Clothes on Fire

Jane Edberg © 2003

I really wanted Nanda's sheets and pillows but his girlfriend Barbara had them. What seemed petty became monumental. It's a grief driven madness that is unexplainable. I bought those for him years ago. I wanted to take them immediately but she didn't want to give them up. She needed them. I didn't want to force her. But when she got a new lover, I asked for them back.

His linens arrived in the mail. All clean, perfectly folded, torn holes sewn shut; she bound them up like a gift using a wide, yellow satin ribbon. She scented them with drops of his favorite cologne. Her love for him, sunk deep into the fabric of his pillow.

There is a story in the fabric of a coat, hat, wallet, pillow. I felt that way about Nanda's things. His history was slowly released as I studied each of his possessions. I was looking for clues, insights, and reasons. With time, the substance wilted and the essence was gone. Their decay fed my sadness.

I had to rid my life of cruel reminders. I chose fire. To burn his clothes was a defiant act of permanence. Fire was the only way for me to see that there was nothing left inside those aging artifacts.