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Life in the Closet

From time to time, driven by who knows what primeval urges, I sniff around in forgotten corners of my clothes closet. I’m not sure what I expect to find… memories, perhaps: shards of places once visited, people once known, hopes once entertained before I realized I would soon forget them in the cloud that envelopes all things after a while. It is, I know, a specious excuse to occupy time that might more profitably be spent napping or perhaps doing the laundry, but I am old now, and not as bound by utilitarian things.

Still, a hunt in a closet has a certain teleology associated with the effort, don’t you think? It is not as mindless as it might first appear. Sometimes a reward is defined as much by the effort as by the attempt to justify it. I seek clothes redolent with memories. Originality. Novelty is not restricted just to new things when you age: memories are all about things you haven’t found a need to consider for a while; their newness has worn off, leaving only fragments of what you once may have felt about them. But, like putting a fresh battery in an old watch, or finding a precious, long forgotten quotation in the margin of an old book, suddenly they are new again: fresh and novel…

I mention this because in the closet of my bedroom the other day, I happened to notice a forlorn shadow hiding near the edge of some long-abandoned shirts with fraying button-down collars. Anything not hanging directly in front of the closet door is severely light-deprived -the periphery is like a vertical, seldom-explored abyssal plain; it’s easy to neglect its inhabitants once they’ve drifted to the edge, I’m afraid.

But who could ignore the quiet rustle of a hopeful once-loved shirt condemned to the crowded darkness of a neglected corner?

I’m not sure the plea was from a shirt exactly; what do you call a white cotton-thing with no sleeves, several pockets, a little crinkled hood and 6 snaps along the front with matching studs to fasten it like a jacket?  A ‘shirtie’ perhaps?  At any rate, I tried it on and although I may have shrunk a little over the years, this… thing, reached down to my knees like a dress. I have a full-length mirror downstairs in the guest bedroom, and when I took it down there to stand in front of it, attired in fulsome white, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that I’d ever passed through a phase in my life when I’d found the sleeveless, knee-length look to be attractive. I can’t imagine ever wearing it on a date, although its multiple pockets might have been handy, I suppose: I used to write clever things to say on little folded scraps of paper for such occasions, so apart from feeling a bit transgendered, I’d at least have had more places to file my wit. But, even in those days I don’t think many people would have understood the look, quite frankly.  

It occurred to me that perhaps I bought it on one of my trips to South America; they’ll sell anything to a tourist brave enough to risk looking silly when they get back home. It also occurred to me that it may not even be mine; I have not always lived alone and there were times when I shared my closets and didn’t scrutinize the inventory left behind by the departing souls. Those were not the times to scrutinize items of clothing too closely lest lawyers become even more involved. For all I know some of my favourite jeans may be walking around on somebody else. But any relationship once worth its salt was built on just such a give and take wasn’t it?

Still, now that I’ve rescued the shirtie, I’m not sure what to do with it… Maybe the Salvation Army…? Had it not drawn attention to itself, I would have been none the wiser; heaven only knows what else lives in that shadowed realm. By any stretch of the imagination I am not a fashionista, so I should not judge what I do not know. At any rate, the cotton seemed unusually soft and thick, though, and when I wore it out on the front porch to see it and feel it in the summer sun, it seemed more cream-coloured than snow-white -richer and more appealing somehow.

Perhaps I should not have chosen the front porch, however. A man walking along the nearby road saw me and waved. Assuming I knew him, I returned the gesture. I suppose it was a reckless response dressed as I was, because he immediately took it as an invitation to walk up my driveway. I didn’t recognize him as one of my neighbours, so I have to admit I was embarrassed.

“I love your outfit,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Where did you buy it?”

I didn’t quite know what to say; I felt silly enough wearing it, without having to disclose its unknown provenance. “I’m not sure… I just discovered it in my closet this morning…”

He nodded his head, clearly fascinated, but whether in the style or the mannequin, I wasn’t sure.

“It’s a rather unusual look, don’t you think?” I mean I had to say something…

“Actually, I love the style,” he said. And it looks good on you… Would you mind if I feel the fabric?”

I carefully undid the snaps and handed the shirtie to him. I almost felt as if I were undressing in front of a stranger, even though I was fully clothed underneath.

He felt the cotton with what seemed to be the experienced hands of a tailor, or maybe a couturier. He even smelled it. Then he held a portion of it in front of him in the full sunlight. “And the cream colour is just incredible in the proper light,” he added as he bunched it up in his hands to feel the texture again.

I could almost see the italics in his words and smiled at his enthusiasm.

He shuffled awkwardly on the porch and stared lovingly at the shirtie. “Look, I know this is rather sudden, but would you consider selling it…?” He tapped a foot for a moment as if he was deciding how much to offer. “I’ve only got $100 on me…”

His eyes looked lovingly at the garment, and his expression was so hopeful, I had to smile. But, I was a little suspicious. I mean who carries $100 on them as they walk around? Who looks at what people are wearing on their porches? I realized I was getting old.

I had considered hanging it back in the closet actually, but he looked so appreciative of the strange garment, I found myself nodding at his offer.

I may have another look in the closet again tomorrow, in fact…

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