Short Prose
Woman in the Closet
SuzAnne C. Cole
Come in, come in. Yes, it is a bit crowded, I know. Some of you can stand outside. There in the hallway. The rest of you, have a seat. Well no, I don't really have any chairs. The carpet is quite comfortable, though.
So? What do you think? Simple, isn't it? I love simplicity. That's why I choose to live in my closet. Simplicity.
Oh yes, living here is voluntary. Quite voluntary. That house you walked through on your way here? Mine. Mine alone since my husband left. He was the last to go, you see. Long after the children we built the house for. My husband…he used to make all the decisions. For both of us.
Then he was gone. Leaving me with all the choices. Overwhelming! Think about what I had to decide. Every single day. To begin with, breakfast. A simple meal? Well you might think so. Especially when it's just cereal and tea. But…Ten kinds of cereal in the cupboard. Flakes or granola or biscuits? And my tea. Caffeinated or decaf or herbal? Which flavor? Oh, I was really dizzy by the time I had it ready. Then, where to eat? The table on the little porch outside the back door? But maybe there would be bugs. The breakfast room table? But it seats eight—too big for just me. A tray in the family room while I watch TV? Every day those choices. Lost my appetite. Thought about just going back to bed. Sooner or later, though I had to get dressed.
Came in here with a sinking heart. Yes. This very closet. Can you imagine? I had so many clothes then….All this space wasn't even enough. True. Out-of-season clothes were in another bedroom closet. Too-small clothes—you know, the ones that might fit someday when the moon was in the right orbit?—they were in still another closet.
'Let's see,' I'd think, 'what should I wear?' I hear you: What's the big deal? Why not just jeans and a T-shirt? Okay, black or brown jeans? Dark blue, stone-washed, chartreuse, khaki? Even white jeans. My husband had my clothes arranged by color—light to dark. Dressy jeans, casual jeans? Bell-bottom, boot-cut, straight leg? Which one of fifty T-shirts or thirty belts? And shoes? Heaps of them. Jumbled on the floor, hardly room to walk in here, shoeboxes stacked to the ceiling.
By the time I was dressed, I was exhausted. And there was still housework. More decisions. Dishes? Laundry? Gardening? So many tools and supplies to clean, sweep, dust, polish, repair, wax, scrub, mop. So many things that needed something done to them. Couches. Dressers and tables. Porcelain figures and wooden fruit. Hundreds of books. Fireplace tools, baskets, brass. Chandeliers. So many things. None of which I had chosen.
One day…the last decision I ever made…I called the Salvation Army. Had it all taken away. Kept a bowl, a spoon, and a cup. And what you see here. Now I'm really free. Free from decisions.
This rope? Here on the door handle? Remember the TV show about the pioneer family? They lived on the prairie. Remember in winter they tied a rope between their cabin and the barn? That way…when there was a blizzard…they could feed their livestock without getting lost. When I have to leave my closet, my rope guides me to the bathroom and the kitchen—even with my eyes closed. That way I'm never lost. Lost in freedom.
I only leave when I have to, though. I'm never happier than here. My back to the wall. Door safely shut against your world and its bewildering choices. That bare bulb hanging there my sun and moon, the ceiling my sky. For windows, my imagination. I need nothing else.
I'm afraid it's time for you to go now. Your visits exhaust me. Thank you for coming. See you next year.
(SuzAnne C. Cole, a Houstonian since l972, has published books, essays, poetry, plays, and fiction in many commercial and literary magazines, newspapers, and anthologies including Newsweek, Houston Chronicle, USA Today, Troika, Personal Journaling, and Writing Your Life Story. She also wrote To Our Heart's Content: Meditations for Women Turning 50. This is her first contribution to the magazine.)