clothing of contention

tonight, i have a story so circular it might make you dizzy. one for the history books. a story about growing up, and moving on.

it's a story about a sweater - nay! - the sweater.

it was the winter of 1999.

a weekend off from the rigors of life at the indiana academy. cera sunshine and i were, for some unfathomable reason, with my mom at the kokomo mall. and cera and i were, for some unfathomable reason, compelled to walk into new york and co.

that's where i found it: black, ribbed, stretchy, belted, threaded with tiny bits of silver. the cardigan i'd been waiting my entire life to find. i ran to it, ran my fingers over its rough surface, picked it up and rubbed it against my face. i couldn't speak. cera, too, sat in stunned silence as we admired the sheer ingenuity of its creation.

we each bought one.

the minute i got home, i removed the belt, rolled it up and stored it in a box for later use (i just found it last night, in a box of belts and scarves) and slid into its tight sleeves. it was the beginning of something beautiful. for more than two years, that sweater was my most faithful companion. four, five, six days a week i wore it. it looked good with every tshirt i owned.

i was wearing it the first night i hung out with niqke and jen (it was one of the six black layers i peeled off in their room). i was wearing it the day i decided to move to wisconsin. i was wearing it the night i met lindsay and michelle. i was wearing it the day i met the reason (boy) i moved to california. i was wearing it the day i met scott. i was wearing it that night in providence that i got drunk and ended up hanging out with the security guard in niqke's dorm at johnson and wales.

it came to an end in the late spring of 2002. amidst one last round of visiting friends before my big move to california, i made a stop at ball state en route to richmond. on a bench outside one of the dormitories, i changed my clothes to accomodate the next stop. it wasn't until i was safely tucked away at earlham that i realized my sweater was exactly where i left it - folded up on top of my tshirt, sitting on a bench in muncie, indiana. when i made it back to muncie at 3am, the tshirt was still there but the sweater was gone.

i was heartbroken. i would never again find anything so beautiful. so fitted. so sparkly. it took me months to move on. i tried other cardigans - grey, yellow, brown, red, black. nothing was the same. nothing so perfectly complemented my collection of red tshirts. nothing looked quite so right with my cream colored knit cap.

in the intervening years, i tried to steal cera's sweater every time i saw her. i'd sneak it into my backpack as i was packing up to leave after a weekend in madison, but she would always find it. punch me in the arm, stuff it away in the closet and watch me like a hawk until i was out the door.

i resigned. my time with the sweater was through - i would just have to move on. it wouldn't be the first time i got my heart sartorially broken; a few years later i would fail to show up for a planned weekend visit and in retaliation, cera would donate every item of clothing i'd ever loaned her to goodwill (a story which, now, never fails to crack me up: i'm the cheating husband whose clothes are on the lawn).

fast forward to christmas of 2005. in a stunning move of selflessness and devotion (and perhaps guilt over the aforementioned episode), cera gifted me with her the sweater during an eventful christmas weekend. it wasn't exactly the same - hers was a size smaller than mine - but over the years it had mellowed and stretched enough to allow me the sinful bliss of regression. we rekindled our flame. i pulled out all my red tshirts (though, to my credit, i left the knit cap packed away) and i began wearing the sweater again. four, five days a week. eventually, the hole in the shoulder got a little too big, the hole in the armpit got a lot too big. and honestly? i'm just not that into sparkly anymore.

still, i'd never give it up. i pull it out on those occasions i need to be shabby chic, or just comforted. it's one of the things that transcends the six month rule of goodwill donations.

and yet, tonight. tonight i went to goodwill in search of an end table and a coffee table. goodwill had neither of those things, but what goodwill did have...what goodwill did have was the sweater, in mint condition.

in the correct size. three dollars and ninety nine cents. and the tag was this week's color - 50% off.

i stared at it in awe for a moment. reached out tentatively and then pulled back, a little shy. then i ran my fingers over it, lifted it gingerly from its hanger and buried my nose in it. just for a second - it had that particular goodwill scent of mothballs and sadness - before i put it back. gave it one last caress and walked away, without looking back.

you can't go back. once the rift is created, things can never be the same.

i left goodwill tonight with a green plaid miniskirt, a black scoopneck sweater, a beautiful brown vase and a fond smile. i can't help but wonder if that sweater was exactly the same specimen i'd left on that bench in muncie, five years ago. and i hope some other hopelessly naive 19 year old picks it up and loves it for all it's worth. today, for once, goodwill did not disappoint.

i don't have any endtables, but i sure do have my memories.