I used to have a shirt, not a blouse, definitely a shirt hanging in my closet. I made sure it was always clean, it was my favorite shirt. I wore it no less than 2 times a week. I loved it because of the way it hung on my curves. It wasn’t revealing or feminine and it wasn’t refrained or masculine. This shirt, the color of burnt ash matched any mood I might be in on any particular day. I flowed with a sense of purpose in this shirt. This shirt clung to not just my body, but to my mind, soul, and spirit. It was who I am, inside and out.

The first time I met her, I was wearing this shirt. This shirt gave me confidence, and in my minds eye, sex appeal. I doubt anyone else saw what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Most people are this way. They live life being directed by the reins rather than holding them themselves. I don’t mind so much, because I have a sense of freedom from knowing what they don’t. Because of that fact, this shirt gave me the confidence I needed to go up to her, and smile my most sensational smile, and say hello. She took all of me in, and saw in me at that precise moment what I saw when I looked in the mirror every time I wore this shirt. I was grateful.

For many years, she and I were inseparable. She seemed to adore me, even if I wasn’t wearing this shirt. That’s something I’ve never been able to say before, so I knew this shirt had to have magic! This shirt brought us together and it was rewarded with it being worn over and over again. This shirt gave me 8 faithful years. I loved this shirt!

I’m not sure which came first, the dying of this shirt or the dying of my relationship with her. She began to despise this shirt with rolling her eyes, and mouthing, “Oh God, I’m sick of it.“ Did my shirt lose its magic, or had I? No sooner had the shirt lost its appeal, so did our relationship. I was back to being the only one who saw something special when I looked in the mirror. Whatever she saw, she no longer did.

This shirt hung in the closet, never to be touched again. But the pain of seeing it there, hurt too much, that I was forced to put it to rest. This burnt ash colored shirt that had given me so much, deserved no less. As I sat on the side of the bed saying my last goodbyes, one of the last 4 buttons that still hung on, rolled down the sleeve onto the floor, just as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I often think of this shirt, and the magic it had within its fibers. Deep down, a part of me wishes we had never met.

A vignette I wrote as a submission for a contest  for the Off-Broadway show Love, Loss, and What I Wore. I don’t think I won, so I decided to post it publicly.   http://www.more.com/love-love-and-what-i-wore-contest

 

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Comments
  1. Candy Pfau says:

    I love what you wrote about. Beautiful. I would have picked it to win the contest.

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