ed a pair of jeans the other day. It
was a melancholy day. Those jeans had been with me for a long while; old
friends, us, the jeans and me. We had built up a relationship with each other,
over the years. The inside of those jeans had intimate, – not excluding body
fluids and ejections – caring, acquaintance, of the outside of me, from waist
to ankle. I shall miss my Amaryllis, my jeans.
But, I am not here to bury Amaryllis,
but to praise her.
And yes, it has to be ‘her’, she,
decidedly, emphatically, almost but not quite, homophobic-ly, female. I mean,
given the amount of in ‘n’ out we have indulged in over the years it couldn’t
be otherwise; not to mention the aforementioned body fluids. I mean, I’d feel
silly saying things like – ‘Just a minute. Lemme just climb into Albert or Bob,
or Charlie’. Although, that last, that, could come in handy if the jeans serve
best by remaining in the closet. Climbing into Amaryllis however, increases my
street cred.
But, I digress from my avowed purpose,
which some of you might find odd. I mean, who does that? Eulogize a pair of
jeans?
I do, that’s who.
Amaryllis, my jeans, in all her, de
Nime-ness gave the only unconditional love I have ever received. Now, before
you jump to unwarranted conclusions, let me set the record straight. I have,
and have had, the usual complement of family, lovers, wives, children, pets,
friends and enemies in my life. And, they have all loved, (for a given value of
love, of one kind or the other), me. But none of that love was unconditional.
And, I can prove it. Wipe clean your greasy, dirty,
just-wrestled-with-a-rusted-on-bolt hands, on any of the above mentioned. Go
ahead. I’ll wait. Didn’t work out all that well, did it? And there you are; conditional
love. ‘I love you dear but not if you wipe that filth on me.’ Amaryllis never,
ever, said that to me. Not once, and, there have been over the years many
occasions when she could have, and she didn’t. Grease, mud, dog snot, infant
incontinence, inebriated incontinence, you name it, and none of it mattered to
her; I asked, she gave.
To my shame, I didn’t always treat
Amaryllis well. I have, regrettably, put her away, hard used, un-brushed, and wet,
and not given it another thought and yet, I asked and she gave. I have,
unforgivably, lost, misplaced, her. Investigation showed, but could not prove,
that others, (significant or otherwise), conspired with minor (but not
insignificant – see infant incontinence) others to kidnap, from her usual
crumbled abode in the corner of my closet, and banish Amaryllis to durance vile
in the attic. The conspirators had assumed that I would...you know, out of
sight therefore mind, sort of thing. But, my sin lies in not having noticed her
absence for the 6 long months of her incarceration.
Her acceptance of me; from the first moment
her parts opened to receive mine to the subsequent cradling of essential,
precious, some might say defining, parts of me, she accepted me. Certainly
there was a period of adjustment when she was new, but that is to be expected.
Any relationship, in its nascent stages, has to undergo a period, sometimes
more than one, of adjustment and accommodation, insult and remedy. That’s
called growth. Unlike others I could name – but choose not to, discretion,
valor, and all that - Amaryllis grew with due regard for me and my needs. Her
knees stretched just enough to make it unnecessary for me to indulge in that
utterly self-conscious hitch of the trouser legs prior to sitting.
I could go on.
But,
I must grieve.
