It was my dress. Light blue with tiny flowers and puffy sleeves. Just my size.
At least it was until Ellen showed up. She could walk and run as fast as me and she had one bum arm. She said her grandpa was driving on the highway with Ellen standing on the front seat. Grandpa started arguing with her gramma and somehow, Ellen fell out of the car or was shoved—she wasn’t really sure. Now her arm was messed up and surgery was going to fix it. But until then, we all got to change our clothes twice a week.
Wednesdays and Saturdays, the nurses let us pick out clean clothes from a big rolling rack. The shirts and skirts were starched stiffer than boards and the outfits reminded me of old kitchen curtains. A lot of it had mended places and a nurse told me the lady auxiliary made everything. Hanging off the rack sides, bins full of undies and socks and g-strings.
G-strings were like bikinis for body casts. All the clothes were hideous, but we couldn’t wear our own clothes, in case someone got their feelings hurt. My new red dress and winter coat lay in a box somewhere, labeled with my name. That’s why I needed the one outfit that didn’t make you look like a gypsy peasant.
I felt a little sorry for Ellen, even though she talked like a hick, and had a jillion freckles. Her bangs were so long she looked through them. But I was worried too—Ellen was about the same size as I was and there was only one blue dress.
That Saturday, I was going to let Ellen wear the dress—my dress. But something terrible happened inside me. As Ellen and I pawed through the piles of mended socks and ugly underpants, I looked straight through her bangs and held up a flowered skirt. “This will make your eyes sparkle,” I said.
Ellen blinked twice. “Really? Y’all think so?”
I lied through my teeth. “Really. See how this white blouse brings out the yellow flowers in the skirt?” My fake smile made it hard to talk.
Ellen took the skirt, then dropped it. “Oh,” she said, reaching between hangers on the rack, “look at this!” She pulled out my blue dress. “I love it, don’t you?”
All my good intentions swirled down the drain of envy and my throat went dry. “Sure,” I croaked. I picked up the flowered skirt as if it was my favorite and locked myself in the ward’s single bathroom stall.
I sat on the toilet tank while my heart bled out. So much for intentions. God definitely did not like liars. Maybe Joseph and his many-colored coat felt just as bad when his mean brothers took it away. I pulled on the skirt an inch at a time, wishing somebody would throw me into a pit. I was ready to eat worms.
Mom and Dad sent me here to get rid of me. God doesn’t like me, either. Mrs. Smith hates me and so does the whole fourth-grade class. I don’t deserve the blue dress, or real letters from my friends, or friends at all. With each dose of self-pity, a tear leaked out until I couldn’t hold back.
I cried. I hugged my miserable self for being different. I rocked back and forth for letting myself down, for the lies, for my selfishness. Worst of all, I was alone. Even God was too busy.
A soft knock came at the stall door. “Linda?” Kid-sized oxford shoes poked beneath the door. I took a huge breath and swiped snot and tears from my face.
“What do you want?
“I was thinkin’ Ellen said. “I really love that blue dress.” She paused. “I guess it fits y’all pretty good too?”
“Maybe.” I sniffled a little.
Ellen let out a sigh. “Alls I wanna say is we could trade off. This time I can wear it but next week we trade off. What do y’all think of that?”
“Naw—it’s fine. Just leave me alone, OK?” Maybe I’d let my heart just shrivel up and blow away.
Ellen’s shoes stayed put. After a few seconds she said, “If y’all don’t want to trade off then I’ll go find me a flowered skirt.” She and her saddle oxfords slowly walked away.
I could hear my breathing in my ears, ticking away. Wasn’t I the one who could make the others laugh? The girl who was so lucky, she could fetch a barf pan or run the bedpan autoclave for the other poor girls in their head-to-toe casts? And here this new kid, Ellen the Hick, was willing to give—despite my lies, despite my selfish ways.
I flushed the toilet and at that very moment the ward lights flickered, sending holy signals up and down my spine. My mouth hung open and I stood in awe, silently thankful. I hadn’t lost the best dress.
I’d made a true friend.
When you’ve made a mess out of everything, you don’t expect God to come riding in with the cavalry. But if you pay attention, you might notice the tiny shift that destroys or creates whole worlds out of a sliver of hope. Put a smile on someone’s face, and it lights up the whole path.
By the time I came back to the ward, the blue dress lay across my bed. Ellen was twirling around in another ugly flowery skirt. “How do I look?” Her smile ran ear to ear.
“Really brings out your eyes.”
Me in the legendary blue dress, 1961.
Beatrice and Ellen on the ward sunporch, 1961. Ellen’s wearing the gathered skirt and hideous white gym blouse.