Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Fiction

Clothes (See E's response at http://epiphanizing.blogspot.com/2009/03/clothes.html)

2nd Prompt

Use a particular and fairly vivid piece of clothing to tell a story. What does clothing say about us? How does it select us, as opposed to being selected by us? What do clothes hide? What do they reveal?
(from prompt #21 in The 3 AM Epiphany)


Clothes

I'm white. Well, I was. Colorless. Well except for those stains. The stains that seem to grow and pile upon each other 4-7 days out of the month, every month. When I was new, I was stark white. Beautifully colorless with white lace around my openings. That was a long time ago, when I spent my days hanging out on mesh wire among others of my kind, in different sizes and colors.
The day she bought me, I didn't know what to expect. I had never been on anything but mesh wire before and when she pulled me out of her shopping bag, and stepped into me for the first time I felt uncomfortable. The mesh wire had only clung to my top two edges. Now I was being yanked and fitted up two long structures and around a thick trunk. The lace at my openings became stretched and my stark white color took on a kind of transparency.
Over time she used me occasionally, as I said, for about 4-7 days out of the month, washing me every other day or so. At times she would use bleach, possibly to try to recapture my previous clean white colorlessness. But she was never able to obtain that again. I was marred. Tainted. When she wasn't wearing me, she wore others who looked similar to me in structure but sported more curves, more lace and more color. She never wore those for 4-7 days in a row and they were always washed on delicate after only one day.
Then one month, I expected her to come for me. It was about that time that she normally would have and I hadn't been used in a while. When the time came and passed I started to get nervous. Would I sit in this drawer forever? Had she decided that I was no longer useful because my fabric had been stretched out of proportion, my lace now sported holes and strings and the elastic just wasn't as bouncy as it had once been? I spent a long time just sitting there in that folded position she had last left me, wondering, pondering, worrying. It felt like an eternity.
Out of nowhere, one day, she opened the drawer and laid another garment, just like me, only bigger with an extended upper portion, next to me. Had I been replaced? She didn't take me out again after that day. She used the other, new garments, with the extended upper portions instead. They remained white, with no stains and didn't seem to stretch or tear or become misproportioned over time. She seemed to love them more than she had ever loved me. She wore them day in and day out, washed them, folded them, wore them and washed them again.
It was nearly nine months later, when I found myself stacked underneath piles and piles of other garments, of all colors and sizes that she came looking for me once again. I didn't think it was me, who she seeked so fervently but when her eyes came upon me she picked me up, held me to the light pressed me to her trunk while looking at herself in the mirror. She then pulled me up over those two old familiar long structures and around her thicker trunk which I clung to just a bit tighter, and when she took me off that next evening to wash me, I had a brand new stain.

1 comment :

  1. You have a great way of threading wonderful detail throughout your fiction. Your prose moves along very well. Keep writing! You have a creative spirit that should be shared:)

    By the way, I think a "meme" is a kind of blogging game that we share with each other. I'll tag you for one in the future if you'd like:)

    ReplyDelete

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