the story of the skirt and vest

I want you to not hold my grudge.
I need to honor my supposed enemy/traitor.
I need You to do the same.

I gift this skirt and vest.
The story was an unnaturally quiet moment for me.
I was picking Charles up at the airport.

I liked Charles. I was attracted to Charles.
I'd spent time driving him to Bloomington.
I had helped him escort a gaggle of
kids in the night on a bike across town -- on a Friday!
I'd been to the theatre with him. I had drinks with Charles.
I'd had dinner with Charles and Francois.
I admired his work... evolutionary revolutionary efforts
for kids, education and the environment.

First time I saw Charles I was in a St. Joseph Neighborhood meeting.
I knew most of the folks. An older neighborhood in Indianapolis,
the folks who saw the beauty of the older homes and the convenience
of living within walking distance of the Main Library, the post office,
live theatre, the City Market... the neighborhood meetings were
rare people, laughing about not being followers but leaders.
Most Artist types, painters, sculptors, weaver, printer,
photographer, museum workers. I loved the ambience.

Into this meeting walked a tall dark haired man. Wildish hair and
scholarly glasses, a thinking man who rose to speak; introducing himself and his work. A wonderful voice which I later learned is raised to worship
somewhere on a Sunday. For years at the Meridian Methodist.

Charles came to tell us he had rented Cynthia's unused catering kitchen
around the corner from me. He came from ITT. He planned --
the Bicycle Action Project. Charles told everyone his plan of collecting
unused bicycles dusty and in folks basements and garages...
Then he would offer kids the chance to earn a bike by committing
25 hours of service which included filling out application forms,
scheduling, learning tools, building their own bikes, bike field trips,
learning bike safety, cleaning the shop, all these activities allowed
a person to own their own bike, often building it themselves, during those
25 hours. The 'students' could pick and choose among the bike parts
collected. The type of seat, handlebars, gears, etc. would be
their decision. Wow. What a concept.

I loved the concept. I had a bike when I was ten. I got it for my birthday.
My parents had a party for me. They gave me the bike at the party.
My party with all the kids from school. They told me to ride my bike.
I took off and didn't get back until after everyone had left.
I loved riding the bike.

The bike disappeared in the fire. The fire caused a bankrupcy. It took
my parents quite a while to recover from that let alone the humiliation.

I walked big steps fast to keep up with tall Charles on a mission --
to tell him how I admired his work.
My God if there had been a bicycle action project
when I was a kid -- I knew where I would have been hanging out.
Earning my very own bike. Dreams for the
forgotten kids in our downtown neighborhood.

There weren't many kids in our neighborhood. But there were lots of
kids close by and these kids' parents didn't have the money to
run out to the suburbs... let alone get their child a bike.
This was a wonderful opportunity for them to learn.

And what a voice. Long legs. Healthy hair. AND. I love learning.

So I am going to pick Charles up at the airport.

The skirt and vest I wear were bought from a Subud Sister who
traveled to Indonesia back in the days when white people could do that...
It is a beautiful batik. The fabric is light, soft, and lovely.
Perfect for Indonesian on-the-equator-weather.

I didn't just bathe, I annoited myself.

My hair such care, and everywhere I am brillantine glistening clean.

I am attracted to Charles. He is a conscious vegetarian.
He is well read, he plays the grand piano in his living room,
We have talked a lot. I admire his dignity and
efforts in community. His mother is Chinese.
His late father was a chemist at Lilly.
He's bright. Today I can help 'it' happen.
I won't be distracted. I will drive him home and he will invite me in.

I give myself plenty of time. I won't be in a rush.
I will be fresh as a daisy this summer day.

I arrive. I park. I walk into the airport and find where it is I
will see Charles. Make eye contact.

The plane is late. I have to wait.
Finally an hour later the plane de-boards.

I am scanning every person in that line of passengers.
I am watching with anticipation for each person;
one-by-one people arrive rushing airport-style for
the baggage claim. I make eye contact with
my former husband, his girlfriend, and there is Charles after.

Tom says to me: "Are you getting ready to go somewhere?"
I say: "I'm waiting for Charles."
The girlfriend says: "I think Nova Scotia is pretty."

Tis an ackward moment. I am waiting for Charles and who do I see?
My former husband.

Charles and I get to the car. I drive. For once I am not talking.
My erotic notions of the day are dashed.
For once Charles is the one talking and I am silent.

Charles had the opportunity to meet the former in my life,
and make his own judgments... without the history
of which he is familiar.