When Mom mentioned that she might have an outfit in the closet for me it sent a little shiver down my spine. Mom has every piece of clothing that she has ever worn dating back to the 70s and most of them involve polyester in one form or another.
Mom started rummaging around and began pulling out one treasure after another. First off was the lime green pants and orange and lemon checked jacket with a faux fur collar. "What about this one? All it needs is a pair of black stilettos and you'll be dressed to impress," she said.
"Well, I'm not sure. You know I don't do well in heels," I replied.
"Yeah, that's right. You spent way too much time in those green Converse high tops of yours."
"Mom, they were my basketball shoes. I better get going if I'm going to pick something up tonight."
"Nonsense, let me see what else I got back here." Next out of the closet was a dark chocolate brown leisure suit that still had the tags on it. It had a white patent leather belt that should be cinched at the waist and there was a small label in one of the pockets that said the outfit would go great with white patent leather shoes. "Holy Toledo!" she exclaimed. "I wondered whatever happened to this suit. Here, try this on."
Mom handed me the suit and I handed it right back. "It's a size 14. I'm a little past that size, remember?"
"Don't you get smart with me, young lady. I'm still your mother and I'm just trying to help."
"I know, Mom, but I don't think there's anything in there that I can wear and my tastes are a little more conservative than yours. The next thing you're gonna pull out is your lucky suit which you said Dad made you get rid of because he said it made you look..."
"Wait! There it is. Oh, my goodness. I thought this was long gone. It's my lucky suit!"
As I watched her standing there flushed with excitement I was transported back to my childhood and that purple polyester suit. Whenever there was an occasion that called for Mom to be dressed up she wore the suit, it was her "lucky suit" she always said.
"I'm gonna go see if it still fits," she said. She returned a few minutes later wearing the purple polyester suit. It was a little snug in some places, and fit perfectly most everywhere else. She looked radiant, turning this way, admiring herself in the long mirror, humming what sounded like an early Elvis Presley song, completely oblivious that I was in the room.
"It still fits, Mom. But why do you call it your lucky suit?"
My question seemed to snap her out of her reverie and she looked directly at me. "This is my lucky suit because this is the suit that I met your dad in. He said it made me look like--well, that's none of your business. And on second thought, I don't think you can wear any of my clothes. You better get going if you're going to find any stores open."
She was right. I needed to get going to see if I could find my own lucky suit. As I left the room she was still admiring her reflection and I'm sure was reminiscing about the night she wore the purple polyester suit and met my father nearly sixty years ago.