The Closet
By Darrell Pendergrass
My wife and I share a closet, she keeps her stuff on the left side and I keep mine on the right. It’s a fairly simple rule. On occasion Queenie will purchase a new shirt or sweater for me and hang it on my side; that’s how I know I have something new to wear. It’s hanging on my side.
OK, one day some months ago I was looking in the closet and I spy a sweater hanging on my side. It’s something new for me; I may have actually smiled a little believing that my wife had gone out of her way to get me something new. She cares. She loves me. It’s a Columbia sweater – my wife prefers quality clothing, even for me. I pull the sweater out and hold it up – it’s a brown v-neck sweater with several horizontal darker stripes; it’s not really my style. Honestly, it’s sort of ugly. I put it on and note that the v-neck is incredibly huge, even for my ginormous head. And its fits poorly; it’s way too tight. Fine, I think, it was probably on sale. It was the thought that counts. I hang it back up.
Fast forward to deer season; it’s opening day and like all opening days I’m not prepared. I’ve got to get my gear together, find my rifle and boots, and also get my clothing put on. Upstairs I dig out my long underwear, wool socks, some pants and a shirt, and another shirt, and another shirt – you have to stay warm. I put all that stuff on, looking like a balloon person because I’m so wide and broad, and check myself out in the mirror.
I could use one additional warm thing to throw on over this outfit, I need that perfect layer that will ward off the chills and allow me to sit on the stand for the necessary amount of time in order to get a deer. Let’s see – what is there? What could it be? The new sweater; I’ll put on the new sweater. I’ll wear this new sweater deer hunting, because I sure as shoot will not wear it to work.
I put the new sweater over my head and proceed to stretch it to the very reaches of its fibers, literally tearing it down over all my other clothes. It’s not actually ripping, but it is tight – tight multiplied by a gazillion. Perfect. I threw on my jacket and headed out the door.
As I recall on this day no deer were shot. None were actually seen. Deer hunting this day dealt mostly with boredom, cat naps and daydreaming about vacations that included drinks on the beach and swimsuits. It also snowed. However, underneath it all I was warm. My wife is the best; she got me this sweater and it’s doing the trick. Every man should be as fortunate as me. I may even have smiled again.
The day comes to an end; the pursuit of antlers is over and done with, and there’s nothing left to do but head home to a great dinner, a comfortable home and that warm feeling of family. In the entryway I shuck of my boots, hang up my jacket and stroll into the kitchen. Yes, I’m wearing my sweater.
Queenie witnesses me come into the kitchen and saunters over and stands directly in front of me. “How was hunting?” “Good,” I say. Queenie’s arms are crossed in front of her, an indication for most people that something may be wrong here. I believe they actually teach classes in college about how to read body language and this crossed-arm thing is offered up as a red flag that bad stuff is about to happen. Really, I’m sure of it. I know this for a fact.
Queenie’s focus is on my face. She isn’t really looking me up and down or anything. “Why are you wearing my new sweater?”
(Pause for effect – imagine a long drawn-out awkward sort of silence. Actual minutes pass.)
“It was hanging on my side,” I say.
(More quiet. I can hear the clock in the kitchen ticking off the seconds. Water drips from the kitchen faucet, splashing thunderously into the sink.)
“I’ll take the sweater off and put it back,” I say.
(The crossed-arm deal is working very effectively. More quiet.)
“I love you,” I say.
At this point in my day there isn’t any real reason to smile. And it’s probably good that I didn’t.
Anyhow, it’s her closet now.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.