Torn, Yet Preferred
The remnants of last night's eyeliner shown in between her clusters of eyelashes. She ran her hands through her hair while looking at her reflection in the mirror, a slight pain on her leg suddenly competing for her attention. Her gaze shifted to her calf where a tear in her leggings bore through to a line of red. As she examined the scratch, the previous evening began to replay in her mind.
It was 6:00 p.m., and Jacob was supposed to be home by now. He knew they had plans to go out and celebrate. It was, after all, a special occasion. She’d made reservations for 6:30 p.m., and if he didn’t make it home soon, they weren’t going to make it on time, let alone by the restaurant’s grace period. To calm her nerves, she looked over her reflection once more, grabbed her polaroid camera, and tried calling him again.
Voicemail. This wasn’t normal. He was so good at communication, always letting her know if he’d be home later than normal or if he had plans right after work. Rashly, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door, kissing her pup goodbye on the way. The car trailed down the mountainside at an uncomfortable pace. Natalie’s breathing was short, stifled by her fear of what could’ve happened to Jacob. Was he in a car accident? She heard sirens in the distance, making her heart hurt, but she rushed onward hoping to trace his usual steps from work.
At an increasingly growing pace, she sped through the series of familiar stoplights, thanking God they were all green while her foot refused to let up on the gas. She was almost to the road of his office, when she saw it. The silver painted vehicle topped with a black roof rack caught her eye. His car, or at least the same make and model, was parked at a nearby coffee shop. Rerouting, Natalie quickly merged into the turning lane, practically on only two wheels before putting the car in park. She had seen the license plate. It was his.
Her heart pounded, threatening to emerge from her chest. She could see through the window as she reached for the door. Jacob was talking to the one and only Andy Samberg. Her breath was caught in her lungs as Natalie entered the café in a daze. She couldn’t understand what was happening, the sudden jerk from the door the only thing pulling her back both physically and from her dream-like state to reality, keeping her from moving forward. Natalie looked down, noticing that her leggings were snagged on a jingle bell door hanger, the end of it caught. She felt air enter into her lungs as both Jacob and Andy turned in her direction. She pushed forward, causing her leggings to rip, her leg to bleed, and a smile to form as she walked towards the two. A look of distraught, yet blissful joy swept across her face as Jacob introduced her to Andy, letting her know she’d ruined her surprise, but that he wanted to add something unforgettable to her celebration night.
As she examined the hole in her leggings, she smiled, reminiscing on the perfect evening; one she would never forget. A few weeks later, she replaced the torn leggings with a fresh pair. However, they didn't hug her body the same way the former with the hole did. They didn’t provide the feeling of worn-in uniqueness. They felt stale and like they didn’t quite belong to her. Her love for the pair with the memory, while looking raggedy to the rest of the world, fit just right in her mind.
While this story is entirely made up with pieces of embellished truths, this is how I function when it comes to old clothing and items that have been chipped, torn, or damaged in some way. I usually end up buying replacements, but I have the hardest time getting rid of the OG’s. Even if there’s not a specific memory associated with the original, I have a fear that the new one will also break or tear and maybe even worse than the first one did. So I hold onto both. I’m not sure where this “fear” of needing a backup came from. Maybe it’s from losing someone when I was very young. Either way, I hope you enjoyed my little story, and understand my hoarder's heart a little better and possibly think of it a little more fondly.