Fact or Fiction Friday– Strangers

Opening the door to our bedroom I knew everything had changed.

The walls were paler, the bedspread shabbier and the floor more worn. As my eyes scanned the room, I felt nothing. I felt nothing as I walked past our dresser. Nothing as my hands skimmed it’s edge. Nothing as my fingers slid down the small silver chain hanging from our wedding photo.

I remembered the day he gave me this necklace. He practically beamed at the idea of bringing me joy with such a lovely trinket. We had been walking along the edge of the water, the sand curling around our toes and allowing our feet to sink in slightly with each step. The tips of our fingers intertwined as we slowly meandered without a direction. It had been utter bliss. When he stopped suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. And then again as he produced the simple strand of silver that matched the sparkle in his eye. It was all so contagious. How could I have not fallen in love.

But alas, we were young and naive. We started our life together as children in love. We had no idea of the difficulties to come. We didn’t know how the world would change us.

With each passing year we grew further apart. His job kept him away more and more. And my life had become so busy, I didn’t notice. I had filled every moment I could with something or someone new. Perhaps on some level I did know.

And here I was coming back to this room. Did I even know the person who lived here? Who was she? But it was my home, my bedroom. So I pushed on. I opened the dresser, and began to leaf through the pants and shirts.Why did I even wear these clothes, was it for me? My job? Who? It was as if I were spying on someone else.

What strangers had we become?

I made my way over to the closet and looked through each of the items neatly placed on their hangers. I felt nothing. Until I came to the last item hanging in the closet.

A single white dress. Tears welled up in my eyes. I remembered this girl. I took the dress off the hanger and sat on the floor. I fingered the delicate needle work. Each bead brought a memory of who I used to be. As I touched the edge of the sleeve, I remember his hand holding mine. The ring he gingerly placed on my finger. The seam of the neck reminded me of his gentle kisses on my shoulder. This was a girl in love.

This isn’t me anymore, I don’t know her.

None of this is me. I panned around the room one last time and made my decision.

This isn’t who I want to be.

I took the dress and placed it over my arm and walked out. I took nothing else with me. And as the door shut, I felt a small sense of freedom and hope push through.

This post is written for this week’s Red Writing Hood meme over at The Red Dress Club: Write a piece – 600 word limit – about finding a forgotten item of clothing in the back of a drawer or closet.

D has asked for a disclaimer on this post (top and bottom, but I only allowed bottom). He felt this was too sad and I think it worried him a little. What can I say, apparently I have a flair for the tragic, who knew?

This is fiction.

D is amazing and we work very hard to keep our marriage as one and not drift apart. As I write this he is sweetly sleeping beside me, and I still see him the way I did 7 years ago. I love him with my whole heart and I am very blessed that he has given his me heart back.