Signs of Grace

by Corrie Ann Gray

It was the year I turned 16; my junior year in high school to be exact. All summer I thought about how wonderful it would be to own and wear a pair of Jordache jeans. I admit I didn’t have a lot to think about in those days. Jordache jeans were the big rage, and all the “cool kids” owned multiple pairs. I don’t remember ever asking my parents for them, but I thought about it a lot.

Stylish clothing wasn’t a necessity in our household, so the basics are what we got. A good portion of my clothing came from the VFW Thrift Store. I didn’t care, well, at least not until my junior year.

My early years found me quiet and shy. I dreaded being the center of attention. The only way I would express myself, aside from my writing, was through dance. I felt free, and my body allowed me to do things that you generally didn’t do walking down the street. That’s why I auditioned and joined the dance and drill team. I felt like I belonged to a group. The only thing missing was that prized pair of jeans. I was reminded of this every time I saw Melissa and Gabrielle; their perfect looks only embellished more in the Jordache embroidery splashed across their perky teenage backsides.

My sixteenth birthday was fast approaching and I knew from past experience I would get a new outfit. I was having a pizza party, so I wanted something special. You can imagine my surprise when we arrived at the Oceanside Mall. I don’t recall the store, but I perused the racks and there they were, a large display of beautiful, dark blue denim Jordache. I casually picked up a pair in a size six and sniffed the new fabric.  I was trying them on before I realized it. The denim kissed my legs with a subtle whisper that said, “You have arrived.”

I wore that pair of jeans to my small birthday gathering. Six schoolmates shared my celebration, all of us sporting our favorite version of Jordache. Mine had bright blue metallic embroidery on the back pockets (at least that is what I recall). I purposely tucked in my shirt so the sparkle would pop from my not-so-perky backside. The night was great, but you know, most of those girls didn’t become real friends.

I probably wore my Jordache a couple dozen times. The waistband cut into my belly and they were so form fitting that the fabric creases hurt when I sat. My old, worn in Levi 501s started looking fabulous. The prized Jordache jeans quickly become hand-me-downs to my younger sister.

To this day I am not a fashion maven. Comfy sweats and pajamas are my fashion mainstay. In fact, as I write this, I am snuggled up in an old, raggedy pair of flannel pajama bottoms once owned by my dad. They are my favorite, maybe I should have written about those.

Copyright 2009, Corrie Ann Gray.