The Other Half

After it happened, everyone offered to help. Josie said there was no rush to sort out your clothes, but your tight-fisted landlord told me he already had new tenants lined up.
I thought that we’d boxed up most of your stuff – then I found this lot. I’d forgotten that you always did your washing the day before you went on your trips, so that you had clean clothes to come back to, you said. But now those T-shirts no longer smell of you, just of that soap powder that makes me sneeze. You knew this of course, which is why you always put the clothes airer in the spare room when I came round.
Those are your lucky pants – why couldn’t you have worn them on that day? The staff at the hospital put your wallet and clothes in a plastic bag, but not all of them – they said some were too badly damaged or had to be cut off. Trying to protect me, of course.
Shall I bring one of the clean T-shirts for you when I come to the hospital tomorrow with your family? I think they would like to remember you in that one with the crazy cartoon on the front – what do you think? Sorry, I’m just being daft, expecting you to text me or something to tell me what to do.
If it’s okay with you, I’ll keep hold of those odd socks: I have their other halves in my drawer.

© Maggie Jakins