A Change of Clothes

Martha scratched absently at her chest, the area directly over her heart, as she scanned the announcements in the lifestyle section of the local paper.

Her local community theater was holding auditions again, only this time it was for her favorite musical of all time, My Fair Lady. She didn’t have any hands-on experience in the theater, of course, but it said it right there in the announcement: “no previous experience necessary.”

Martha supposed that was what community theater was all about, though – locals who loved to perform just getting together and having a good time putting something magical together. It was something that was supposed to be about fun and bonding with other people over a mutual interest, not perfection.

But even though Martha’s mind logically knew all that, her body was a lot harder to convince. Martha had loved movies, music, and theater ever since she was a kid. In her mind, she could picture herself standing there, front and center on stage, the heat of the lights warming her from above. She could practically see the smiling faces of a well-entertained audience and hear their cheers.

But anytime she’d ever come close to pursuing such an opportunity outside the confines of her imagination, her nerves took control of the situation and went progressively haywire until her entire body felt like it might implode.

Acting in a play wasn’t necessarily an experience that would make or break her life. But it was definitely an experience she could picture having, loving, and savoring on every level. Being part of something like a theater performance, entertaining all those people and making their lives a little more colorful for an evening, looked to Martha like the personification of love and human appreciation. To be part of something like that was to be alive and participate in something incredibly special.

Or so she thought, anyway. The chances of her ever actually making it into even a local production of a show like My Fair Lady were slim to none, because if she hadn’t outgrown being painfully shy at this age, she likely never would. And she was getting older. In fact, she knew it was likely that she was too old to be thinking like this anymore, like a little girl daydreaming about all the somedays she still had left in front of her.

“It’s fun to think about once in a while, though,” said Martha to herself with a sigh, suddenly feeling very silly. And with that, she tossed the paper onto the dining room table next to her coffee cup and empty breakfast plate before heading out the door for another exciting day dressing mannequins at the department store downtown.

This is my life, Martha thought to herself as she locked the door behind her. I suppose the sooner I accept that, the better off I’ll be.

*

“So are you even going to audition?” Martha’s mother asked her over the phone that night. “Are you ever going to even try to succeed at anything?”

Martha’s mother read the paper religiously, even the announcements and classified ads. Or perhaps especially those sections, you could say. She told people she read those things because she liked knowing all the little things that went on in her community. But the truth was she did it to find “opportunities” to nag Martha about pursuing – jobs she wanted her to have, places for rent that were actually the “right” type of places.

And that was why she’d called that night. She’d seen the audition announcements, knew how much Martha loved My Fair Lady, and saw it as something that might really push Martha out of her shell this time.

She didn’t actually realize that it was something Martha secretly did want to do. Martha hated that. It made her worry that maybe her mother was right about her, that she was a loser and a disappointment who did absolutely everything wrong.

“I thought about it, Mom,” Martha said with a sigh, “But in all likelihood, probably not. I just don’t see what the point would be.”

“The point would be to do something with your life, Martha,” her mother said, sounding as if she was spitting the words into the mouthpiece of the phone. “To be someone. But I guess I should know better by now. Any potential you ever had went down the toilet years ago. You’re just too old now.”

Something about her mother’s tone flooded Martha with rage. “I am someone, Mom,” she spat back. “Whether I ever live up to your expectations or not.”

And with that, she hung up the old phone so hard, she was sure she must have cracked the handset. It felt good to be the one to end the conversation for once, as well as to stand up to her mother. And best of all, she knew she believed what she’d said, possibly for the first time in her life.

She felt different. Good different. And she liked something about the idea of proving her mother (and her own abusive inner voice) wrong. She might live to regret it, she thought as she scratched absently at the itchy patch on her chest, but at least she could say she tried something for once.

That night, she dreamed about the audition. She dreamed that not only did she go, but that she got the part. It was like she was someone else, someone confident and self-assured who never even considered the possibility that someone would tell her no.

And it was one of those dreams where the sensations and feelings were all so real, lingering long after she’d woken up and come back to reality. Martha liked the way they had felt. She wished feelings like that came more naturally when it came to the rest of her life.

Because she had decided she was going to do it. She was going to go to the audition and force herself through it if it was the last thing she did. She wanted at least to be able to tell herself that she’d given something a try. A real try.

*

Martha stared with disbelief at her reflection in the mirror, because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing and was honestly questioning whether she was even awake or not. But there it was, regardless.

In that same odd spot on her chest that had been bothering Martha ever since the day she read the audition announcement in the paper, was something she couldn’t believe was there.

It was a zipper that looked just like hundreds of zippers she’d seen in jackets, pants, and boots throughout her life. But this zipper was on her actual body, holding the very sides of her chest together. It reached from just between her collarbones all the way down to her pubic bone, and as unbelievable as it was, it was as real as anything she had ever seen. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t itch. In fact, it looked and felt as natural as if Martha had been born with it.

Martha touched the zipper pull with trembling, uncertain fingers – definitely real. She was seized with a growing curiosity to know what would happen if she pulled it. This was her skin. If she unzipped it, what would happen? What could possibly be underneath a person’s very skin, and what would happen to a person who dared to find out?

Martha knew she should be scared (or at least unnerved) by this new and unexpected development, especially considering the fact that today was the day of the audition. But she wasn’t. In fact, something about this made sense on a level not many things in Martha’s life ever did. It felt like the answer to the classic question, “What should I wear?”

Somehow Martha just knew that on the other side of this zipper was the perfect thing to wear, something she’d been waiting all her life to step out in. And with that, Martha firmly grasped the zipper pull with her fingers and began the work of seeing what would happen when she went ahead and pulled it.

*

Part of Martha had been sure that when she unzipped what she could only think of as her skin, her insides would fall out. They’d tumble out in one wet, slimy, scarlet rush and pour all over the floor, and that would be the end of her, she supposed. But that’s not what happened.

Instead, she discovered a whole new expanse of flawless, silky skin underneath – another body that was entirely complete in and of itself, actually. In fact, once the zipper was all the way down, she realized she could step completely out of the body she’d always known as hers.

And when she was done, she folded it neatly as you would any irreplaceable piece of important clothing and placed it gently on the seat of the same chair where she laid all of her clothes after taking them off. And she stood there in front of the mirror, admiring what she saw.

She saw herself as she always should have been, as she would have been if it weren’t for the emotional abuse she’d put up with from other people over the years. Her eyes were clear and strong. Her body was healthy and fit, her posture tall and stately instead of crumpled, as if she were always trying to escape from herself.

This was the Martha that was confident, and strong, and who knew she had what it took to accomplish absolutely anything she wanted, just like she always had in her dreams.

This body felt natural, and true, and correct. And with that, Martha went about the rest of the business of getting ready to go to the audition. She finished pulling her look together, and with a final glance at the folded pile of skin, muscle, and tendon on the seat of her favorite chair, she walked out the front door.