The black sweater

I am in love with the black sweater that I took to South Carolina and wore every day 24/7. It was the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I took off at night and some nights I contemplated wearing the thing to bed I was so cold. I've had the thing forever yet never felt the love for it like I did on this and after this trip. When I got home to Florida there was no reason to wear the sweater. It was scorching each day and so I washed the sweater and put it in my closet. And mourned it.

I felt cheerful in that sweater despite its color. It made me feel thinner although I don't think it made me that. I could pull it around my fat stomach if need be, or push it aside during hot flashes. The half quarter sleeves could be stretched down further if I needed more warmth and I liked the way the bottom flowed and swirled like a flirty skirt can do. It provided me warmth the entire trip and doubled as a robe and a swimsuit cover-up. What couldn't it do?

Last night before going to bed, our temperature changed a few degrees. The high today was only supposed to be in the high 70's instead of in the 80's. Rain was forecasted although we Floridians don't consider that a reality until it is, and before I went to bed I decided to bring out the sweater for attending church.

It was like an old friend when I pushed my arm through the sleeve and brought it around me to the other arm. It was hot as hell, but it felt so right on my body. It went perfectly with my black and white skirt and black shirt and I once again felt those familiar feelings. A safety net, I suppose. Ah, my black sweater.

The trip to South Carolina was different. For the first time in forever, I was solo. Meaning that I had no responsibilities. No kids to be in charge of, no vehicle or driving responsibilities, and no one expecting things of me. I didn't have to plan activities or chose places to eat, and if I wanted to suddenly leave the unit and disappear for awhile, I did it. No questions asked. It was liberating. I walked the lake shore, the forest, and the beach, and sat in a chair oceanside, a hammock lakeside, exploring my future, my thoughts, and talking to strangers. All the while, wearing my black sweater.

Putting it back into the closet after a good wash when I returned home was as much a metaphor as returning home was from vacation. I came home sick. Spent the week lopped on the couch in a fevered daze, wads of tissues surrounding me, the air conditioning at a lower than normal temperature to combat the heat and my inner heat. Today, getting out into the world to attend church and then lunch with a friend signaled my return to health, my daily life, and to the grind of work. And I thought it fitting that the black sweater came too, wrapped around me one more time.