Letters from Clutter

"Dear Brooks,

I'm a box in the back of my person's closet. I'm filled with lots of papers. It's kind of dark in here, so I can't tell what they say. The box of cassettes next to me say I'm musty smelling. Truly, I don't notice it.

We've both been back here a long time. Sometimes I get lonely. I know that sounds weird. But I wish my person would come and open me. I like being opened. I miss having a purpose. I've heard stories about boxes getting emptied, flattened out and tossed into a recycling bin. That gives me chills. But at least it would be some kind of change.

Maybe someday we'll meet. Some part of you scares me. But I secretly like to imagine you would empty me out and then make me into a big cardboard airplane and toss me from the roof of the house and I would get picked up by the wind and fly for many, many miles.

Yours,
the Box"

"Dear Mr. Palmer,

I'm a storage locker in New Jersey. It's so dark in here. I can't see anything. Wait, I'm going to turn on the light...Oh, my God, I'm stuffed! No wonder I've been feeling all swollen. I feel like I ate a meal five years ago that I've yet to digest. Ahhhghh! I wish you could come by and help me. I think if you were here with the person who rents me out, you could say, "Um, this stack of 100 copies of "Real Simple", what if you were to set them free?!" I think if my person heard it from me, they'd just think I'm complaining. Anyway, a room can dream, right?

Respectfully,
Nervous in New Jersey"

"Brooks,

You probably don't remember me, but I'm the wedding dress you helped your client let go of five years ago. I was so angry at you! I was happy sitting in the back of her closet. I wasn't bothering anyone. I know my person got divorced ten years ago. But it's not my fault the relationship went bad. Though I have to admit, at the wedding I knew. As fabric, you can tell these things. Anyway, we all know what happened.

When I look back, after the divorce, I have to admit it did hurt every time she would come into the closet and avoid looking at me. Then there were the times I wish I could've been given another chance. I wanted to say, "Get married in me again, the next time it will work out." But I was fooling myself.

I'm actually writing to thank you. You dropped me off at the Salvation Army and a week and a half later someone bought me as a wardrobe item for a theater company. In the past year I've been worn in productions of "You Can't Take It With You", and "The Wedding Singer". At the end of each show, during the curtain call, I feel the audience is applauding me. It feels sooo good to be useful. I can't thank you enough!!

Sincerely,
The Wedding Dress"