This is the title of a story that Danse Macabre published some months ago. I wrote it under the influence of Ray Bradbury, who, it must be understood, can take no blame for my admiration. It used to be if you wrote like Bradbury you’d find a publisher. Those days have gone.
The story concerns a magic necktie. The necktie in itself is a suggestive accessory. Not unlike a noose, it often represents the cost of the business world. It is also the article of clothing most often to fall into your soup or sauce and become utterly destroyed.
In one of my classes I had a student who commented on a particular tie I wore. This one was vibrant with primary colors—flashy for my personality—that my mother had bought me. It went with nothing, so it went with everything. A white shirt showed it off best.
In the right light the tie seemed to move. That was, I suppose, the genesis of this story. A man finds a tie on an accident victim and is fascinated by the movement of the images on the fabric. He steals the tie and soon finds it is the only one he wants to wear.
Those familiar with Bradbury will see shades of The Illustrated Man. There is more than meets the eye going on here, as you can imagine. Most of my stories are metaphorical, but the interpretation rests with the reader.
There is something unsettling about wearing a dead person’s clothes. A kindly neighbor died when I was a teen and his widow gave me one of his ties. I still have it in my closet, for the ties of the working class seldom wear out. It used to bother me to wear it, until I realized that we’re all dead at some point in our lives.
Even Ray Bradbury.
I always wear a tie to teach my classes. On occasion I still wear the tie that led to this story. Students no longer comment upon such things. They read authors I’ve never heard of. I have become an unillustrated man.
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