Niveous Magazine Volume One

The Time I Wore That Dress

By Miriam Kulick I’m 63 years old, at my new gym in the new neighborhood my husband and I recently moved to. This gym makes me feel good. It’s a rehabilitative fitness center affiliated with a hospital. No music plays, and the majority of clients are so much older than I am, that I feel youthful and vibrant. I can do my mediocre cardio workout and look like an in-shape athlete whom they secretly envy. It also makes me feel slightly depressed. I see the ticking of the clock right in front of me - pain management, hip replacements, cardiac problems, a slow, sluggish, shuffle with a cane. My future.

The other day as I was doing my mediocre workout on the elliptical, a navy blue dress I wore when I was in Junior High School came into clear focus. Wow, stretchy, rayon, very vogue in the 60’s, and on the collegiate side. I had no biceps, I wasn’t aware of their purpose then, yet I wore a three buttoned polo version t-shirt on top with tight short sleeves capped at the high upper bicep area. It gathered tightly at the waist and then tapered into a straight line until the fabric ended above my knee, (when I used to wear clothing above my knee). What was happening in my life then? Where was I headed? Who was I dressing for?

It made me think of all the dresses I wore early in my life. It made me wonder: how did the fabric of my life unfold by wearing them? This is my material, the textured patterns of my past, the fibers of my story.

My Regal Robe - Age 7 Mr. Unterberger was coming over for dinner. He was my older sister Rachel’s most fabulous 5th grade teacher. He was probably gay, but back then, gay meant happy, we didn’t know it had another meaning. It was such a grand occasion that my mom cooked her only compelling dish, pot roast. She worked full time, how could we blame her?

“Untie,” was the most popular and well-liked teacher in our elementary school. He saturated his students with Gilbert and Sullivan, and their performance of Iolanthe even made the New York Times. I was impressed, even in my seven-year-old mind I knew he was swell.

That’s why I decided to wear my regal robe, cotton, quilted, bright colors of red, yellow, green, and beige. The interior was pale yellow with an inside tie that made me feel like a cocooned caterpillar about to bloom into a butterfly. I was my own person then, carefree and spirited. My sister and I would run around our living room dancing to Peter Pan or South Pacific, white petticoats swooshing back and forth, sans dresses, kicking furiously, then quickly somersaulting, our white underpants mooning the ceiling.

I usually dressed for myself, and for that one night only, for “Untie.” His students wore costumes, the robe was my costume, this was my debut! I wanted to be sure he’d cast me as the lead when he would become my 5th grade teacher. I was joyful and fearless, unabashedly prancing around to music we put on after dinner. He smiled brightly, he was amused and kind.My goal seemed attainable. After running around at a frenetic ballerina pace, I exhausted myself into a little sleeping beauty puddle, and fell asleep in my regal bathrobe, 36