Moving house was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning but it only seemed to stir up the past. It started when you began packing up the kitchen, the feeling of each glass in your hands reminded you of nights out, your drunken mistakes. You felt your face flush as you wrapped a partially dusty glass in newspaper. You take a look at the name written on the glass, from your first job you think to yourself. That was how you met Oz. He'd wrote his name and number on his pint glass. This pint glass although the writing had rubbed away months ago. You were waitressing in this small bar when you met him, for weeks he would come in on a Friday and order the same thing. Whisky neat. Neat because he claimed the ice changed the flavour, but you weren't convinced. After weeks of coming in you could tell he was growing fond of you and one day he left his name and number on his glass. It all seemed like so long ago now, from first dates to saving up to buy your first home together.
Each chipped plate reminded you of learning to cook and trying to understand the ancient recipes you had inherited from your grandparents. The disgusting taste of them, the way they tasted nothing like the comforting food you remembered so fondly. The patterns reminded you of buying take out, serving the greasy food on fancier plates to atleast make an effort to the presentation.
Box after box had filled up, each lovingly labeled with a quick scribble of the room each boxed item belonged too. The bathroom box contained worn old towels you refused to throw away and half empty shampoo bottles as well as bath bombs you had purchased despite not owning a bath. Oswalds expensive aftershaves and musky smelling soaps, the scent comforting, familiar. The smell of home
As you made your way towards the bedroom you thought to yourself the gargantuan task you had before you. You'd always had a bit of problem when it came to clothes, keeping everything you ever wore on a special occasion. Even if the occasion wasn't all that special you kept the outfit anyway. Your side of the wardrobe always looked as if a small tornado had hit with all manners of clothing strung across the built-in shelves. While Oswalds side of the wardrobe was always pristine, and it seemed like he had a organised system going. Shirts on one side, slacks on another and coats in the middle.
As you grabbed another box to begin the task ahead you could hear the front door open and quickly shut. Oz was home. The man called out towards you. "You packing up?" You gave a short hum in reply leading him to your location. He gave a crooked smile as he walked into the bedroom and sat himself down on the bed causing it to let out an almost pained creak.
You made small talk with Oz as you began throwing your own clothes into a box labeled 'my stuff' not bothering to fold the clothes and instead just throwing them in as is.
Slowly, the wardrobe emptied and the boxes only got fuller. One full of shoes some that you hadn't worn in months. One box full of your party dresses that hadn't touched skin in years. Another box bulging with your pajamas it seemed like you had a set in every material sillk, sherpa, polyester and cotton blend. With each new item plucked form your side of the shared wardrobe Oz just sighed and made quiet remarks, "You should throw that away" or "keep those, they bring out your eyes" it all kept you motivated, his voice breaking up the concentrated silence as you focused on the task at hand.
Finally after six boxes full of your own clothes you moved onto Oswalds side, pulling out delicately pressed and starched shirts, folding them with the utmost care. You moved on to his slacks each pair washed and dried with love and care. Each pair of slacks were paired with a shirt, gently set ontop of them in the boxes.
As you worked your way farther into the wardrobe you came across four garment bags. All stuffed at the back of the wardrobe. Normally you wouldn't question it but something peaked your interest. You grabbed the garment bags and set them infront of Oz, a curious smile on your face.
"Whats in these" you asked, getting a smirk in reply. Oz took one of the bags and unzipped it to reveal a tuxedo. A plum plaid, you never had seen Oz wear it before not even in photos. Before you could ask any questions Oz had already zipped the bag up and moved onto another one.
The next bag he unzipped contained a simple black tuxedo. It was smaller and made for a much younger Oswald. He looked at the tuxedo with a longing look.
"This was my first ever tuxedo I bought myself, look at it. Isnt it just gorgeous?" He asked rhetorically not received wanting your opinion on it. He peeled the garment bag away from the tuxedo letting you see it in its full glory. He showed it off proudly even standing up to show you it fully. The inside of the blazer was a rich almost maroon red with the bow tie to match.
You tried to picture a much younger and smaller Ozwald wearing it, a smile came to your face as you thought about it. How proud he must have been when he wore it.
You smiled towards Oswald as he zipped the garment bag back up and set it inside a box along with the other three tuxedos. You sat on the bed along side Oz, making the bed creak quietly.
You made yourself comfortable against the headboard of the bed a yawn coming out of nowhere. You sat for a moment before you felt your eyes closing and your body fighting off sleep. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep against Oz.
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