Preparations, Questions and Imaginations

Dearest Rachel –

There’s something strange about driving back from a workout, and needing to stop and prepare for the next one before going home. It’s not unlike finishing up lunch, complementing the chef, and wondering immediately thereafter where and what one would be having for supper that night – a scenario that I’m much more familiar with, while still able to freely admit how silly it is.

And yes, that’s where I found myself last night (well, technically, yesterday afternoon, but it was already getting dark by the time I got to the store). I needed to get myself some exercise wear – specifically, shorts, as it wouldn’t be appropriate to exercise in jeans. And it’s not that I’m concerned with any sort of fashion; some of my favorite pairs are already starting to get a little threadbare in certain spots that I wouldn’t want them splitting from any attempts on my part to stretch, for example. Full-on exercising while wearing them could quite possibly be disastrous. Besides, nobody in that fitness room was wearing long pants, despite it being the middle of January.

So I found myself driving to the northern half of town, passing the streets that I might otherwise turn off onto in order to go home, en route to a local sporting goods store, to see what I could find. Oddly enough, I didn’t get to the store proper; there was an empty storefront in the same strip mall that they had turned into a warehouse for some of their, let’s just say, less than hot selling items. As a result, I found myself going home with a pair of shorts that only cost me ten dollars. For all the expenditures I have made over the last two years that you might have looked askance at, in this case, I dare say you would’ve been proud of me.

However, for all that, this outlet store had basically only clothing for sale. There was nothing on offer for me to put it in, apart from the carrier bag the check put my purchase in, and while it might well be serviceable for the purpose, I doubt that would be appropriate to bring to the gym. I needed some sort of gym bag to carry them in.

Then, again, while we may have gotten rid of a lot of stuff that you and I had been holding onto in the basement for whatever reason, Jan and I left a fair amount of luggage of various sizes down there. I figured that, failing to find anything on sale, I could just use one of our old bags for the time being.

And sure enough, there’s an entire hamper full of small bags, including this blue one that looks to be the perfect size for what I need: just big enough for a towel, a change of clothes, and a few toiletries for washing up after.

The only thing was, when I picked it up, the bag seemed like there was something in it. My assumption was that, in an effort to save space, there might actually be a smaller bag or two inside of this one, but no:

There seemed to be clothes in here…
Girls’ clothes, no less.

This, quite honestly, is something of a mystery. The fact that this is here makes no sense to me; Jan, in particular, was quite thorough in going through things, both in the basement and throughout the rest of house. It strikes me as virtually impossible that she might’ve missed something like this. And yet, here we are.

Moreover, I can’t recall you wearing anything like this. You were never much for wearing skirts – I could probably make an entire letter out of that fact – and while you would occasionally cosplay for various anime conventions (and I don’t mind telling you that this looks very much like the henshin outfit Sailor Moon’s daughter, Chibi-usa, would wear), I know for a fact you never wore anything like this. Admittedly, I wouldn’t mind imagining you in it…

Especially considering that it seems like it would have been a bit small, even on you; if you were to wear it (or something like it), it might be a bit revealing

All of which is neither here nor there. Since I didn’t know where this had come from – and I had other priorities at the moment – I put everything back in the bag, zipped it up and set it aside. There were, after all, other bags I could use just as well, and I grabbed one of them for today’s excursion.

But with all these questions about what this was, and where it came from, it should come as no surprise that you showed up in my dreams last night. Granted, you weren’t dressed up in that little pink sailor suit outfit, but I’m pretty sure I asked you about it. Not that it did me any good – I don’t recall that you even said anything, as far as I can recall, let alone addressing my question. You also didn’t respond verbally to my offer to demonstrate how the wheelchair worked for Chompers, –and yes, he was there, too, although he was just barely getting to the point where he was starting to limp; he wasn’t quite so badly off that he couldn’t move his back legs, as you might recall. Our little domestic scene appeared to go some ways back, in fact, as Daniel was barely ten years old in this tableau – which is a little odd, because he was twenty-one by the time you brought Chompers home, so… yeah, anachronism. It’s a dream; some things just aren’t going to necessarily make sense.

***

Questions and dreams aside, I did manage to make it to the gym this morning; although I had to dig the car out of a couple of inches of snow first of all. Imagine that; having to work out in order to go and work out. If there’s a better example of irony, I don’t know what it is.

Still, it’s a first step of at least seventy this year, if I’m going to make any progress toward a more healthy (and hopefully, more attractive) version of me. Again, I’m sorry that you aren’t here to see the results (although they certainly aren’t here yet), but as I keep going, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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