Artwork by Jessica Gerardi
A Reimagining of The Green Ribbon
Jenny always meets the Dressmaker in the backroom of his shop. It’s quite small—just like the rest of the store—with heaps of dresses from last season collecting dust in the corner. A spindle sits in another corner, and in the centre of the room, is a small wooden stool. But the space was good enough. Jenny would sit on the stool that creaked under her weight (she didn’t think she weighed all that much, at least for a 9-year-old girl), and wait and wait and wait for the Dressmaker.
When he arrives, he brings with him Jenny’s favourite candy. She tries her best to save them for later, but each time, all the empty wrappers end up on the floor (she always cleans up after herself, of course.) The candies all come in different colours, and some of them match the deep emerald of the green ribbon that usually rests daintily on the base of her neck. Today is no such day however.
The Dressmaker is old, but not too old. He wears plain brown pants riddled with holes, with an equally hole-riddled brown shirt and flat shoes with soles half-gone. Her parents think him a “hobo,” and maybe he is, but he’s the only person who remembers her favourite candy, so Jenny likes him.
Their conversation goes something like this:
— Hello Jenny, how have you been?
— (Jenny’s response varies depending on how she feels. Sometimes she tells him the truth, other times she feels like lying, such as the time her mother asked her if the kids at school picked on her): I’m good!
— Very good. School’s going well?
— Yup!
— Good, good. Now, I see that you’re holding the side of your neck pretty tight there. Ribbon got loose again?
— Yeah. (For a split second, Jenny releases her grip, and the room tilts.)
— Careful there! I haven’t had time to sweep this floor today. (chuckles)
Peering over his glasses, the Dressmaker lifts one of the ends of the green ribbon and inspects it closely. Jenny stills herself and secretly prays that he won’t notice the frayed edges of the material. Out of all the ribbons she’s worn, she likes this one best.
— Hmm, it seems this one has overstayed its welcome. I’ll go fetch a new one—
— No! I like this one.
— Why?
— Because a boy from my class liked it. He said green is his favourite colour.
— What’s his name?
— Alfred.
— Well, that’s nice. Fine, I’ll let you keep it on. Now hold both sides of your neck firmly please.
The Dressmaker then reties Jenny’s ribbon in the same up and down pattern as every other time she has come to visit. He pulls the ends twice for good measure and sends her on her way, but not before asking for payment, to which Jenny fishes out two gold coins from her pocket. The shiny metal matches the glint in the Dressmaker’s eyes as he takes the coins and stuffs them away.
***
The next time Jenny visits the Dressmaker, she’s a bit older and wiser. Her ribbon is bigger now, and she walks to the backroom like an unwrapped present. Inside, the Dressmaker is waiting for her. He wears shiny black leather shoes, and the holes in his pants and shirt are gone.
Like always, he gives her sweets and has her sit on the stool. Their conversation goes something like this:
— You’ve grown quite tall, just like your mother.
— Yes, I have, (Jenny doesn’t want to be anything like her mother, but she still accepts his compliment.)
— And school has been going well?
— Yes. (She hesitates, not sure if she should share this part of her life with him. But the Dressmaker’s smile is so warm and inviting—and when has he ever judged her?) Actually, I’ve been dating someone from my class. His name’s Alfred.
— Oh, isn’t he the same boy from elementary school?
— He is! And he’s really sweet and helpful, and always fun to hang out with. I like him.
— Well, I’m glad to hear that. I remember my own little love escapades back in my youth—with a nice girl from school, too, except she was in the class above me.
— Are you still together with her? (It then dawns on Jenny that she knows little to nothing about the Dressmaker’s personal life. Or even his name, but she’s too embarrassed to ask it now)
— Oh no, no, we didn’t make it for a year (chuckles). She wasn’t, ah, up to my standards.
— (Jenny doesn’t know what to say to this. Her hand goes up to her green ribbon for comfort. But today, it gives her little.)
— Anyways, child, why have you come here today?
— Yes, um, I actually came to ask for your advice. Regarding Alfred. He loves me—all of me—including my ribbon. He doesn’t stop asking about it, whether he can touch it and stuff like that. I’m always a bit nervous to let him, because there’s a chance he might take it off, and I’ll scare him away. But I can’t help but wonder if I should let him touch it. If I should perhaps share that side of myself. What do you think?
— (His voice immediately replaces where a moment of contemplation should’ve been) I think it’s time that you get yourself a bigger ribbon. You’re growing up fast, and you now have yourself a boyfriend. Boys his age ask for little, if only that their lover is dutiful and presents themselves appropriately. You, my child, have a condition that threatens to destroy this budding romance if you are to reveal it. A girl with a half-broken neck is a heartbreak waiting to happen. I don’t mean to scare you, but only to give caution before you do something you may regret.
— (Jenny hears the lie she—well her parents—created and gave to him, but holds her tongue.) I guess you make sense…
— And of course, he already loves the ribbon you have. What if you’re to get an even better one? I’m sure that will rock his world.
When Jenny looks into the Dressmaker’s kind eyes, she sees herself reflected back. The truth of what will happen if she lets Alfred touch her ribbon. So with help from the Dressmaker, she chooses a new one. This time, it’s a shade or two deeper and large enough to be wrapped around her neck twice. Now, looking in the small mirror in the corner of the room, she truly looks like a present waiting to be opened. A present for Alfred.
Before she leaves, the Dressmaker requires payment. This time, it’s four gold coins. Before she can even mutter a word or an objection, he snatches the coins from her palm. What he does with the coins, Jenny is not so sure.
Not yet, at least.
