Shirts
I was putting laundry away, and while hanging up the druid’s shirts, remembered the small pile of shirts in the other corner of the room, which I have yet to put away. The memory made me wistful, and I decided to write about it.
Back in April, the druid was faced with the very painful decision of having to move 500 miles away. His current living situation dissolved badly, and his roommate and his lady friend (truthfully, more than a friend because we’re progressive like that) had an alternate location chosen and were preparing to relocate. The druid gave me some gifts, in the form of two shopping bags of clothes that he and the other tenants wanted to get rid of before they disembarked. Most of the clothes were older t-shirts the druid had worn through over the years.
This whole moving thing was traumatic for us. We spent weeks snuffling on the phone daily to each other, and clinging to each other mournfully in those few moments we could spend face to face. It happened very quickly and though I spammed him with dozens of Craigslist listings, none panned out. When he was sure he had to go, I was numb for several days. An unfortunate confrontation with a friend of his turned on the waterworks, and at random moments I’d feel the tears resurge. After saying it once, I refrained from asking him to stay, because this was something he felt he had to do, that people were counting on him. I’m realistic and mutable enough to accept change, even if it is not what I want.
After he gave me the shirts, I thought about how I’d regard them after his move. I’d probably hold them up to my nose. They’d probably catch an entire lake of tears as I clutched them to my face and cried at the loss. I’d imagine him wearing them and get emotional all over again. I’d hang them in my closet, trophies of what was, what had been.
Happily, the situation changed and he stayed, and ended up staying specifically with me though I gave him the freedom to be wherever he felt most comfortable and the least amount of drama.
Those shirts are still wadded up in a corner. I keep meaning to hang them up in the closet along with his few others, but for some reason I hadn’t thought about it yet.
He and I both shudder at the thought of what might have been if he’d left the state. We both think we would have been quite the inconsolable mess. Happily, we don’t have to think about that now.
