pss (postsecret story): when i make clothes for my mom, i hide secret messages in the seams.

this is because someone said on their blog that it would be fun to make stories from postsecret. so, for that person, here is my attempt.

pss:
linda was just an ordinary seamstress at an ordinary textile factory. her short brown hair was always up in a neat little bun, tucked under the hairnet that protocol ordered each worker wear. her big blue eyes had long since dulled. the only time that they really got their liveliness back was when she was making clothing. and not just any clothing, but clothing for her mother. this didn't happen often. it was only when linda was the last of the workers left in the factory for the day.the floor supervisor always left at around 3, and the women all left shortly after. if anyone walked by linda's floor, they would have just seen a single, small stout lady working diligently on a small piece of clothing.

that particular monday, linda was working on a blouse for her mother. the ladies had all left, and linda's eyes were excitedly lit up. she pulled a length of lime green cloth from the roll, humming as the fabric extended itself over her work station. eyeing the material, she drums her left hand on the table. bopbopbopbopCLANK. bopbopbopbopCLANK. the thimble voices its protest loudly as her thumb meets the table. tossing the fabric away, she rotates the cloth rack. the huge machine rumbles, turning and groaning as if trying to resist being awoken from its hour-long nap. linda quietly stops the machine, selecting a roll of lime green material. it's almost the same as the other material she had before, but this one is just perfect. she smiles and giggles, using her petite scissors to snip some material off the roll. the seamstress starts whistling now, quickly piecing together the cloth into the familiar shape of a blouse. she's so happy that she even adds some ruffles in the front. but before she sews the parts together, she takes a small piece of felt and attaches it to where the seam places itself. in her small, slanty seamstress handwriting, she writes several messages, one for each seam.

hi mom, it's linda!

the bodice goes together as the sewing machines whirs.

i really hope you like this blouse--i made it when thinking of you today at work.

the right sleeve is on now.

the ruffle is something special. i know that you love to wear clothing with ruffles, so... i know you'll like it.


the left sleeve attaches itself.

i hope that we can talk eventually...


the fancy side-to-side ruffles are on now. the sewing machine is making the squeaking sound it does when it's right about to shut off. linda wipes her brow, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. she squints her eyes, writes a final message, and packs the blouse into a box.

i miss you. love you. -linda


as she walks out the doorway, the lights shut themselves off. her footsteps echo in the empty hallway. she pushes the huge metal door open, cringing as she hears the loud metallic screech. she places the box tenderly into the passenger seat of her car before buckling herself in. turning the key, she starts the car, switches into reverse, and pulls out of the parking lot.