Sunday, May 1, 2011

The guy in the hoodie

One time, I dated a guy who always wore a hoodie sweatshirt/jacket. Even in the Fall when it was still sort of hot. He told me once that he'd always worn a hooded sweatshirt, ever since he was in elementary school. He felt safe with his navy blue, solid-colored, zip-up hoodie.

I understood because I wore my brother's black zip-up hoodie all through jr. high. I wasn't usually teased by other kids. But I wanted to be invisible—just in case.

The first time he put his arm around me, we were two blocks away from his apartment. He was walking back from the library, I was wearing a dress, he was wearing his jeans and his hoodie and his backpack.  It was October. We'd been walking towards each other because we were just meeting up. We'd only been on two dates. There were butterflies everywhere in my brain, and in my stomach, and on the backs of my knees.

When I turned, so I could walk next to him—he put his arm around me.

When I think about love and proper adoration, I think of that moment. Unexpected, and attended by trees, some parked cars, and afternoon light.

2 comments:

  1. Everything you write is somehow magical. I wish I saw life through your eyes!

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  2. thank you ktb! you know i adore you and all your own magic.

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