I do not own the Numb3rs characters
O is for Old Sweater
Alan walked in the department store. It was the same department store they always went to. Margaret liked to shop here. The boys grew up in those dressing rooms. He could still see the look on Don's face when his mother made him come out and show her that the pants she selected for him didn't fit.
She told him, 'if you insist on making me wait out here then you can just walk out here to show me'. She wouldn't trust Alan's word on it either. Not Margaret. She said that the boys wrapped him around his finger. If Don asked him to not say something to his mother, then he didn't usually offer up any information. It wasn't that he was covering for the boys but he could understand how sometimes they just needed to have things their own way and it was too minor of a point that Don didn't like the same clothes that Margaret did.
He smiled as he remembered that one particularly long year when he was twelve. He had a growth spurt that Margaret could not keep up with. There was a lot of marching out of the dressing room in pants that showed anywhere from one to three inches of leg. Most of the time they were baggy on him as well. Alan knew he was embarrassed but there was nothing that anyone could do once Margaret set her mind on what would look good on Don. He must have had to prove with two dozen different trips out that dressing room that he was no longer wearing boy's size clothes before Margaret admitted defeat and walked sullenly to the men's department.
Charlie had his own experiences with the dressing rooms. Because he was so much smaller than Don and did not experience the major spurts that he did, the items he had to wear out to show her they didn't fit were always much too large. If Don was there he would howl with laughter and Charlie would cringe and wait for his mother's okay to return to the dressing room for the next article of clothing. Charlie's spurts were evened out and he was luckier that his shopping trips were less frequent. Alan suspected that was also why Charlie was always eager to accept his brother's hand me downs. Most of the time they barely showed any wear, he just grew out of them too fast. Charlie still hated dressing rooms. He'd pick it off a rack and judge it close enough and take it to the register.
As Alan left the boy's department and wandered through the store, little things would trigger memories, all of them made him smile.
When he got to the women's department, he stopped. He looked at it. It couldn't be. But it was. It was the same sweater that she had worn and loved so much for years. The color was 'dusty rose' she told him. Retro the kids would call it now. He reached out a hesitant hand and he felt the small intricate threads that made up the neckline. The pearl buttons, five of them. One of which was always falling off and had to be replaced. He felt a lump in his throat. This sweater looked so good on her. When was the last time he had seen it? He couldn't remember how long ago it was.
They would probably think he was crazy. No one would understand but he took the sweater to the register and he paid for it. He left then. He needed to be away from prying eyes so he could just hold the sweater and remember.
She was standing in the front yard wearing that sweater and waving to him when he came home from work. Don and his friend were just walking into the house. Margaret always had that welcome home smile that he had loved so much.
As Alan sat in the parking lot he knew he was wrong to buy it. They had made such a big showing of him finally donating her clothes. It was hard to get rid of them. He had done it though. He'd been fine with it after he could finally let them go. No, buying this sweater was a mistake. He took the bag back into the store and returned it. It was the right thing to do. He had the memories, he didn't need the clothes.
Returning the sweater had not stopped him from thinking about it though. He knew that sweater had not been in with the things he had donated. He had memorized each item before he hauled them away. There were some boxes in the basement he had not been through.
Alan went to the basement to the back where the boxes were stored on an old pallet to keep them off the floor. There were a few that were marked but most were not. There was a white box in the back. Somehow it looked more feminine than the brown cardboard boxes and he reached to the back and lifted the box. He took it closer to the light. He opened the box. It was more dusty than rose now. But the sweater lay right on top. He took it out of the box and shook it out. The folds were evident, the button missing but the sweater was perfect. He didn't know how she had managed it but there were no snags either.
Alan took the sweater upstairs. He could hear her saying 'you never hang them up Alan; your sweater will be shaped like a hanger'. But just for now, he wanted that sweater hanging in his closet, next to his clothes again. Just for now. He sat on the bed and looked at the sweater hanging among his shirts. That old sweater just looked right hanging there. The button. Tomorrow he would check that box again for the button.
"Dad?" Charlie's voice carried up to him.
"I'll be right down." Alan rearranged his shirt sleeves to hide the sweater and closed the closet door. Just for now.