Drop #82: Jacket

I smell her jacket to force nostalgia but get only mold and distant smoke. I probe with questions: What fire was she sitting beside and was someone playing a ukulele? Did mosquitoes bite her legs? When did her jacket get moist? Was it that same night? Did she sleep near the fire and soak up the morning dew. Was someone with her? A boy? A girl? What did she share with him, her? More than she did with me?

I found it at Larry’s over the weekend and smuggled it out. She must have left it there before moving to Pittsburgh a couple of weeks back. I hadn’t been at Larry’s place since it ended.

I push my face back into the coarse fabric looking for more and recognize a subtle strand of perfume. But it isn’t the one I bought her. She’d said she loved it, but maybe she’d gone on to throw it away. They say smells carry memories better than flavors, sights or sounds; this is true, whether you want to remember, or not.

I do. I seek out the places that link me to my loss. I return to the coffee shops we hung out at, to sit outside like we did, and order the milkshakes we shared, and burgers we cut in half. I watch the movies we found and loved together, and make the desserts she taught me.

I steal and smell jackets.

It may sound like I am obsessive, mad; that I’m refusing to let go, but this is not true. I know it’s done, that she’s moved on, and mostly, so have I. But I also know it lived too short, it ran its course too soon. So I’ll keep her close a little while, till scents betray my gloom.

By E.M. Vireo

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About EM Vireo
flooding the world with fiction

One Response to Drop #82: Jacket

  1. Intense Hsiu says:

    There’s style.

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