Susan Writes

I heard them before I saw them that June morning.  At 6:45 a.m., seven young women laughed and talked while they stood near the front desk at a Hampton Inn.  They wore backpacks and had suitcases, but it was their clothes that caught my attention: matching navy-blue tops and shorts and slide-on fuzzy slippers. 

When I was twenty-something years old, nylon button-up-the-front tops and matching shorts were pajamas, but for these young women their attire seemed to be their daytime clothes.

And then, two others joined them.  One wearing identical blue attire and one wearing identical clothes and slippers, but hers were white, and she wore a garland of white silk flowers on her head.

Their clothes told their story.

The eight bridesmaids circled around the bride as they whispered and laughed; then all turned and headed out the door to the parking lot.  I wondered if the Pelham, Alabama Hampton Inn was an overnight stop for their bachelorette party? Were they headed to a gulf coast beach or to Nashville, the bachelorette capital of the world? 

            He wore a gray t-shirt with words written in all caps:  VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY.  “Are you a Vandy baseball fan? You know they play a regional game on TV tonight,” I said.  The team was the SEC (Southeastern Conference) tournament champions.

            Standing by the hotel’s coffee urn, the man frowned and turned his head aside, obviously confused by my question. “Your shirt,” I said.  “I thought you might be a Vandy fan.” 

            He looked down and then shook his head.  “I don’t know anything about Vandy sports, but Vanderbilt hospital and its doctors and nurses are excellent.  My sister had a liver transplant there and I visited her often while she was in the hospital for seven weeks.”  His shirt told a story, but not the one I expected.   

            In a rush, a man, with short gray hair and a clean-shaven face, filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and a plate with packaged powdered sugar mini-donuts, an apple, and pineapple chunks and left the lobby.  Holding his slim body tall, he looked like a button-down shirt and creased khaki pants guy, but he wore an oversized t-shirt, with no printed words, and plaid flannel pants.

Pants like the ones Husband calls his lounging pants and doesn’t wear them outside our house.  If I’d had time to hang around the hotel lobby, maybe I’d seen him leave the dressed as a professional like I expected.

When I returned to my hotel room, Elsie asked, “What’s ya been doing, Gran?”

“Drinking coffee and people watching,” I told my 16-year-old Grand.

“So, what’d you find out people watching?”

“That people tell a lot about themselves by the clothes they wear.”

Elsie grinned.  “Like your shirt?”  I look down.  One word was printed on my gray t-shirt:  Blessed.

I smiled and nodded.  “And like yours.”  Her shirt had been a Christmas gift.  Under a stack of books were two sentences: That’s what I do. I read books and I know things

Filed under: Clothes | Tagged: clothes, tshirt story |