I drove past a man today, wearing a recognizably familiar coat. It was nothing extravagant, but it caught my eye and suddenly had me daydreaming of days that once were.
Instantly, I was 20 years old again and in the middle of a relationship with my very first true love. Steve* had the very same dull, burnt desert orange, worker’s jacket. He wore it on frequent occasion or had it resting on the bottom post of his bed frame, just waiting to be quickly picked up and thrown around his shoulders.
It was heavy and it was warm; I had worn it a few times myself when I extra chilly, whilst watching him smoke outside. It ruffled with rough, scratchy sounds whenever I wrapped my arms around him while he wore it, making him seem much bulkier than his usual slim body frame.
As often as Steve wore that jacket, he rarely zipped it up and you could usually see a skate/snowboarding company logo on a dark t-shirt beneath it. Reminded of that very fact, I vividly flashed back to the many times I would reach my hands past the zippers of the jacket and rustle those tees, running my hands along his soft, ivory skin…
That simple thought in itself sent a hint of shivers down my spine. So tame, but I remember being so attracted to him and during the good times, we really enjoyed eachother’s company. He was one of the people I truly felt myself around and never felt self-conscious of myself with – until things got unstable, messy and completely unsalvageable (leading to our bitter end).
A jacket… I saw an older man wearing a jacket, just walking down the street – he looked like he was on his way home from a long, dirty day at work – and all I could think of was a boy I used to know, with soft white skin and some of the best and softest kisses I’ve ever had.
Weird how that happens, hmm?
*name has obviously been changed for privacy and less drama kind of stuff.