12 Ugly Sweaters

Sweater '80s Art Deco

Michelle was assigned to the Bed and Bath section of the department store. The move was nice. It was good to get a break from check-out and being overly polite to customers. Old women hauling piles of clothes and mothers attempting to corral rambunctious kids. In Bed and Bath she could move slowly and listen to the quiet classical music on the in-house stereo system. At check-out she never had to chance to hear it. She only heard the ding and ching of the machines and cold cash.

She had straightened the rows of tightly packaged bed sheets and pillow cases and balanced heavy blankets at the top of the shelves. Only one had toppled onto her but a few fell.

She was folding dish towels where rambunctious kids had found them fun to play with. While aligning the towels into a precise stack, she noticed a guy in the aisle between the Women’s Intimates and the Men’s Suits sections. He was confused. He was turning his head this way and that way. He was searching for something.

There was nothing intriguing about him. A plain guy. A male wallflower.

Before going over, she watched him, as she refolded the same dish towel.

He paced into the hangers of men's golf Polos, stopped. His eyes scanned over them, and then he walked back into the aisle. The bras were on one side and the men’s dress slacks faced them.

Michelle noticed his mouth was mumbling.

When he scratched his head and frowned, she knew he needed help. He was a man lost in a department store.

She patted her perfectly aligned pile of dish towels and walking over.

She found he had no movie star grin or twinkling black eyes. Actually, he had round cheeks and green eyes. He wore a plain button-up shirt that was a size or two too big and jeans that bunched at his ankles. He had no flair, no razzle-dazzle. At times, Michelle had to muster herself to talk to a handsome guy. No need for him.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked.

“Yeah, yes. I’m, uh …” He stammered awkwardly. “… looking for sweaters?”

“Down this aisle and to the left,” she said.

“Down this aisle and to the left, okay.”

Him in a sweater? she thought. It would have to be a really nice sweater to make him even look good.

And he scurried away. At the end of the aisle, he paused, looked both ways, and then turned right.

“Didn’t he just hear me say, ‘go left’?” Michelle huffed. She went after him. “Sir, to the left, the left.” She pointed.

He stopped and waved back at her. Then he headed to the left. She kept an eye on him. She knew, from experience, A man in a department store who is that confused should always be watched. He may end up in strange places.

She left the Bed and Bath to Kitchenware and Appliances.

The guy paced through the hanging sports jerseys, passed the stacked Levi 501 jeans and through the hanging Ralph Lauren suits. She saw him stop at the t-shirts. These shirts were the ones that were new but made to look worn. He decided one would suit his style. He left them behind after pausing for a moment to pick up a rock band’s shirt.

Her boyfriend, Julian, came to mind. I hope he isn’t as confused as this guy when he’s shopping, she thought.

However, Julian was a sleek man. He could make a Goodwill outfit Broadway-ready. The night they met, she was taken aback by his handwoven huarache sandals, which were the color of tobacco. A color contrast to his white ankle length linen yacht pants and pinstriped button-up that wasn’t fully buttoned but showing off his chest. He had the twinkle in his dark eyes and a movie star grin, and black hair that shinned better than hers. She was captured by him immediately.

Eventually he found the sweaters. The confused guy held up a light, striped crewneck sweater. Checked the size, scrunched his face and did a poor job of folding it before putting it back. He looked at a quarter zip pullover, a conservative blue, and set it down.

What is he looking for? Michelle asked, followed abruptly by, why do I care?

She shook her head to get forget him but could not take her eyes off of him. It was not him as a person or a handsome man. It was what he was searching for.

His hand glided across a few stacks of forgettable sweaters and then his eyes found what he sought. He reached up to a sweater hanging under a Clearance sign. It was kitschy. An art deco style covered with oversized designs. The designs resembled blood cells and twisted strands of human DNA. That’s the reason it was 80 percent off.

She giggled at it.

If he wants it, she thought, confessing her amusement. But I would burn any sweater like that, even if Julian was in it when I started the fire.

When she glanced at him, he nodded and then went to the register.

“One less sweater to burn.” She giggled.

A little while later, she went to a nice coworker, Tina, at one of the cashiers.

“Did you see the guy who bought that ugly sweater? What makes a person buy one of them? Does he plan to wear it somewhere or is he doing all of us a favor by burying it?”

Tina looked at her, flat-faced.

“What do I care?” Tina was bored and disinterested. “He can buy what he wants.”

“I was just saying …”

“I don’t care what people get here.”

Michelle shrugged off Tina, but a thought caught in her mind. Why do I care what he bought?

As she stepped to the door of her apartment, she smelled a sweet scent of dinner. “Julian’s here!” She giggled and brushed off her tiredness from work. She unlocked the door and, inside, Julian was drizzling a hollandaise sauce over a row of lightly roasted asparagus. On the stove sizzled two fillets of salmon.

“Good evening, darling,” Julian said. “It will be ready in a few minutes.”
Michelle stepped into the small kitchen. Julian was wearing a chef's apron over his slacks.

She kissed him on his cheek. He raised up a single shoot of asparagus, cupping it so it would not drip. He held it over her mouth and she stretched up to eat it.

“Mmm. Where did you learn to cook like this?” Michelle licked the sauce from her bottom lip.

“I took an evening class with a professional chef and he gave me a chance to work in his kitchen,” he said.

That evening, the couple enjoyed dinner and, afterward, sipped wine on the balcony of the apartment until the sun was set. Sitting there though, Michelle said with a laugh, “I saw the ugliest sweater be purchased today. It looked like something straight out of the '80s with the colors and bad designs of that time.”

“80s fashion was …" Julian paused, “… unique.” He took a sip of the white wine.

Just more than a week later, Michelle was working at the cash register again. The door opened and in walked that same guy.