Better Than a Letterman

It was big, black, and soft. And it smelled like him. That was the best part.

Jake played soccer in high school, and he had this sweatshirt. It said Park City High School Soccer on the front. On the back it said URIBE in bright red letters. I still remember the first time he let me wear it. We were hanging out at his house one evening, watching TV and finishing up some cake his mom had made. My curfew was approaching, and he was getting ready to take me home. But it was cold out. Or maybe I was just cold. (I have a tendency to be cold more often than not.) Either way, I was dreading the sprint from the front door to the car.

Jake told me he’d be right back, and he disappeared down the stairs. When he reappeared, he was holding that sweatshirt. Yeah, the one with his NAME on it. My 11th grade heart swooned. I slept in it that night.

I proudly wore it to every one of his games, rain or shine. I’m pretty sure I kept it until school was out and summer began. Maybe even after. It was like wearing his letterman jacket, but better. (It was way comfier. And really, who wore their lettermans anymore anyway?)

When the fall of my first year of college rolled around, I gently folded it up and packed it in my suitcase. After I was all moved into my room and my mom had flown back to Utah, I pulled out the sweatshirt, hugged it to my chest and cried.

The other day I wore it while I was cleaning the house. Music blaring, sleeves pulled up, and, dare I admit, hips shaking while I swept the kitchen floor. When I took it off after bit so that I wouldn’t overheat (I mean, let’s be real, cleaning and dancing is hard work!), I paused. Looking at it draped over the chair, I couldn’t help but smile at it. That still soft, still big, but now faded and slightly tattered sweatshirt that holds so many memories. And that has so many memories yet to be made.

I still love wearing it.