The Escape Closet

“If I leave, will it go away?” You’re sitting on your king-size bed with the polka dot duvet set  while I go through your clothes. It’s been raining all morning, the sky is grayed out, and your room is dark, so your bedside light and the floor lamp cast a soft glow. You light a candle on your dresser, and its soft lavender scent gently fills the room. Spotify plays Daily Mix 4, with Saint Motel, The Strokes, and Phantogram. “Dance Yrself Clean,” by LCD Soundsystem, is inspiring us. Your closet is color-blocked by category: every shade of blue tops, blue bottoms, and blue sweaters on the shelf above. I pull out a stack of skirts hanging in fives. Your hands can’t clip them back on the hangers anymore, so we’re moving them to a drawer.

“I hope you can escape. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To start over fresh.”

You lean back against the pillows, grabbing one to hug. Your closet is immaculately organized, but the furniture tops are gathering clutter. Ah, too bad, the first sign, I thought to myself.

 I hold up the first hanger with five skirts. First, the yellow and blue striped one, “No, too big.” The denim skirt with the zipper and button, “No, I can’t do that button; it’s too tight.” The A-line navy blue pleated skirt. “No way, look at all those buttons! Soon, it’ll all be elastic waistbands. But if I ever go out in public with sweatpants, will you shoot me?” You rest your elbows on your thighs and rest your head in the cup of your hands. 

“Hahaha, nice try. What about this teal and black lace one? It has an elastic band waist,” I suggest. The sun poked out behind its cloud and streamed through the window, highlighting your face.

You scrunch your nose, “I haven’t worn that in 10 years. Is lace in or out this year? I stopped keeping track.” 

“You know better than I do. Do you still watch Project Runway?” 

“No, do they still make that show?” 

“I have no idea. No matter. So… is it in or is it out?” I ask in my best Heidi Klum accent, holding up the lace skirt. 

You cast aside your joyful pillow and hug your knees tight.  “I guess I should keep it. After all, I can pull it on and take it off myself.” 

“Yeah, that’s practical,” I say. 

You scrunch up your face. You never wanted to be practical.

You scan the closet; you see puff sleeves, circle skirts, bright patterns, kitschy patterns, polka dots, and stripes. “What will happen when I go away?” You rest your cheek on your knees.

“You aren’t going anywhere. We’re just decluttering your closet, getting rid of the things that don’t serve you anymore. There’s no reason to have these things in your closet if they don’t work or fit.”

“But I don’t want to get rid of it all. That’s so depressing. These clothes are a part of my history.”

“If you really love something, then put it in a storage bin; you can always sort them out later when you’re ready.” I smile at you. There’s no rush.

You stand up, reach for the lace skirt, smile, and say, “Maybe I’ll wear this to my doctor’s appointment on Monday.” You fold it and put it in the drawer. “It won’t wrinkle, will it?”

“Wrinkles are OK, they’re better than struggle, right?” I say, reassuring you as best I can.

“Yeah, no more chaos. I just want ease now.” You walk over to me and hug me. “Thanks for being here, I love you.”

I hug you back, “I love you, too. I always will.”

“Me, too, always.” You rest your head on my shoulder.