Disclaimer: Not mine---belongs to NBC, John Wells Productions, and Aaron Sorkin
The Sweatshirt
On the last day, she found his gray hooded sweatshirt in the
lost and found. A lost memory left from a time gone by. Not so long ago,
but the thought of a time gone by made it seem romantic or perhaps just in the
past. For if it was in the past, then there was no way of going back. If
it was all in the past, she could only remember what could have been with
regret and not with want. Feelings of the past that made one think of
words like nostalgia, not words of want. For want and regret are far
worse than regret alone. Her eyes glazed over with thoughts of the past, stolen
kisses, and long passionate conversations, of gifts received and those almost
received, of short talks, of confessions and words, of long pauses in listening
and comfort. But he was gone and those times gone as well. She had pushed
him away and now he was gone for good. He had wanted to stay and soon she
found herself to be right, and yes, it was too much for both of them.
If only he had stayed away. If
only he hadn't made the first move, maybe she wouldn't have found herself
getting in so deep. Perhaps she wouldn't have had to end it before it
even started. She had had longer and more intimate relationships that
over years and time never gave her the same feeling he did. She had met
many men who had spoken words reflecting on the idea that they "got
her", but never like the man who never said the words and yet did. And
never had she been in such a complex relationship as she had with him.
And still it seemed so simple; so simple if not for the misdirection of fate.
And now fate, cruel as it can be, was reminding her of things gone by, the road
not taken and decisions that one makes. If it had been a different time
and they had been different people then perhaps they would have met and not
grazed next to each other in the fog; ships in the night.
Later that night, at
home, she found herself smelling the sweatshirt. It still had his smell after
almost three years. How did it do that, she wondered? Next thing she
knew, she had slipped the warm gray sweatshirt on, feeling it against her bare
skin.
She woke up not
remembering when she fell asleep surrounded by mementos of their past together
and apart. She finally felt that feeling of want and regret that she had
held in for so long. They could be together now, but he was probably married.
He was sure to have found someone. "Perhaps he had kids," she
bemused. She shook off the thought. She would have heard through the
grapevine of friends between them, the grapevine of the small world they all
lived in, the fishbowl, about that one. The same if he was married, but he was
sure to have found someone. Of course, to the real world, they were only
past friends. She wasn't an ex-girlfriend or an ex-wife; perhaps no one would
care to tell her. Or perhaps they all knew and they were afraid to tell
her. Tell her he hadn't waited. Tell her he hadn't waited for her like she had
hoped deep down inside he would.
Suddenly, a few weeks
before, she remembered it was almost time, and even though it had been three
years since she last saw him, she kept the count down in her head. Not to
the last day of work, the last day of school, but the last day 'till she would
see him. She half expected him to walk into her empty room and find her on that
last day, but all that remained of him in that room, and in her bed tonight,
was his college sweatshirt.
She was becoming one of those
female clichés, clinging to an article of his clothing to keep him close. But
yet she was. You can think all your thoughts and go through all your actions
and yet in the end biology wins out. It always does as the seeds of
chemicals change your chemistry like hot flashes. Why take the change on the
unknown? When it's not the right time. When it's right, it's right and there
would be other men. What were the odds he was the right one and there
would be no more. It's not about the man, it's not about being alone or
having someone to depend on. It's about that other person you can't get
enough of. For one person, it could be caffeine, another chocolate, but
the one universal addiction of all mankind is the closeness of another human
being; that bond of living life. And no matter how much you say you don't need
it and you're living life fine without it; you miss it. And it seemed she
had indeed missed it.
She took a breath to take her out of
her first-wake state when her doorbell ran. Her naked feet hit the wood floor
with a bang, as the apartment below her knew from each step her destination, as
her footsteps echoed below her. She opened the door without looking out,
half expecting she already knew who was on the other side of the door, old
co-workers she'd rather not see at the moment. Her instincts were
completely off, forgetting that she was still wearing the sweatshirt, as she
opened the door in shock. And what a look on his face, when she opened the
door, seeing her wearing the sweatshirt and knowing that any doubts he had
whether she still wanted him were dashed to pieces.
