Wore the Shirt

​

"You look like someone who needs a box."The kind volunteer with smiling eyes, graying hair and smart spectacles offered this useful object.

 

I accepted, eager to free my arms for more grabbing. With a sharpie, she marked TAKEN on a piece of crumpled scrap paper to keep interlopers away from my indiscriminate accumulation.
 

I fell in love with the stripes: purple, turquoise, mauve, deep gray. I briefly considered, threw the polyester blouse in the box, and found another pile to tackle.

There were no mirrors in the gym. Next year, if I volunteer for the rummage sale, I will bring in some mirrors. I picked up every item in my box, tried some on to see if they sparked joy. I ruthlessly threw the contenders back on the pile. Too big, too dirty, too shoulder-padded.

​

I made it to the checkout area. A different kind volunteer with smiling eyes and an Amish gray beard told me, "I watch everyone and try to understand what they keep and what they leave behind. I thought for sure you'd grab that striped shirt, it looked just right, the colors seemed perfect, but then you put it back."

​

I flinched; surprised that someone bore witness to my 30 second love affair with a piece of clothing. It was proof that I actually did need that shirt. I went back and grabbed it, because I knew exactly where I left it.

​

I wore it to work. The thing is silly and floppy and fussy, and is still the perfect colors. I will love it for at least 30 more seconds.

​