Here is my attempt at the weekly DP Challenge. I wrote it in the view of a clothing hanger I found on the street.
He left me here on the street, on the corner of J and 15th streets. He didn’t look back. He just kept running in a hurry. We were holding on to his middle and index fingers but I was empty. I was in between his striped black suit jacket and matching pants. At home, he was debating which suits to take on his trip. He was talking aloud to himself trying to decide which suit he would look best at this conference. His fingers ran lightly through all of us hangers. I felt the softness of his fingertips land on the suit and pants. I have his fingertips memorized with his index finger having a small bump. I was in between. I had been empty for some time now. Days are unknown for us as we mostly stay inside a small dark room.
Today I see nothing but sun and clouds rolling by. When the sun is clear it shines and makes me hot, but when the clouds hide the sun, the cold from the pavement quickly cools me down. I’ve been here for some time now after I slid off his fingers. As I landed on the cement, my side bent. I wish I could say that it hurt but I’m made out of metal. Now I’m sitting here motionless with my name tag – 120 RND. I guess I should have introduced myself. I am 120 RND and my owner left me here on the street.
I don’t know where I’ll end up next. People walk by. Some have big shoes, small shoes, shoes with heels, tiny shoes. None of them seem to look down but walk on by in a hurry. Some of them are smiling as they walk and others have this rhythmic flow as they walk almost dancing. I keep looking up to see if my owner comes back. I am sure I would recognize his fingertips if he touched me. Now I am here with no clothes on me. My job is to keep my owner’s clothes wrinkle free and organized. It feels strange to just lay here naked on the pavement.
I can say that I have seen more things laying here since I was made to keep clothes hanging from a pole. Where I lived it was mostly dark except for the occasional switch of the light. Some would say it is rather boring to just hang there but most of the times I am dressed in suit or a nice smooth silk shirt. It feels warm and it feels like home. I even get a tie put around my neck as well just like my owner. I feel rather uncomfortable laying here but this freedom of seeing trees and birds flying, roaming around wherever they please, is satisfying. But I miss my home and the fingers of my owner.
Now I have this person taking a picture of me. Maybe I’ll end up in a milk carton box so my owner can find me. Maybe he’ll look for my owner. I will wait here….I feel fingers picking me up but these are not my owners. These fingers are rougher but they belong to a woman. She examines me, bends me a little. Her face is dirty and her clothes smell. She throws me on her cart like the one my owner threw me on when he bought me. She puts an old brown jacket that’s torn around me. It’s warm but doesn’t feel like my owners and this doesn’t feel like home.