The Rockmore House

16 | Lost

Tuesday, November 8th, 2016

In Spanish class we had to rearrange our desks into a circle to "facilitar la conversación." We were instructed to write down our dream job on a slip of paper and put it in a box. Then we had to interview each other to figure out who had written the career on the paper we drew from the box. I opened mine to find "periodista musical" in Kaitlin's bubbly handwriting. That was an easy one.

For as long as I knew Kaitlin, she dreamed of becoming a music journalist. Over time, Kaitlin's dream became more like a plan. She was going to major in journalism, go to as many shows as possible, post as much content as possible, write, write, write and move somewhere cool. Music was her life and she buzzed with excitement to immerse herself in it. Some people just had their thing.

I started to write abogada ambiental, but stopped myself. Was my dream really to be an environmental lawyer? I thought about writing diseñadora de moda, and decided to go for it, maybe because "diseñadora de moda" sounded impossibly cool and "fashion designer" sounded delusional. But what was a dream job if not delusional? I added sostenible to sound at least a bit responsible.

A particularly dickish junior boy struggled with his Spanish and his misogyny as he asked each and every guy in the class if he wanted to be a software developer before asking any of the girls, even though it was written in the feminine form. We were allowed to help each other out, but everyone silently watched as he embarrassed himself. Even Senora Torres smirked when Sophie responded, "Sí, Brian, seré desarrolladora de software, aunque tengo tetas." ("Yes, Brian, I am going to be a software developer, even though I have boobs.")

It took a while for the class to figure out that I was the mystery fashion designer wannabe.

As we walked toward our lockers after class, Sophie complained, "That wasn't fair, you were trying to throw everyone off."

"No, I wasn't."

"Your dream job is to be a fashion designer? How come I've never heard this before?"

"A sustainable fashion designer. The assignment was to write down your dream job. It's not like it's realistic."

"For sure. So what's the sustainable part all about? Making clothes out of old blankets? You already know how to do that."

"Kinda. It's about making the fashion industry less terrible for the environment and the people who make the clothes."

"I watched this documentary about it," Kaitlin piped in. "Sustainable fashion is really going to get big. And it's about buying secondhand and vintage, too, which Vanessa has been into forever."

"Oh, you wear thrift store clothes because you love the earth? I thought it was because you stan Macklemore forever." Sophie playfully slammed her shoulder into mine and I shoved her back. "V is so pumped, she just bought some shit from the thrift shop," she sang.

Kaitlin danced and sang, "I wear your granddad's clothes, I look incredible, I'm in this big ass coat, from that thrift shop down the road."

"Macklemore is a visionary," I said, acting dead serious.

"Sorry, I brought up your grandpa, V," Kaitlin said.

"It's okay, you didn't bring up my grandpa. He didn't have any big ass coats, just a khaki windbreaker from, like, 1983."

I smiled to myself as I realized Grandpa Walt was actually into sustainable fashion, in that he wore the same clothes for thirty years. I was relieved that Sophie steered away from my surprise Spanish class confession, and glad she couldn't see the history on my laptop. It was full of searches for colleges with programs in fashion design and merchandising.