The Zipper
by Christine
Dorothy
The sun shone
brilliantly that day in January of 1972. It
seemed to illuminate the marshmallow piles
of snow on the quaint roof tops of the village.
We are in Champery, Switzerland, a small town
high in the Alps, located at the very end of the
train run.
I was working there in the main hotel for the
winter and my parents had come to visit me for a
couple of weeks. They were renting an
apartment a few paces from the hotel.
I need to interject here that my parents met when
they were 16 and I don't think they ever grew up.
It was only when they separated after 25 years
together that real life kicked in.
So there I was, establishing my good name and
work ethic with the townsfolk and shopkeepers and
being a good upstanding Canadian. Then came
along my parents. My mother was like Elizabeth
Taylor, quite a looker. She was of course
interested to shop and scout out the town so I
took them on a tour.
A mannequin in a boutique window caught her eye.
She was wearing a beautiful jumpsuit that looked
like it had been sprayed on her petite body. Well
that was the one Mom wanted to try. She
insisted on the smaller size so it'd be good and
tight. So the saleslady dutifully took it
off the rack and lead my Mother into the fitting
room.
My Mother decides that she will try it on on bare
skin, and proceeds to remove her 'unawares'.
After she manages to tuck in the tuckables, she
succeeds in getting it on. She came out and
modelled her shapely outline in the long mirror
just outside the changing room. We all
approved! Now she has to face the challenge
of peeling it off. Shortly, helpless calls
drift from the changing room: "Ian!! Ian!”
My Father, a shy guy who likes to keep in the
shadows, automatically gets up from his chair,
as he has responded so many times in their life
together. Unbeknownst to the innocent by-standers
in the Boutique, Mom has got the zipper stuck
half way down. She desperately needs
assistance and he is the only one around who can
answer such a call for help.
What ensued left an indelible impression on the
witnesses within hearing shot. Behind the curtain
cries of “Oh Ian!". "Oh, my god!!"
echoed through the air. The wails continued,
"Not so hard!!", "Not so fast!!",
"Gently!!", "Oh no!”
Finally, since their efforts failed miserably, my
Dad came out of the changing room, flustered and
self conscious as the people in the Boutique were
staring at him with blank stares, wide eyes and
frozen stances. In hushed tones, he meekly asks
the sales clerk for a pair of scissors.
We left the shop empty handed and I silently
wanted to send my parents back to their apartment
until after dark, when I could sneak them out for
dinner at some restaurant far from town.
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