The Tshirts

Her fingertips rest against the handle to her dresser drawer. The room still smells like the vanilla candle she blew out before falling asleep the night before. The drawer glides open with a smooth rolling sound to reveal stacks of tshirts, all folded the exact same way. All begging to be worn and wishing they had been in the last six months. She closes the drawer, opens another. The next, just like the first, is full of folded tshirts lying in a drawer with the other hopefuls. Some of them recently worn and freshly washed, others laying lifelessly atop the rest with no hope of being worn left. She stares at the chosen ones placed upon the tops of the stacks, remembering all of the places and times she had worn each one. Each shirt had a different but similar story. Some she had loved so well that the seams were falling apart and random holes were appearing throughout the material forever mapping out the journey they had been on together. Some had stains from chocolate ice cream. Some had tags that remained tacked on the fabric. The shirt and her both waiting for that one perfect time, place, moment, outfit, to sport the new addition to the wardrobe. She shut the drawer and closed her eyes, wondering what it must be like to be a shirt. Lying in a drawer with the other hopefuls, praying you are the chosen one for that particular day. The thought lingered in her head for a while before she came to the conclusion; Aren’t we all just tshirts? Waiting in a drawer, hoping, wishing, praying to be plucked from our surroundings and put out into the big open world? We are all developing permanent creases, raveling at the seams. We are all wearing thin, she thought. Our own flesh becoming the fabric of our entire lives, mapping out each move; calculated or not. We are all in this big giant drawer of the world, waiting for our moment. She closes her eyes, opens the first drawer again and picks up a shirt. It fits comfortably. Breathable, but flattering to her figure. This is this shirts moment. That moment that it has been waiting, and wishing, and praying for. It’s all finally here. The drawer shuts and the bedroom door gets closed on her way out. And the other tshirts continue waiting, and the room still smells like distant vanilla candle from almost sleepless nights prior, and the moment continues to go by; cherished or not.

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