Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“He got paid sixty dollars a week,” I said, my voice steady and quiet. “And he used twenty of it to buy gloves for the kids who did not have any in the winter. He did not put his name on a plaque for it either.”
“This dress is made from the shirts of a man who cared for every single person in this building,” I said.
Gary snorted, the brass keys in his hand jingling louder. “He swept the floors, Nicole. Let’s not make it sound like he was the principal.”
“The green fabric right here,” I said, pointing to the center of my bodice, “is from the shirt he wore the night the water main broke in the basement. He stayed until three in the morning carrying boxes of books out of the library so they would not be ruined. He did not ask for extra pay. He just did it because he did not want us to lose our schoolbooks.”
Gary’s hand went still in his pocket. The keys stopped clinking.
