The Jacket
The past weekend already feels like a lifetime ago, although it has the tangibility of a dream remembered vividly.
We had roughly thirty hours together in her city. I’d rather be there than have her come up here; St. Louis is rich, culturally diverse, and vibrant, especially compared with the black and white “cultural desert” of Jefferson City.
At the end of our time together, she chose to accompany me to the train station. The station is uncomfortably crowded, and four women feel the need to share their conversation with the entire world as though they’re auditioning for “The View”.
We hold onto each other, not saying much. We dread this time from the moment I arrive; knowing that soon, we will be back to the business of our lives, back to extensive, late-night phone conversations and yahoo messenger.
It has been storming all weekend and today has been no exception. The skies are gray and dreary and the clouds churn slowly overhead. The rain that is produced comes at a pace gentle enough to be refreshing instead of uncomfortable. I hold Molly close to me, and she leans into my chest, her arms tightly wrapped around me. I kiss the top of her head and try to hold tight to the smell of her hair. She cracks the occasional joke, trying to lighten the mood. She’s great at breaking silences with clever little jokes.
It’s a little less than a mile between my house and the train station, and I’ve been unable to secure a ride home. Molly is concerned for my well-being and offers me her jacket, hoping I wear on my head during the walk home. Initially, I’m thinking that I have this heavy backpack and a shopping back carrying Stephanie Meyer’s “Twilight” series (a gift from Molly’s extensive book collection). The jacket would make peripheral vision impossible, and carrying so much stuff as day turns to night, I might as well spray-paint “Please Mug Me” on my back.
I push the jacket away a couple of times; I’ll be fine. Molly can be insistent, and I refuse politely, again, two more times. She lets the matter go for a moment.
Minutes before the train arrives, the rain has not let up. She pulls away from me and raises her eyes to meet mine. She holds the jacket in both hands, offering it up to me and says simply; “Please.”
The only thing she cares about at this moment, my conscious sounds off, is your well-being. We should all be so lucky.
I chuckle because not many people can reach me the way she does. I’m still bewildered by the fact that she figured me out so quickly. We’ve only been dating four months. Maybe I’m not as hard to read as I think I am.
I thank her, and accept the jacket. I don’t want her to wave to me as the train pulls away–saying goodbye is hard enough. So I ask her to leave now. She protests, and I don’t blame her. Shifting my mindset from being with Molly to being alone is difficult–very difficult. She concedes the issue. One last kiss, and I watch her exit the train station and walk left, vanishing behind the exterior of the station. I won’t see her again for weeks.
Ironically, it is not raining by the time I get back to Jefferson City, and I cling the jacket tightly as I walk home. As I get in, it’s good to be home, and the jacket smells like her. Blessedly, Molly doesn’t smell like any other girl I know.
I drape the jacket over the back of my office chair. When I lean back, it’s like she’s right there.
And so we fall back into the routine of text messages, nightly talks, and our work. Unless she asks for it, I don’t think I’m going to return the jacket. It’s about to be summer. She won’t need it.
But in my solitary moments, I might.
(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC
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