The Chatter in the Closet and Talking Doors

I have a closet full of clothes that I seldom wear anymore. Pants, shirts, jeans, suits and sport coats. Many of the items that are out of fashion I hold on to just in case they return to style. And I refuse to get rid of the pieces that are still in fashion and keep them . . . thinking that one day I’ll have more occasions to get dressed up and wear them again. I dream that someday I’ll even need them so much that I wear them all, day by day, a new outfit each day. But the day never seems to come, and they go on hanging. Not being used.

I always enjoyed the Far Side cartoons by Gary Larsen and I think it’s because I too have a tendency to personify too many things in life. Often times giving animation to fruit and furniture and even doors that open and would be people greeters . . if someone came in . . .or other doors that I imagine are the type that never seem to open. They have, to me, the personality of people who shut others out, and say . .”stay away”, and “you are not welcome within”. Of course sometimes I look at people and have a way of piercing their persona veil and I can see immediately that if they were a door, they would be locked shut, deadbolt turned, and the key was lost.

So it’s easy for me to think of the clothes in my closet as having personalities too, of their own. I imagine sometimes in my own times of hanging in loneliness that they sit in the closet and talk to each other rather than to just be left there hanging in silence. I wouldn’t want to be left hanging. But in the mornings when I’m in the closet dressing, I try to convince them all that it is better to be left hanging there unused and even unappreciated, than to be not needed and discarded. I tell the wardrobe that at least I am thinking they are still attractive and of value, and will be lovely to wear. But I suppose they think that my words are meaningless, if I don’t ever actually get around to showing them I still want them.

I know that when I’m finished dressing and leave the closet, that they must go on and on back and forth, about their own qualities of fabric and color and style. If I’m not going to show them off in public, then I think they must have a need of their own to convince themselves of their own value. I wonder if my one Armani tries to bully them and I wonder if each, in their own way feels a bit of inferior to be hanging on the same rod as he does. I want to tell him that he’s really no better than the others because his value is still the same regardless of the price tag he once carried. He is still only useful as something to wear and dress up in, and in that way each peace has its equal value. I’m sure though that because of the Armani’s upbringing that he would be certain that he’d be the last item to ever be discarded.

The other day we buried my mother. She . . being the woman who sometimes drove so many people nuts with her critical analysis of so many things. She . . being a saint though to me who never once was upset with me for failing, and her reply was always to tell me that "now that you have that obstacle out of the way, you can go on to your greatest achievement."

I didn't even cry at her funeral. I was just numb. But I was so sad. I was surrounded by family, but I still felt alone. I felt like a pair of trousers with no one to wear them, hanging in a dark and lonely closet. I kept realizing all day that I had this great need in my life to show her that I had turned out ok. And now that she wasn't there to show anymore, I felt just like the "not needed" clothes must feel.