Allison woke up with sore joints and a nagging headache and vowed never to drink bourbon again. She looked into her closet and the task of picking out her wardrobe for a day at the office seemed overwhelming. After unsuccessfully working her way down to the end of her closet she took a step back then picked up the phone and called in sick. When she wandered out toward the kitchen she spotted the bourbon bottle still on the counter. That was something that she definitely had to get out of the apartment. She found an empty cardboard box, put the bottle in it, then checked behind the bar for any other surplus items. Soon several ancient, half-empty bottles of flavored liquors were packed in the carton as well.
Feeling for the first time in weeks as if she had accomplished something, Allison attacked the kitchen. She pulled all the items off the shelves and quickly filled the trash bin with stale crackers, moldy bread crumbs and chipped plates. With liquid soap and a scrubby sponge in hand she next went to work on the shelves themselves. As Allison scrubbed her energy returned and upon finishing with the kitchen she decided that the bedroom needed a good cleaning too.
Soon she was running low on soap and had filled all the wastebaskets. At the very least she would need to load up on cleaning supplies, garbage bags, and cardboard boxes. After finishing her shopping she stopped for a quick lunch then went back to work. Her closet proved to be a treasure trove of surplus dresses that no longer fit or whose styles were hopelessly out of date, sweaters she had received as gifts from Brian’s mother and would rather die than wear, scuffed shoes, and worn-out stockings. Those items that still had some life in them went into a box for the Salvation Army and those hopelessly frayed found themselves stuffed into one of the black plastic bags.
Halfway through the afternoon she had worked her way almost to the end of the rack and ran into Brian’s brown, wool suit. He had hated that suit, the product of an impulse buy that he instantly regretted. Well, maybe the Salvation Army had a client who needed a decent suit for a job interview. Allison carefully folded it into the bottom of a fresh box. The suits all came with vests but while Brian never wore them he was too thrifty to just throw them away. Into the box they went. Then she came across the drawer filled with Brian’s underwear, handkerchiefs and socks. What was she supposed to do with old jockey shorts? Some people used them as cleaning rags but the thought creeped her out. They ended up in one of the plastic bags.
Brian’s shirts were a problem. They were all folded and starched. He had loved those shirts. Well, whoever got the suit would need the rest of the outfit. She picked out two shirts that went with the brown suit and then three ties that also matched. And so it went. She paused for dinner but the cleaning seemed to energize her soul and she moved on to the other rooms. When she finally stopped around midnight, too tired to even think, the bedroom floor and half the hallway were hip deep in boxes and bags.
She woke the next morning just before ten and felt as if she had spent the previous day breaking rocks. She glanced at the legends neatly printed on the boxes in Magic Marker – “Suits”, “Dress Shirts & Ties”, “T-shirts & sport shirts”, “Pajamas.” What was she doing? That was all that she had left of Brian. She could see him still, his silly smile, the way he tilted his head when he was confused. A few cardboard boxes? No, Brian wasn’t some collection of old sweaters and ragged sweat shirts any more than he was in some hole in the ground. That grave didn’t hold her husband, just the container he had come in. He still lived inside her and he always would.
She arranged for some men to come over and cart the boxes and bags away and after they were done she fell into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke early that afternoon, she called Greg Kane.