Rachel, Hanging

RACHEL, HANGING two weeks before your wedding you decided to hang yourself in the closet like an old blouse or dress you no longer intended to wear. perhaps, it was too difficult to think about ironing out the wrinkles, sorting through your winter thoughts, giving yourself over to another season. it was january. two feet of snow and counting. you left the window open and the white roses on the sill cracked and crumpled, turned to ice. the only color in the room was the green and yellow striped tie which gleamed like frozen algae around your neck. you had stolen it from your father’s dresser knowing that sooner or later it would serve a purpose. the closet door was closed, the wedding gown cut to shreds, the pieces gathered in a drift around your bent knees. you always hated the time of weddings, the pastel colors. you left a note that said: i do, i do, i do and slipped the ring around your slender neck. Copyrighted May 20, 2011 Jim Brewer