I walk through the door, my eyes take a minute to adjust to the dimmer light from outside. I let the door slide close behind me and just inhale the scent. It is the first thing to hit my senses, a sweet, homespun, medicinal aroma that embraces me like a warm childhood memory. My eyes begin to absorb all the colors, the kaleidoscope is almost overwhelming. I start walking selecting an isle at random, no purpose other than to immerse myself in the moment. My fingers brush the textures gently, I can feel the patterns and colors through my finger tips and it excites me.
A voice calls to me, "Let me know if I can help you."
I smile because I know that I will not be able to walk out without purchasing something. I feel the tug, the need for one of these beautiful fabrics to call my own. A chuckle bubble up from the back of my throat, I am amused that I think I can stop with only one. I nod at the clerk, but continue on my quest.
It doesn't matter what name the store is called, where it is located, it is a mecca to me. The only way to save me is not to go in. But I am drawn despite my best efforts. Sometimes the effort to stay away is more than I can bear and I must give in.
Purples, greens, yellows, reds and more tease me with their own unique energy. My skin becomes more sensitive and responds to the racks of textiles. Each one is special, but I wait, quieting my soul and wait. I know that I will hear the siren call of that fabric, the one I must have. Sometimes I need it for my projects, other times, I just have to have it.
I then become two separate halves of myself. One side lets the color wash over her and becomes part of the design, the other focuses in on the details and begins the analysis for what is needed. That is the side that keeps me on track, keeps me from taking home everything.
Suddenly I stop, my hand stills and I know. This is what I want, what I need. The colors are bold, the pattern dances enticingly across the bolt. My other side decides how much of it I can afford. I contemplate the price and my halves make an agreement, how much I can afford versus what I want. The deal is made. I slide the bolt from between the other creations that it is nestled between.
I continue on my way, hearing the whispering songs of the other fabrics, tantalizing me with their sensuality and beauty. My other side decides that is all I need and I am forced to comply. I shuffle up to the cutting counter and place my treasure on top. My child-within is delighted with my find and eagerly awaits her prize. I let my other side select the quantity and enjoy the moment of my conquest.
The clerk slides the bolt fabric off, opening the whole scene and displays it like an offering to the gods. I hear the bolt thump on the counter and the fabric swish into place to be cut. The rotary knife slices cleanly through both layers of fabric with only a slight whoosh. The clerk folds the rectangle piece of heaven into a more manageable size and calculates the purchase total. I feel my palms twitch, waiting to hold my prize. The clerk hands me slip and the fold fabric, a signal that we are done with our interaction.
I turn to go pay for my purchase but look longingly over my shoulder at the rest of the bolt. I wish I could take all of it home with me. I never know if I have enough for what I need. I let a sign of regret whisper through my lips and turn to continue to the register.
I clutch my fabric to me breast and give the new clerk my paper slip. While I watch her ring up my purchase, my mind begins to imagine how I can use this gorgeous creation. I know that it will begin to take on different hues depending on what it lies next to. I am drawn back into the moment as the transaction is done and I walk out the doors. I feel a tearing in my soul as I leave. I so want to stay. I know that all day would never be enough time, but I promise myself, I will be back. For this is my mecca and I will make another pilgrimage.
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