there is only one large mirror (beautiful, huge, framed in wood) for all the fittings.

I look in the mirror, I smile and I also want to cry. Yes, I cry very easily, whatever the emotion. The dress was carved for me. The seller passes take a look, I see in the mirror these eyes become round, then he calls the other sellers: "come-see, come-see ...". I still smile, I still want to cry and above all I want to stay in this universe. For all time. While the "always", like the "never" exist only in tales for adults and in films for child.

I leave the store without the dress. My reason forbids me to get out the my credit cart, to please me. It would have been different today.

Today on the floor of the house where I live, there is a whole room full of bearers. On the bearers of dresses and coats, which make a stopover at home, between two lives, or more. And it have, -guess what - this perfume of the mixture of textile, leather, wool and lavender - I put it everywhere, and especially it must be aerated.

I'm ironing a striped satin blouse after the slip dress this morning. How is it that I did not know at "Old Jack" that vintage garment is my universe, The one in which I live now. It corresponds to me, rejoices me, feeds me, where I am ready to question me, to improve myself, to start again and again, without even thinking that "I work". I just do what I love.

How is it that we know ourselves so badly? Not everyone, all paths are different. How is it happened for years of life to start arriving at myself? It's like that. And, Thank you, because I could have failed. I could have stayed in what I knew and die on "a small fire". Yes, because many water flowed and a lot of things happened between the "Old Jack" and the ironing of this morning.

And it was only this morning that I understood that I wanted to cry at "Jack" because my life, my essence, my soul, call the as you want, knew. She (not it) knew I was "at home" in my universe. While my brain was calculating if "with my bonus of end of years of Air France I will pay the property tax or, rather, a new washing machine? Or the tax ..? Or the two? No both it's too much".

I wanted to tell you this story today. I like telling stories.

See you.

M.

P.S. "The Road we take" ( yes the title changed a bit) , a short story by O'Henry; Thank you:))

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