Angry Robot

dead man's shirt

A friend of the family died recently. My mother visited the widow and brought back one of the man’s workshirts. It’s intended for my father, but I intercepted it last night and am wearing it now. It’s a check/plaid affair, in blue and grey, with a warm lining. Half shirt, half jacket.

I visited the man at his home outside Toulouse when I was a teen, and many of the things we discussed then have stuck. Although I may not be in a position to judge at the moment, I believe his words had a great effect on the outcome of my life so far. I wear his jacket and think of him outside the farmhouse, napping after a big, rich meal.

If only more clothes had such history. They have it, I guess, but it gets lost. I look at all the second-hand clothes and wonder about all the strangers whom I connect with through the closet. I wish I knew them. Whenever we give away clothes, we should write a little history of the garment, or its owner, and slip it in the pocket.