So I cut into the spare material I’d been saving for the scalloped back panel of my dress and made seven reusable masks. I put them in the mail that night. I figured I wasn’t using the scraps. It was being wasted in my room, along with my talent for sewing.
She liked them so much, she asked if I could make a few more. For the nighttime staff, she said.
I was out of scraps, so I cut into the mermaid-fit skirt that originally gathered at my knees and swooped and swished along the floor. I could make it into a modified tea length, I thought, and that mermaid skirt had a whole ton of gathers. Plenty of material to share. It made twenty more masks. This time, I masked up myself and drove them out to the nursing home, feeling pretty good about what I’d done.
That night, maybe due to boredom or just too much time alone with my thoughts, I went onto A2NeighborGram and spilled my guts. I posted about my dress and the masks and the prom cancellation and my new (!!) resolution to make more masks. First come, first served. I hit post and went to get a drink of water.
Less than three minutes later, Jude reached out. His uncle needed as many masks as he could get his hands on for his business.
And I was his gal. Me and my prom dress.
Somewhere along the last week, ever since I messaged him back, Jude-with-the-Danny-Kaye-avatar has become my friend. He likes cats but agrees they’re mostly assholes. He likes ’80s buddy cop movies but agrees Mel Gibson must be an actual racist if he’s racist when he’s drunk. He doesn’t know how to do his own laundry but admits it’s probably easy. He knows about my obsession with American Famous and subsequent fangirling over this season’s front-runner Judah MacKenzie, but only teases me about it half as much as everyone else does.
And he agrees that Danny Kaye is better than Bing. He says it’s only because Bing is rumored to have abused his kids.
Which is a solid reason, I’ll give him that.
I check my app again, where Jude’s most recent message is waiting for me. I’d messaged him earlier that I was about to cut into the rest of my dress and needed some moral support. I still haven’t made the masks I’d promised him, but tonight is the night. Jude was the one to suggest we socially distance-watch White Christmas together, as an official farewell to the dress. I’m not sure it’s helping.
Gray: You don’t understand. It HAS to be this dress.
Gray: If I can’t have prom, this is the only acceptable alternative.
Jude: That’s fair. Have I told you I’m sorry about your Rosemary Clooney dress?
Jude: Because I am.
Gray: You have. Like twice. So I really need to just suck it up and make the cut.
Jude: It’s for a good cause.
Gray: The best cause, yes.
Jude: Would it help if I counted you off?
Gray: It would help more if you were heeeeere.
The honest-to-God truth is that I have zero idea how to talk to boys. Like ZERO. Or at least, I thought that was the case. Turns out, I’m pretty bold when I’m texting during a pandemic, under quarantine when the boy is a total stranger.
Jude: Be right there.
I snicker. We’ve been talking a week and we’ve had this conversation six times already.
Gray: Such a tease. You don’t even know where I live.
Aside from Ann Arbor, that is, which is a pretty giant college town. Despite being on the neighborhood app, Jude’s not from my neighborhood on the west side. Apparently, his uncle is fairly close, but Jude says he goes to one of the other high schools in town, which I happen to know is on the north side.
Well. He did. Before COVID-19. Now we’re both seniors, just waiting on socially distant graduation ceremonies.
Jude: How about this: send me a picture of the material now, and the material after you make a cut and then the material after you make a mask. It will be like I’m there with you and I can cheer you on.
Gray: Sigh. That’s genius.
Jude: Obviously.
I pause the movie, scoot back from my desk, and cross my room to my sewing table in the corner. It’s a mess, with itty bitty scraps of the blacker-than-black raw silk I’d skimped and saved for months to buy. Rosemary’s dress was rich velvet, but prom is in May and I figured I’d die of heatstroke. A lucky coincidence, since velvet doesn’t breathe and raw silk is washable. Not only that, but I did my research and raw silk happens to have special electrostatic properties that make it compatible for very fancy face masks. Also on my table is a sandwich plate covered only in crumbs and two dirty cups with the dregs of cold cinnamon spiced tea staining the bottom. I clear away the debris and take a quick photo of the materials, careful to keep myself out of it. I’m not sure why I don’t want Jude to see what I look like. I only know I’m happy in this space where we’re relatively anonymous.
I send the pic and sit down at my table, pulling out my sewing shears. One snip. I can do this. It’s for a good cause and there will be other dresses. My phone flashes with a notification.
Jude: Excellent. You’re going to help so many people.
Jude: I’m so proud of you.
I feel my cheeks heat. Thank goodness he can’t see. It’s strange. I’ve only known Jude a little over a week, but it feels like longer. It’s so easy to talk to him like this. It’s like we skipped over all the awkward small talk and went straight to being close friends. I can’t tell if it’s because we’re
