Sakura dreaming

To Burberry and back again

I decided to spend my afternoon in Tyson's Corner because those gleaming, dazzling sign of Burberry were with me so vividly that I could still hear the thumping and the drumming of the coat, faint and incessant, from the street, and the cars going up and down past the store. That afternoon I did see a Audi TT there, and saw its lights flashing where it parked nexxt to the curb. But I didn’t investigate. Probably it was some final shopper who had been away at the ends of the earth (aka West Virginia) and didn’t know that the mall was closed.

On that last hour, with my hands full and the trunk threatening to explode at any momment, I went over and looked at that huge incomprehensible fabrics of the house once more. On the white glistening steps an obsene word, scrawled above the metal door, stood out clearly in the flurescent light, and I embraced it, clutching my purse drawing near the display. Then I wandered until I stood in front of the store and gasped at the hideousness that was prawled out on the display stands.

Most of the big windows were full of grays and navys now and there was hardly any pale pink left except the slim, soft glow of a errant pink and white wallet near the scarves. And as the I rose and stood higher, the inessential summer wallet began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the jacket there, the one that flew once from Italy, my eyes a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its charcoal wool texture, the one that had been placed center in the adjacent room, I had once tried on in muted whispers to the last and most recent of all human desires; for a transitory enchanted moment any woman would have held her breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation she well understood and desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to her capacity for wonder.

And as I sat there brooding on the new, unknown world of this season's fall collection, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . .

And that fine morning——as I tried on that jacket, dead set on possessing it, I remembered I wanted the watch I saw at Gucci more than this.

posted by Sakura @ 12:50 AM