I thought I was hallucinating. The stranger said “Your black jeans are in the house.”

“What”? I responded.

“Your black jeans – the ones you thought mysteriously disappeared because they

couldn’t take another year of Covid. They are in the house!” the voice repeated.

Who was I talking to? I could hear the voice in my head but no one was in the room.

The clock read 5:17 am. This was an “aha” moment; I realized the REM stage of sleep

where anything could happen. This could be a dream voice.

When I awoke a few hours later, I had a vague sense of remembering this voice – I

remembered two words: black jeans.

As I slowly sipped my morning java, I realized that I had lost those jeans about three

weeks ago. I’m usually not bonded to clothing but, let’s be honest, we ladies all have our

favorite pair of pants. As my woman friends would intone, Fridays were always black jeans

day at work. And damn, I was missing those black jeans, since I still worked part time on

Fridays.

When did I last wear them? I usually love details as I frantically recalled their last

adventure with me.

Eureka! They went to a Friday evening Xmas concert with the Wilmington Symphony

Orchestra. I remember standing up at the end of the concert, singing the traditional Hallelujah

from the Messiah with the chorus. I remember my friend that evening telling me a had a good

voice! This was a pleasant memory of the evening, but where were those black jeans?

I do remember being exhausted that evening, saying goodnight at the door to my

friend, brushing my teeth, letting my dog outside, and then falling into an exhausted sleep in

my bed.

The next morning the jeans were missing as I gathered my clothes to wash.

A girlfriend suggested that they might be stuck around the ring of the washer; another

friend suggested that I hung them in the wrong place in my closet, another one suggested

that they might be under my bed stored in with the summer clothes. The suggestions were

endless.

Three weeks later- still no black jeans after daily intensive searches in my house.

Hmmm…

Yesterday, as I pondered what to wear to an upcoming sad event, I thought of the

black jeans. They would be so comfortable driving down to Oak Island to say goodbye to my

dear friend who was moving to Michigan to be with her daughter.

Her husband of 55 plus years had passed away in September; she was doing fine and

then suddenly had an emotional breakdown after his passing. She was hospitalized and

treated and was now better, so where were those damn jeans

As I mourned the loss of my friend’s proximity, the universe was good. I was flipping

through the hangers of my pants closet that my compulsive friend had organized and color-

coded for me.

On a singular hanger, three pairs of black pants appeared. Peeking out of the trio,

flanked by two thicker pairs of black pants, were my black jeans, hanging neatly waiting for

me and a new adventure.

I knew at the moment I would be alright. Somehow the strength of the strange voice in

the night echoed in my ears. I put on the jeans and they immediately bolstered my spirit. I

would survive my friend’s departure… Life is in constant change as nothing remains the

same. The black jeans, too, would be, replaced some day in the future…