If These Clothes Could Talk: An Emotional Striptease

By Brenda Markstein

When Kelly Knights phone rings at three oclock in the morning, she knows it is not good news. Her mother has had a stroke. As she races to the hospital to meet her sister by her mothers bedside, Kelly has no idea she is about to take a journey of self-discovery that will awaken her from a slumber she has been in for years.

While her mother valiantly fights for her life, Kelly begins reflecting on her own. As the layers begin to peel away, Kelly must come to grips with the traumas and fractures forgotten long ago as she summons the courage to face who she really is versus who she thinks she is supposed to be. Minutes feel like days as Kelly journeys between the ultimate death of her mother and the death of her own ego as she slowly strips down to her core where the truth waits to be revealed. But it is only after Kelly dares herself to unveil what lies beneath her clothes that she is finally able to set herself free and transform into her true self.

If These Clothes Could Talk is the story of a womans emotional journey as she discovers the naked truth about who she is versus who she thinks she is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532055195

Brenda Markstein

With a talent for designing clothes by the age of 10, Brenda followed her passion and attended the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, San Fransisco. After a career in design and raising a family she embraced her next evolution of telling stories. She became a five time Emmy nominated and award winning producer, costume designer for stage and television and now author. Brenda currently has taken the opportunity to expand her knowledge and is studying NLP with her master trainer. She resides in Las Vegas, Nevada.

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Copyright © 2016 Brenda Markstein.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5518-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5520-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5519-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908983

iUniverse rev. date: 07/31/2018

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Contents

Dedication

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

The Naked Truth

Final Thoughts

Acknowledgements

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my greatest teachers, my children Laura, Debra and Ian. To my grandchildren Jessica, Ethan and Ryane. To my family and friends who have shared life’s stories with me throughout the years. Especially my sister Kathy who has stood by my side through time. Last and not least to the man who has been my greatest reflection, Travis.

Preface

My writing started in my journal in the year 2000. Realizing that writing became an outlet of thoughts that would flow out of me with such clarity and honesty, I couldn’t wait to put my pen to paper. I call it throwing up on the pages. No more hiding the thoughts that were starting to clog my mind and close down my heart. Those thoughts began to become my reality. We as humans haven’t discovered so many powerful adventures that are in store for us and I began to explore what those were. Along with writing, reading was just as important. If no one would read this, it wouldn’t reveal the true me. Does that mean I am living a lie? A question that would shout at me more frequently. As I read each page the person I was on the outside was not congruent with the girl on the inside. Who would approve of her and why did I need so much approval and from whom?

Even though I was raised by loving and talented parents I did not understand that trauma and fracture is the accumulation of life’s moments we stuff down until who you are is not who you really want to be. I then began to open my mind and more importantly my heart to other teachers beside the ones close to me. There is a process I discovered that opens up the obis of yourself and start to unwind the mind and open the heart to your true passions. My wish is that you join me through these pages with Kelly Knight and open your own mind and heart to your true self.

Journey on with Love,

Brenda

If you would like to know more about this process, please contact me at [e-mail].

Chapter 1

Fracture #1

Y ou know that inner voice, the one that says, Wake up! Do you hear that? Wake up! It wasn’t until I felt the vibrations of my phone that I became coherent. I fumbled for the phone in its familiar place on the nightstand and with my eyes closed and a half-awake brain answered, Yes.

A familiar voice came on the other end. Sis, it’s Katie.

What’s wrong? I asked.

It’s Mom.

Of course it is, my brain yelled back at me. No one calls at 3 AM in the morning with good news.

She’s had a stroke, Katie said. She is at Parkview Valley Hospital in Newport Beach. It’s not good.

I’ll be right there. I was already walking to the closet as I answered her.

Sweater (n): A garment worn by a child when the mother is chilly

—Ambrose Bierce

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The Clothes: Black bulky long sweater, white T-shirt, Black stretch jeans, beige lace bra, pink underwear and black socks with black leather fur-lined boots. A grey and black scarf, a black leather bag with fringe.

I’ll be there in 30 minutes. Where do I meet you? I said.

Meet me in the front of the hospital. Its off Highway 10.

Okay, sis, I said. I took a breath for a second and calmly said, I love you.

Little did I know I was about to take a journey that would truly wake me up from a slumber I had been in for years. Because my father had already passed and mom now single, mom was living alone. She only had my sister and I around to be there for her. So I hurried to my sister’s side to be beside a woman who had given us life. Were we now going to watch her fight for hers?

My sister Katie and I had the uncanny ability to read each other’s thoughts. There were times we would be building tree forts or decorating doll houses, words were not necessary. A look or a grunt with the movement of our hands or eyes would be enough. Maybe it was the years of mother treating us like twins that permeated our existence. She dressed us alike, we slept together, and I guess DNA and the fact that we were only eighteen months apart contributed to our unique connection.

What’s wrong? my fiancé asked. He was already sitting up in bed to talk to me.