***
The next time Jenny visits the Dressmaker, her babyfat has all but disappeared, smoothening her face into sharp lines and angles. There is a jubilant light in her eyes as she bounces towards the back of the store—now bigger and with twice as many people bustling around—as the Dressmaker awaits her once more. His plain pants and shirt have been replaced with an elegant white ruffle shirt marked with gold patterns and black dress pants. Despite his change of clothes, he looks the same to her, if not a bit more youthful.
As Jenny enters the room, he smiles, warm as ever. This time, the Dressmaker gifts her a carton of candy.
Their conversation goes something like this:
— Congratulations on your engagement, Jenny. Please, take this as a small gift from me.
— Thank you, you’re too kind!
— I hear the wedding is taking place tomorrow?
— Yes, it is. I wanted to extend an invitation to you. I know it’s a bit last-minute, so I understand if you can’t make it, but both Alfred and I would love to have you there.
— It would be my pleasure. Now, what else has the bride-to-be come for?
Jenny touches her green, beautiful ribbon, and asks again:
—Should I tell Alfred? We are about to dedicate our lives to each other; should he not know?
Like last time, the Dressmaker smiles at her and pats her head in the way her mother used to do, whenever she said something silly.
—If you’re to share with him, I fear you’ll scare him off. No man likes being scared, so I’d suggest you hold out on that. Now, I think your ribbon should match your wedding dress. Perhaps we can pick something out that suits your taste?
In the end, Jenny leaves the Dressmaker with 10 gold coins, and a seraphic white ribbon packaged neatly in a box. She gets many compliments on her wedding day,
“This colour suits you,” Alfred tells her later that night in bed, trailing his fingers along the ribbon. “I wouldn’t mind you wearing this forever.”
“Then I will.” Jenny smiles softly.
“But now that we’re married, will you not reveal your secret to me?”
He tugs on the ribbon sharply. Jenny’s sure he didn’t mean it.
“I will, when the time comes.”
***
Jenny visits the Dressmaker less and less. During the thick of her first pregnancy, the two decided to have their appointments on the phone. The Dressmaker teaches her how to tighten the ribbon herself. She starts collecting ribbons of various sizes and colours. She stores them in her bedroom drawer and, each day, when Alfred has gone for work and the children are eating breakfast downstairs, chooses what to wear. Sometimes, she calls the Dressmaker to help her decide. And every time, he says.
“Well, what does your husband like?”
Overtime, their conversations go something like this:
— Hello Jenny.
— Hello, how’s business?
— It’s going well enough. (He goes on a long tangent about the latest shop he just opened up, the dresses of his that made it onto high fashion runways, and the ugly girl who even he couldn’t save with his dresses.) Anyways, how are you and the children?
— We’re doing fine, thank you. They’re growing up so fast!
— And your husband?
— He’s doing fine, too. Though he keeps asking me to take off my ribbon.
— And what do you tell him?
— That I’ll take it off when the right time comes.
— And when will that be?
— Never.
— Hah!
And they laugh and laugh, and Jenny goes on to talk about her latest additions to her collection. She does not tell him how abrasive the ribbon feels on her neck and how she wishes to rip it off. She does not tell him how she slapped her daughter’s hands away when she found her going through her drawers and simply watched the tears fall down her face. She does not tell him how she sometimes catches Alfred’s gaze on her ribbon, a deep frown on his face, and how something inside her breaks.
She just laughs.
***
The last time Jenny visits the Dressmaker, her eyes are sunken, and deep lines of age etch her face. He has returned to town for an event but can’t stay for long. She finds him sitting on the bench in the park and joins him. She is wearing her green ribbon again, tied lopsidedly and in a rush.
When people pass by, they mistake her for the grandmother, and he the grandson.
Their conversation goes something like this.
— Hello Jenny.
— (Silence).
— Age has done a number on you, eh?
— And it has done nothing on you, it seems.
— Ah, this is just some skincare routine. Highly recommend—if only you knew of it earlier. Surely you would’ve been able to prevent (waves a hand) this.
— I’m almost positive that skincare can’t stop my cancer.
— (he says a string of words that suggest an apology. Insincerity drips so heavily from it, that Jenny wonders how she didn’t catch it before). How are Alfred and the children handling it?
— I haven’t spoken to Alfred in 15 years. As for the children, I wouldn’t know I haven’t told them yet. In fact, you’re the first person I told. And you’ll be the last.
— What do you mean?
— I have two final requests for you. Do this for me, and my entire fortune is yours. What little I have left of it anyways.
— (For once, there is silence from him, the contemplative kind). What is it?
— First: what’s your name?
— Jacob.
— What a boring name. Second: Untie my ribbon
— Wha-what for?
— I’ve made you who you are. That’s how you were able to afford the new stores, new clothes isn’t it? Now all I ask is that you unmake me.
The Dressmaker stares at Jenny. Then, he smiles. It isn’t warm, nor cold, but it’s genuine. He reaches over, grabs the end of the ribbon, and slowly and carefully unties it. Jenny keeps her hand on her neck for a moment.
In that moment, she allows herself to dream: of another reality, where she never met the Dressmaker. In her dream, she’s old as she is now, bedridden, with Alfred by her side. She can hear movement downstairs and the clanking of pots and plates and her children’s concerned whispers. His wrinkled hands engulf hers as he cries silent tears, mumbling a once-forgotten prayer.
In her dream, she finally grants his wish and asks him to untie her ribbon which he does so in the most loving way.
She lets go.
Her world tilts once more and as she falls, somewhere between the dream and reality, she swears she sees the truth dawn in both of their eyes.
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