I wore my little green sweater today. It's torn on one shoulder and worn looking, I had forgotten how much I loved that thing until today when it tumbled out on me in the darkness of a seven am shuffle. When I wear the sweater people always make a point of telling me that the right shoulder has a rip, they do it all secretive like they are trying to hide me some sort of modifying embarrassment, but I know it has a rip. I knew it very well when I put on, but you know what I love that damn rip. The first time I wore the sweater, I was a senior in high school and I wore it all brand new to ask this boy out to prom (call it progressive or what you will) anyways he said no. To be honest it was no big surprise, but I thought it was horrifying at the time and I rejected other opportunities because I was pig headed and said no one else would do. After this I thought the sweater was cursed or something, I use to be very superstitious in high school. I went to a Catholic school, how could I not be?
I finished up Catholic school and finished (some of) my superstition. I wore the sweater the first time I went to Dyrham park. It was still roughly new then, but I remember the chill of June against it. It was never a very thick, but it certainly was a sturdy thing. Then a year later wearing the sweater again and someone taking interest in me, making me no longer feel inferior, replacing the the first memory of the sweater. Maybe that time is gone now, but the sweater is here in all its glory, with all its little rips and worn pieces.
