Missy was all about stuff. Looking for stuff, gathering stuff, organising stuff and dreaming of ways to procure more of it.
If anyone was having a clear out, she was onto it. “I’ll take that”, being her catchphrase. A broken lampshade left on the street – “I’ll take that”. A friend giving away an art easel with sticky oil paints – “I’ll take that”, despite having no intentions of ever painting. Leftovers at a potluck dinner “Ok if I take that?” while simultaneously whipping the half-eaten cherry pie into a Jiffy bag.
Although she sulked about her nickname Miss Take but could hardly argue with it.
Occasionally Missy took things that weren’t hers to take. A pack of coloured pencils slipped down the front of her jeans, deodorant tucked up her coat sleeve, the odd pack of pegs dropped into her hood
She hadn’t been caught… yet. But sensed it was only a matter of time – and not just because of the pilfering.
Her little cottage in a tree lined street was bulging at the edges. The windows blocked by stacks of newspapers. Her bedroom was stacked to the ceiling with bin bags of clothes. The kitchen, long since unusable, was crammed with charity shop crockery and dried goods dating back to the last century.
The neighbours had begun to talk. Nosey snitches, she thought picking up a Hoarding Helpline leaflet pushed through the letterbox as a hot flush of shame rose across her chest.
The only person Missy could confide in was her colleague Emily who knocked on her door announced one balmy spring evening. Seeing her corridor swallowed by clutter Emily had gasped, “Oh my goodness, Missy”, clapping a hand over her mouth as if to shove the words back in.
Whilst working together at the Post Office Missy revealed her background in care – the constant placement moves, the revolving foster parents and so-called siblings. Only ever being allowed one teddy. The humiliation of carrying her few things in a black bin bag.
“It’s fine Em, it’s absolutely FINE. This is just how I live. I like stuff, things. It feels comforting to have it around me, like a big hug”.
“You could get that from a boyfriend!” Emily half joked, “but you’d have to clear up first. Think of yourself as a tree that is holding onto leaves that are no longer needed. Shed some excess so your roots can strengthen”.
The analogy resonated with Missy who went uncharacteristically silent.
That evening she walked home with a determination in her step. She stepped into the spare room with a recycling bag and the willpower of an oak. But when she tackled second largest newspaper pile, it began to sway. Like a tree without roots she thought – moments before the debris collapsed on her bringing oblivion in the form of an inky cloud.
