Collection Of Shorts

THAT OLD JACKET

Ever heard of a tale that started and ended in a shop? Yes, Joe's Vintage Collection. You would know what I am talking about if you have come across that old jacket, that's always hanging in a corner next to a rusty long classic mirror. Contents of the shop have come and gone, but the jacket never sold, no one knew why---at least google certainly didn't. My grandpa, who used to be very good friends with Joe, said the jacket always brought luck, which is why Joe never sold it.

I found myself in the shop late in the evening on a Saturday night. Saturday's in Mumbai mean only one thing---party. But here I was in an old collector's store, searching for a prop for my director's film. It was a film set in the era when the British ruled, and the actor didn't have the appropriate jewellery on thanks to the lack of research on the costumer designer's part, but in the end, I was on the receiving end of the Director's lashings. Here I was, several hours later, hoping to find the right piece of jewellery, and what would be better than finding the authentic one. Joe's Vintage Collection was known for keeping collectibles that ranged from jewellery to clothes dating back to the British era.

The bells jingled in response when I stepped into the brown musky, cluttered shop. Joe's grandson sat at the cashier and smiled at me in response.

"Hey, Leila, what can I do for you?" Harold asked.

"I need women's jewellery preferably from the 1940's when the British ruled?"

"Let me see what I can get," he nodded and went into the back.

I let my gaze travel over every object and material in the shop before it landed over the teal herringbone jacket hung ever so neatly in the corner. It was always there when I came, and I never had the chance to try it on. I walked over and pulled it off the hanger and let my hands slip through, pulling it over me from both sides.

It fit!

The shoulders sat neatly; the folds of the collar looked as if it was tailored for my own. When I looked back up into the mirror, I saw that I was no longer alone. I should be scared, I know. But it wasn't as if I did not know about her. The woman dressed in the same jacket with matching woollen skirt and shoes. Two tiny pearls adorned her ears, and all she did was watch me. I pulled my gaze away from the mirror and glanced around before I looked back in the mirror. Yes, she existed only in there. Just like Joe told my grandfather, and he told me.

I took a step towards the mirror, and another, until the mirror was no longer still. It was flowy, my reflection now turned jelly. I let my hand touch myself in the mirror, instead my finger entered the dewy form. I pulled back, shocked. This was not what I had expected. I always knew there were tattletales around the jacket, but no one spoke about the mirror. Curiosity got the best of me and I let my hand guide me again. This time, not just my fingers, but my hand moved in followed by my arm and soon I was entering it, unaware of what I was actually looking for. I stepped out on the other side, which was still the shop.... I turned back to the mirror; the woman was still there. It was if I never entered it at all. Harold, Joe's grandson, stepped out of the storage with boxes in his hand.

"Leila?" He called out, his eyes moving around the shop.

"I'm here," I said, walking up to him.

But Harold moved past me and went to the mirror, bending down he picked up the jacket from the floor and put it back on the hanger before he looked into mirror with a solemn face.

"Oh, Leila, what did you do. I told you not to."

I rolled my eyes at him with a chuckle.

"I always knew you liked acting, Harold," I walked up to him. "I will recommend you to my director don't you---"

I froze mid-sentence at the sight of myself. My long curly hair was now short, chin length, I was still wearing the jacket, and my pants were replaced with skirt of the jacket's fabric and colour. Pearls adorned my ears. And this was definitely the shittiest dream I have had in a while.

At least that is what I thought until a couple entered the shop, just to look around, which they all always did. The girl's eyes fell on the teal jacket and she hurried over, picking it out and turned to her boyfriend with a smile. Her boyfriend walked over, and she held it out open. I felt my world tilt as I watched the man, twice my size, put on the jacket.

"It fits you! Perfectly!" The girl cooed.

"You know this is for women, right?" the boy chuckled at her before he looked back at the mirror.

His face fell. His eyes darted left and right around him and back at mirror, and I followed his gaze only to find myself standing in the same spot as the woman earlier did. It didn't take more than a second longer for the man to jump out of the jacket and rush out of the shop. Wake up, I told myself. This was a bad dream.

But as Harold walked up to the fallen jacket, I knew this was real. When he straightened up and looked straight at me, I confirmed my fears. With a shake of his head, he put the jacket back on the hanger and walked away. Leaving me and thousand others feeling confused and torn about ourselves.

Wake up, I told myself, this is just a dream.