Hanger at the Museum

Saturday at the Museum

On that Saturday afternoon the museum was open for everyone.

The special Hanger at the museum cloakroom was overjoyed by all those jackets, coats and hoodies from all over the world. It was so excited today knowing that many fun people would gather at the museum on its free admissions day. It was in a mood for silky touch and colors, linens and suedes.

Please no more black characterless trendy fast jackets, I am sick of those.

It fantasized over getting touched by a velvety turquoise kimono that had once covered the slim shoulders of a diva. Or was it a special abaya that had been previously worn by a grandmother of a refugee; or better an ex-inmate who had been promised a visit to that museum on its once in a lifetime free day; or that migrant student whose first visit to any museum was getting announced!

What a whimsical and funky Saturday afternoon it was going to be for the Hanger.

I just hope it won’t rain, for I hate the sticky feel and smell of wet textile!

How wonderful it would be for two lovers to escape a boring workshop and to end their long boring working days at the museum just before closing time..

Their tops would get tangled in a blend of perfume, love and hot passion.

Their loving whispers would still echo from the seam of their collars toward the neck of love..

… And so it goes that the Hanger would keep their secret forever before they leave to their home countries and never meet again. The Hanger delivered back their scrambled coats with a wink-wink, whispering that their secret will be forever kept in safe “hangs.” 

On that Saturday, the Hanger would anaerobically collect bits and pieces of unfinished episodes of existence, to be edited later during the coming long nights of the lazy weekdays when barely any museum visitors show up, except maybe for those old men, enjoying their nearly free memberships, and who consider the museum to be their shelter away from the rain and from their vacuous schedules.

Move, shouted the Hanger to the Clerk, I want to see the carrier of this lacy jacket.. I wonder if she had made it herself.. or was it her grandma in the Czech republic.

I will always miss the enchanting and beautiful life in that metropolitan city..