Goodbye, Baby Blues

I don’t know how to say goodbye. I get attached to clothes, especially jeans. Shirts, too. I still wear T-shirts I wore in high school, however rat-chewed they may appear. Below is the conversation I just had with my beloved 559's:

“Why are you looking at me like that — so ragged, agape, helpless?”

“Just say it — you want to throw me in the rag pile, don’t you? I’m used up, completely over the chair. You won’t even keep me in the closet anymore with the other jeans.”

“Hey, we had some good times, didn’t we? The Andes? Alaska? Carson City? Weren’t you the jeans I was wearing in Virginia City for the NPA awards? Piper’s Opera House? Remember? I got drunk and pissed all over you.”

“We can have fun again. Why not? Come on, grab the guitar. Let’s head downtown and stir some shit up!”

“No, no, I can’t. I’m a professional now. And you, well, you’re a bad influence on me.”

“What? How could you say that? You think you’re somehow better than me? Is that it?”

“No, no, I’ve just…outgrown you. Literally, you’ve gotten a little tight around the midsection.”

“Phhh, whatever. No one fits you like I do. Yeah, yeah, just try! I’m an original, baby! See if those wannabe relaxed-fit Wranglers give ya the kind of love I give ya!”

Chest-thump, chest-thump.

“You know, for a pair of faded, ass-torn 559's, you’re pretty damn conceited.”

“Just telling it like it is. Keeping it real, yo.”

“Real, huh? Okay, how’s this for real: in the summer, I’ll be wearing those Wranglers all hot and sudsy while I scrub down my car with what’s left of ya.”

Silence. Sob, sniff.

“You can be so cruel sometimes. I guess you can afford to be cruel ’cause you’re a ‘professional’ now. Phhh, you’re just like the rest of ‘em.”

Prolonged silence. Reflection, sigh.

“Hey, I’m sorry. That was out of line. I didn’t mean that. You mean a lot to me. You do. We’ve had some good times, haven’t we? Come on, let’s go. We’ll strut around the neighborhood one last time.”

“You really mean it?”

“Of course I do. I could never lie to you, my baby blues.”

— Gardnerville, Nevada, 2015