Big Book '98THE FUNERAL DRESS
by Mim Butcher
My mum grasped my hand and lifted me up the oversized step, into a magical room only found in a four-year olds dream. A room full of clothes. Such glorious fabric and delicious colour, that it made me salivate with excitement. I had never had a new dress before!
My eyes fell upon a pink and white dress. So many bows and frills it possessed, that it looked more like a wedding cake. But my heart was set upon it. I would be the most beautifully dressed person at Pa's funeral.
Funeral. What's a funeral? It must be very prestigious if I am to wear my new dress. I could not wait to model my dress. My dress.
Standing between my mum and dad. Such pride welling in my heart. For I have the dress which no doubt everyone wants. Look everyone! Look at my dress! But not a face glanced in my direction. Gazes were focused on the great gaping hole before us.
Then the beautiful wooden box was lowered. Such a lovely box. So shiny. I wanted to touch it and brush the smooth surface with my hand. But the sinister looking hole dissuaded me to do so. I might get sucked in too. Just like the shiny box.
As the hole was covered, the crying became apparent to me. Why was everyone crying? Perhaps they wanted to touch the box too? I did not understand why such sadness had evolved. Such unbearable sadness when there was no reason to be. It was just a box. You can get another one.
Such confusingly happy thoughts are stirred when I think of my dress. They ironically remain where the four-year-old placed them - in the crevice of my brain reserved for the most distinguished of memories.
I loved my funeral dress!!