One Dress

Olivia is left with only the clothes on her back when her world burns down. Will this one dress be what ends up saving her?

• Fiction
• Religion
• Short story
• Spirituality & New Age
• Drama

								
       Have you ever had everything that you ever wanted? I have. Well, at least I thought I did. When you have a father who’s rich beyond your needs and a mother who thrives off of your attention and approval, you end up getting pretty much everything you want and more. I guess I never thought twice about having a house almost as big as my school, or a closet that my friends got lost in. That was all I had ever known. My father owned the largest real estate company in all of Western America, and I lived in my own little kingdom, more commonly known as Los Angeles. It seems that I never found it strange that people would run to open doors for me, until recently, when everyone shut the door in my face. I guess that’s the funny thing to me; when you have money, you just seem to matter more to the world. It pains me to say it, but I would be lying if I ignored that dirty, little secret that everyone around us hides behind. However, when everything I had ever known was suddenly ripped out from under my feet, I learned something quite opposite. When you have nothing, the world seems to matter more to you.
       We were going out for dinner for my parents’ anniversary, the last time we ever left our house. 
       My mom called up the stairs to me, ”Olivia, it’s time to go!”
       I looked in the mirror and twirled so I could see every angle of my dress. 
       “Coming mother,” I said as I galloped down the stairs. 
       It was a very special occasion. So, of course, I put on my favorite dress. It was the kind of dress that never seemed to get too small, even though I grew, and never looked too dressy, unless I wanted it to. It was a blue, flowy dress that barely reached my knees. Walking down the steps, I could feel my parents’ eyes as they admired the light that I seemed to exude when I wore that dress. We exchanged compliments, put on our coats, then got into the car and headed to our favorite restaurant. When we pulled up to Del Frisco’s, the valet took our car and the host took us back to our usual room, which they always gladly reserved for my father. 
       On the way home from dinner, my mother asked me how school was going. 
       “Fine,” I replied in a low whisper, almost inaudible. 
       “That’s all you can give us, Olivia?” My father quickly barked.
       I could hear the disappointment in his voice, but he suddenly stopped talking when my mother shot him her usual look of disapproval. After that, there was not a sound the rest of the way home. However, my mother’s shriek broke the silence . As we were pulling into our driveway, we saw what was left of our house up in flames. The firemen were already there, and we watched helplessly as they drenched our house with water. I could barely even see, through my tears, as the last wall crumbled to the ground. There was nothing left of it and, as it appeared in my head, nothing left of me.
       My father got out of the car and ran up to one of the firemen. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were talking about. It was nearly impossible to read the conversation though my fathers’ expressions because he almost appeared robotic and completely emotionless. He slowly walked back to the car, opened the door, sat down, and we drove away. He didn’t say a word, or even dare to make a sound—none of us did. You see, what my family lost that night was much more than our house. For reasons I will never understand, my father never trusted banks. So, he insisted upon keeping all of his money locked up in our basement. The basement, you see,  that was no longer existent. 
       My father always knew what to do, but he didn’t that night. We drove into the city and found a spot for our car in a quiet, little park. My father told us to get some rest, and that we would figure everything out the next day. I couldn’t sleep that night, and I knew my parents couldn’t either. It’s hard to close your eyes and fall asleep, when you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re already dreaming.
       I awoke the next morning to the beautiful sounds of early morning rush hour and the grumbling of my stomach. I was alone in the car and my parents had left me a note saying that they were, “figuring this out,” and they would be back soon. After a little while, I decided that I was too hungry to bear it anymore, and I needed to find something to eat. I got out of the car and started walking. My pace seemed to increase with each growl of my stomach. Finally, I came to a building with a sign reading “Free Food,” in big, bold letters. I had never relied on a shelter before, but I knew that I couldn’t let my pride get in the way. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
       I expected to see sad people being served by even sadder people. However, what I experienced was quite different. They greeted me with the most light and warmth that I have ever encountered in my life. It was apparent that everyone in the building was overflowing with gratitude, whether it be for what they were given, or for what they were able to give. I heard the kind of laughter that served a purpose of more than just filling empty space. I was given smiles that made me feel as though I belonged. I wish I could tell you that I ate with these people and took in every ounce of their presence I possibly could, but... I didn’t. I took my food into another room and ate with only the presence of my own shame.
       After hastily eating, I decided that I had to leave as quickly as possible. I had almost made it to the door when a young boy, just about my age, stopped me. 
       “Our shift isn’t over for another hour,” he said in a concerned tone.
       I didn’t know how to respond, so I looked down to the ground to avoid eye contact. It was in that moment, when I looked down at what I was wearing, that I realized why he had said what he did. I still had on my dress from the night before, and he thought that I was a volunteer. I panicked and wanted to run, or cry, or do anything but admit the truth. 
       “Oh… I must have read the time wrong. I’m sorry,” I whispered silently. 
       “Don’t apologize. I’m glad to see someone else my age even came to help in the first place. I just wanted to make sure you knew what time it is,” he said calmly.
       I smiled at him, and he smiled back softly. 
       “I’m Finn. I haven’t seen you here before,” he said as he stuck out his hand.
       Hesitantly I gave him mine and answered, ”I’m Olivia. It’s my first day.”
       I stayed for the next hour and helped serve food and talked to many different people. I learned more in those sixty minutes than I could say for the other sixteen years I had lived. I had so many friends at my school, but none of them looked at me the way these kind people did. They asked me questions because they truly cared, not because they hoped it would lead to a conversation centered around them. I guess it’s easier to see the joy in life, when there’s not much else to distract you from it. In this way, they took their misfortunes, and made them into the most beautiful work of art that I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.

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