Secrets of a Hoarder

Part One

    She sat in the pile of his clothes.  

    It all still smelled like him.  Not like his deodorant, not like his cologne, but really, like him.

    Whenever the loneliness started to take over, she would come in here.

    She liked to hide in this room.  She could almost pretend that he was still here, just out on an errand or off at the gym.  

    The last bag of groceries he brought home, still sat at the doorway of the bedroom.  Just waiting for him to go put it all away.  The milk was probably curdled  solid and the bread nothing but mould, but still, she refused to do anything with it.  There they would sit,  just waiting for his return.  

    There was no way he could ever return.

    William had died over a year ago.

    Everyone said she needed to get over it, that Victoria needed to move on.  Her friends pushed her to date, her father pushed her to go to church.  Even her co-workers were preaching yoga classes and jogging groups.  

    There were only two things she was interested in doing: going to work to earn money and going shopping to spend money.  

    She had one dad, two friends, and too many co-workers.  That was enough.  People were too fragile.  There was no guarantee in another human being.  Everybody dies, and not always when they are old.  People could walk out on you, fire you, be disappointed in you.  But her possessions, they were always there.

    Hunger finally drove Victoria from the comfort of the bedroom.  Walking past the bag of spoiled food,  she squeezed beside the rolling rack of cocktail dresses in garment bags.  She stepped over the pile of make-up she had started organizing a month ago.

    Victoria had tried to throw some things away.  She had made of goal of tossing away at least two eyeshadows and three lip sticks.  Unfortunately, the goal had not been met, as she discovered that her half-used, five year old Plum Magenta lip gloss was an exact match for the ruffled satin dress she had bought at a sample sale.  She had yet to wear the dress, so when she finally did, she would use that lip gloss.

    When she bought the dress, She had been with her best friend, Anna.  She was visiting from England, so Victoria had taken her on a tour of her city.  It was on a busy street corner that they  were handed a flyer advertising a one day sample sale.  The paper was covered in high end brands and designer names.  

    They had both squealed in excitement and ran off to find the address.  

    The sale had not started yet, and some how the friends ended up first in line.  

    First in the store.  

    First to see the magenta dress.

    Victoria felt like she had won the lottery.  Both the designer label and the price tag sent her running to the cash table before anyone else could try to take it from her.

    She had imagined her and William, on a night out.  

    Maybe they would go to a jazz club downtown, or maybe dinner before going to seen a play.  What really mattered, is that she saw the both of them together when she looked at that dress.  It ignited images of the two of them, in love.  

    Victoria could not throw those things out.  They were her hopes and her dreams.  

    If she threw it out, it would be admitting to herself, it was never going to happen.  

    It would be admitting he was really gone.

    So she held onto it all.  Held onto the hope, held onto the dream.

    Victoria had already lost so much.  She could not fathom loosing any more.

     All she had left were the fantasies.

    She walked into the kitchen.  Carefully she stepped over a broken plate and bowl, I think I dropped them some time last month.  I also made sure to avoid stepping  on the old spaghetti that had been on the plate when it fell.  I did not however care about stepping on the soiled underwear, She thought that it was from a while back when she got really drunk, all alone.  

    Looking in the fridge, Victoria ignored the jar of mouldy tomato sauce, and browned celery, only interested in the left over take out Chinese food from two nights ago.  Giving it a quick sniff she decided it was still good.

    She ate standing up, in the messy kitchen.  She reused the same chop sticks from two nights ago that she had left in the container.  Other wise Victoria would have to find a way to wash a fork.

           The kitchen sink had been broken since before William's death.

           It had been the next thing on his fix-it list for around the house.

           She would not hire anybody to come fix it.  It was still his job. 

           The list was still stuck to the fridge.

          Sighing, she decided to leave the kitchen through the opposite door,  and find somewhere to sit.  

          She walked over the area where newspapers covered the floor.

          A while back, she had tried to gather up all the newspapers in the house, to take them out the the curb for recycle.  While carrying a stack of about thirty days worth of news, Victoria had tripped on a pink high heeled shoe, and the papers went flying everywhere.  The largest part of the stack still sat  right in the doorway, but the rest of the papers had scattered out to cover half the kitchen.  

         She had had a black eye for a week and a half from the fall.

         Entering the living room, Victoria went for the long couch in front of the television.  She only had a small space on one side, that she could sit on.  The rest of the couch has been taken over with wrinkled laundry.  

    A brand new iron, still in the box, sat on top of a pile of shirts.  There was a layer of dust along the top.  She had bought it in a vain attempt to start doing my own laundry.  She did not make it past the rinse cycle.  The washing machine ruined three silk blouses, a blazer and her favorite brand name jeans.  Victoria decided it would be cheaper to keep taking things to the dry cleaners, rather then risk ruining her expensive clothing.  

    Still, she would not get rid of the iron.  What is some day Victoria had a wrinkle emergency?  She could not go to work as a bridal consultant, if she looked like a slob.  Her public image had to be perfect at all times.  People expected it.