The Sweatshirt
The Sweatshirt
She walks into the hollow apartment. She doesn’t even bother turning on the lights because no one is home, not even her. She lazily tosses her keys at the wall. They miss their hook and tumble to the floor with a muffled thud. She abandons them there.
During the past few blurred days, she only wished for some time alone. Now as she stands in their dark living room, the silence paralyzes her. The sealed curtains block out the world trapping her with memories.
Making her way to the drapes, she wrangles out of her crochet dress like its chain mail digging into her pale skin. She leaves it on the floor in the middle of the living room. She kicks out her pumps one by one launching them under the couch.
To empty to continue, she falls into his leather chair shivering. Her black, silk slip gives her no warmth, but the cold in her bones doesn’t come from the air. She hugs her knees to her chest and struggles for breathe.
Staggering to her feet, she blindly stumbles through the living room into the bedroom. With her hands as her guide, she finds the dresser. She rummages through the drawers, the ones with all his things. Things he will never wear again. Things she will have to pack up and give away but not yet. Not yet!
She finally holds up what will cure her chill, his old college sweatshirt with the bold letters across the chest. She throws it over her head catching a whiff of him. Not his cologne but him. The real him, the him he was.
The weathered plush of the sweatshirt hangs on her malnourished body. It’s amazing what three days of not eating can do to her petite figure. But who really thinks about eating when the world is crashing down all around?
With the neck still over her nose, she wraps her arms around herself hoping to feel his embrace one more time. Her legs tremble, and the tears that she's been holding back finally come.
She crawls into his spot on the bed. Pulling the sweatshirt down, she buries her face into his pillow. Her tears meld with his scent as the memories flood back.
The day they met he was wearing the sweatshirt, already proud of his soon-to-be alma mater. She didn’t want anything to do with him then. She was a lost freshman wondering from building to building without a clue of where she was going while he was the clichéd “big man on campus” with his rowing and fraternity. He invited her to parties and his meets trying to impress her with his snobbery, not knowing at the time she was a scholarship student. She always rejected him making him want her that much more.
In the end, he wore her down with his charm and that devilish smile of his. The same smile that would brighten up her worst days for many years after until that fateful stormy night with that horrible telephone call.
Now all that is left are the memories and his lingering smell.
She closes her whimpering eyes and begs for the warmth of the past to soak into her frigid bones, so tomorrow won’t be so barren without him, and she won’t feel so alone. As sleep finally engulfs her, she breathe in the last traces of the man she loved.
During the past few blurred days, she only wished for some time alone. Now as she stands in their dark living room, the silence paralyzes her. The sealed curtains block out the world trapping her with memories.
Making her way to the drapes, she wrangles out of her crochet dress like its chain mail digging into her pale skin. She leaves it on the floor in the middle of the living room. She kicks out her pumps one by one launching them under the couch.
To empty to continue, she falls into his leather chair shivering. Her black, silk slip gives her no warmth, but the cold in her bones doesn’t come from the air. She hugs her knees to her chest and struggles for breathe.
Staggering to her feet, she blindly stumbles through the living room into the bedroom. With her hands as her guide, she finds the dresser. She rummages through the drawers, the ones with all his things. Things he will never wear again. Things she will have to pack up and give away but not yet. Not yet!
She finally holds up what will cure her chill, his old college sweatshirt with the bold letters across the chest. She throws it over her head catching a whiff of him. Not his cologne but him. The real him, the him he was.
The weathered plush of the sweatshirt hangs on her malnourished body. It’s amazing what three days of not eating can do to her petite figure. But who really thinks about eating when the world is crashing down all around?
With the neck still over her nose, she wraps her arms around herself hoping to feel his embrace one more time. Her legs tremble, and the tears that she's been holding back finally come.
She crawls into his spot on the bed. Pulling the sweatshirt down, she buries her face into his pillow. Her tears meld with his scent as the memories flood back.
The day they met he was wearing the sweatshirt, already proud of his soon-to-be alma mater. She didn’t want anything to do with him then. She was a lost freshman wondering from building to building without a clue of where she was going while he was the clichéd “big man on campus” with his rowing and fraternity. He invited her to parties and his meets trying to impress her with his snobbery, not knowing at the time she was a scholarship student. She always rejected him making him want her that much more.
In the end, he wore her down with his charm and that devilish smile of his. The same smile that would brighten up her worst days for many years after until that fateful stormy night with that horrible telephone call.
Now all that is left are the memories and his lingering smell.
She closes her whimpering eyes and begs for the warmth of the past to soak into her frigid bones, so tomorrow won’t be so barren without him, and she won’t feel so alone. As sleep finally engulfs her, she breathe in the last traces of the man she loved.