I kept the letterman jacket in my closet, almost afraid of removing it from the hanger.
Instead, I let it stay there, motionless. I tried to prevent myself from pondering the obvious. I needed something to control, something that I knew could stay with me for eternity, something that could just sit and gather dust while I averted my eyes from the sunlight shining on it through the closet door I'd left ajar. To touch it would be to defile the leather and wool; to run my hands over the patches on the sleeves as I used to hold onto his arms, to breathe in the strong scent of cologne and whiskey, would quite nearly be a crime.
I remembered the look in his eyes showing it to me for the first time, proud of himself for earning the letter, and relieved he was finally feeling something without having to get wasted first. I remembered the look in his father's eyes giving it to me, proud of his son, telling me he'd wanted me to have it, and me pleading that I couldn't take it. It was a piece of him, a piece of the broken boy I'd tried and failed to put back together. It immortalized him-made it as if he wasn't really gone-and I longed to hold onto that feeling, longed to remember the love that had left no room in my mind for regrets, longed for everything to stay in place and be just as it was before the night I'd lost him.
Holding it now was not the same as holding him; slipping my arms through the sleeves was not the same as his embrace, but it was something, and something was all I needed. Something to drive me home under the summer starlight, something to talk to me on sleepless nights, unwilling to hang up the phone. Something to pin a rose to my blouse and tell me I was beautiful so many times I could almost believe it to be true. That something rested in the jacket-the only reminder of the boy I still loved.
It wasn't enough to bring back the emerald eyes I could have stared into forever, or the kind heart I had always known he had. I could practically feel it beating, feel my head pressed up against his chest, feel his fingers gently stroking my hair. And I still felt everything for him-the kind of feelings no dictionary had words that could come remotely close to describing-even now.
I kept the letterman jacket on as I slept, knowing that the leather and wool were all that remained of the boy I had once known.