It’s Mom. She’s had a stroke, I answered, as if I was asking him to let out the dog. Like this always happened. I’ve got to go to the hospital.

I’ll get up and drive you, he said. He was already throwing back the covers to leave the bed.

No honey, I said. I put both hands on his face, cupping his chin. It’s okay, I can do this.

I’ll be there for you, he said.

I know you would. You’ve got a huge meeting in the morning honey and you’ve got to take the 8 am flight. I’ll keep you updated.

No! he said, almost shouting. I want to be there for you. He said it with such conviction, I knew my past was influencing him.

I gently said, This is something I must do, you really don’t have to come. Please take the meeting. We really need you to do that. The company needs this contract.

I love you and I’d be there for you, you know that? he said.

I know, that’s what makes it alright. I’ve got to hurry. I kissed him hurriedly on the mouth. I threw on my sweater and as I was jogging out I found my keys in their familiar spot. I put them in my purse. I felt like suddenly everything had slowed down and I was on autopilot; an all too familiar feeling. As I drove through the rain, my life and her life with me started to play in my head and I was five years old again with pink all around!

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The Clothes: Pink cotton dress with an overlay of sheer organza, three tiered stiff petticoats, lace covered bodice, pink satin sash, ribbon covered purse, and cotton white gloves, lace trimmed socks, patent leather shoes

I can feel the stiffness of my pink petticoat and the rustling sound comes in rhythm with each step we take. Our white gloves are a perfect fit and around our small wrists are white satin ribbons which hold our lace lined oatmeal containers. Mom had made Katie and me little drawstring purses from a round oatmeal container cut in half. The containers had the face of an old guy with long grey hair smiling back at us. She meticulously covered the round bottom with lace fabric and a drawstring gathered the fabric at the top. Our full heads of curls were bouncing with each step. Even at only four and five years old respectively we were both blessed with a crown of brown natural curls that fell to our shoulders. Among the field of curls were small pink ribbons that were used to tie back each curl so that they framed our faces. It was a futile attempt to keep them from flopping into our eyes. With each step our black patent leather shoes sparkled in the hot Arizona sun. Suddenly the race to Sunday school came to an abrupt stop. We looked each other in the eye. Then, simultaneously and with a look of surprise and confusion, we reversed our direction, let go of each other’s hands and ran back home. We raced back to our mother still standing on the screened in porch. Her short hair was also blessed with soft dark curls and her pale skin had freckles from too much time in the desert sun. Her plaid cotton blouse hung loose to her hips as her small breasts never filled out much of anything. She made up for it with her full hips filling her khaki short shorts. Her best feature was her small waist that gave her a curvy look. Green eyes and dark eyelashes and a cute nose made her a sweet package. It was her talent and outgoing personality though that made her stand out.

Suddenly Mom’s face changed from a look of love and admiration into a look of puzzlement. When we reached her she said, What’s wrong babies? Why are you coming back?

We both giggled as we raised our dresses emulating can-can dancers and revealed bare bottoms. Mom had forgot to complete our perfect ensemble. We were minus our panties. It was then that laughter rang out like a beautiful melody we would sing all our lives. Ah, contagious laughter.

We were Mom’s dolls to dress, to love, to play with…yet shouldn’t you start from the inside out not the outside in? Much to learn.

Mom’s dolls would always be dressed beautifully. Her dolls would attract attention wherever they went. One of the reasons for this was that my mother’s talents were many. Designing and sewing our clothes, from jumpers to jackets, was her joy. This also set her apart from so many other mothers. It came in handy as we got older. With her teaching and my natural talent, I was designing and making my own clothes by the time I was ten. That talent and knowledge led me into my career choices and was to be a passion throughout my life.

The Hospital

The Clothes: Blue and white flowered cotton hospital gown.

When I entered the hospital, I immediately found her in the ICU. I entered her room and hugged my sister who was standing by her bed.

I watched my mother’s breathing being aided by a beeping machine. It slowly filled her chest like two balloons, up and down. Again I could hear her voice, so clear in my head.

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The Clothes: Green corduroy jumpers, white cotton blouses with fine lace around the collars, white cotton panties, white cotton socks and green patent leather shoes with tiny black buckles.

"Now girls, in order to hit a proper high, note you must breathe from here." She pointed to our diaphragms. I didn’t know it then but she was preparing us to sing. My earliest memories were of her hands guiding us to stages with music playing in the background. My sister and I would sing alongside my mother at every church function. She lovingly slipped on our cotton blouses and locked on to our faces and smiled a warm smile. I saw I pleased mom when I smiled back. She approved of her creation. Katie came along and became the perfect twin doll. There were now two creations to bring to the world. The world was her stage and we joined her there. Our literal stage, though, was a small church in a little desert town. That didn’t matter to her. The church members were a captive audience and salvation was our subject.

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The Clothes: Pink floral flannel PJs with white buttons down the front and