Just a Jacket

It was a cold, winter day, the clouds gray like an old man's beard. I have a thick jacket on to protect me against the cold, even though there's nothing to protect against. It's only ten degrees Fahrenheit. I like the cold air on my much-too-warm skin. It makes me feel like I accomplished something: being alive. And this thick jacket, black enough to be the night itself, gets in the way of that. I hate that. It's just a jacket.

Then, I saw this girl at the nearby park. She was stunning, really. Blonde hair, fair skin. She didn't have a jacket, and she looked like she was going to freeze her butt off. So I walked towards her.

She didn't see me. She was staring at the swingset, minding her own business. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she'd been used before, felt worthless at one point or even now.

I was used once. girl asked me out at school the day before a school dance, saying that she wanted to go with me. I agreed, of course, but I didn't get that dance. It turns out she only did it out of a bet. She got five dollars out of that bet, too. It made me wonder if I was even worth that much.

I didn't care.

I focused on the now.

I edged closer to her, all just to sit down next to her. She looked to me, which gave me a strange chill. I wasn't used to it. She looked back towards the swingset, cuddling herself to keep herself warm.

"Howdy," I say, like a fool because I NEVER say that. "My name's Brent."

She nodded in reply. It took a moment for her to stop chattering her teeth to speak. "C-c-c-Clarabelle." She gave a smile and looked to her shoes. I was too focused on the moment to focus on the features.

I looked to the swingset, too. I remember being too afraid to swing, and one of my friends helped me with my fear by pushing me and teaching me to swing. Legs in, legs out, legs in, legs out. I liked to swing ever since. The breeze that hits my face is amazing.

A moment of silence made this exchange a bit awkward.

I look to her, to find her staring at me, and when I look, she looks back quickly. I chuckle, appreciating the attention. I bet she is appreciating the attention as well. We played this cat-and-mouse game of looking at one another for a while, and when we caught each other's eye, we laughed. I just came down here to give her a jacket, since I have an abundance at home.

"You look cold," I say, my throat tightening.

"Well, thanks for noticing, c-c-c-captain obvious." She laughed at her comment, meaning no ill will towards me. She's curled up now.

"Why are you here in the cold?" I ask, hoping to get an answer. I get one.

"My parents locked me out of the house without a jacket. I knocked on the door for about an hour, but I didn't get an answer. They're probably getting drunk or high again." Clarabelle laughs. I can tell that she wants to do something else, like cry or punch something. Her eyes are glistening.

So I just tell myself 'screw it' and take off my jacket, putting it around her. She stops chattering instantly, but she's still shivering a bit. "I have a cinnamon roll in my pocket, the ones in the plastic wrap. Eat it if you want it." I give her a warm smile, finally free from the heat of the jacket.

"You don't have to do this," she says, baffled at my act of kindness. To tell the truth, I wanted to get rid of that old jacket for a long time, and giving it to Clarabelle was the best way to do just that. "I didn't ask-"

"I never asked for that old jacket. So I decided to get rid of it." I look to the swingset again. "I mean, I don't get what the big deal is. I see guys both in real life and in the movies give women their jackets because they're cold, and it is oh so lovey-dovey. What's the big deal? It's just a jacket. Who cares if it holds the smell of whoever owned it, it's just a jacket, a piece of cloth that is more than likely made in some country other than America." I laugh. Perhaps a little too hard at that. I'm such an idiot. I'm such an IDIOT.

"I agree. It's just a jacket. But, the way it works, is that it's a reminder of an act of kindness and sacrifice and the person who did just such a generous act." That was probably the most sophisticated sentence I've heard. And she's probably my age, sixteen. No other person speaks like that in public. It's uncool or something. I don't know.

"I didn't think of it like that, actually." I smile and look at Clarabelle. "It sucks that you have to go through this. And this isn't the usual 'I'm a guy and I want to see if I can score a girl today' scenario someone as attractive as you is probably used to. It's general concern."

She laughs. "Trust me when I say that not a lot of guys go for this. Rumors are stupid."

"What kind of rumors?"

"The ones that girls like me are always accused of. I slept with three guys at the same time is the one that most people believe at school."

"I heard that one before. That was you?"

"Yeah."

We talked about school, the people there, television shows, and bomb threats that someone wound up making to the school because of failing grades. It was dark and even colder when we stopped the conversation.

"Brent?" Clarabelle asked, sounding more desperate than sincere.

"Yeah?" I say, comfortable with her in the course of a few hours, almost walking away.

"Please, come here tomorrow." She begged, something I wasn't used to.

"Okay, I'll try."

"Thanks."

And with that, I walked off to my home. My mom was worried about me, as usual, when I got there, because she noticed I didn't have a jacket on. But, other than that, I ate dinner, showered, and went to bed reading a detective novel.