Cari-bein'

The Jacket

Boyfriend was a member of a particular band for seven years. In the summer of '92, they opened a national Steve Miller tour. When they hit the road that summer, someone decided (the guys? their manager? who knows?) that they should have identical letterman's jackets. Theirs were black wool with off-white leather sleeves. Stitched in gold on the right side (at chest level) was the band name and the jacket owner's name. Boyfriend's was the only one whose jacket didn't have his "real" name. His said "Mookie Weatherbone." Mookie is his nickname among his musician friends and Weatherbone is a play on his last name.

The first time I saw my boyfriend in his letterman's jacket was when I went to the airport to pick up my friend (the singer) whose band it was when they came home after their two-month tour. I'd been housesitting his place in Portland and handling stuff for him in his absence. (I lived in the Bay Area at the time.) I'd had a HUGE crush on the boyfriend (for years!) but no one knew...not even my friend. The band members and their sound guys were mingling around the baggage claim area. I spotted (my now) boyfriend standing there in his letterman's jacket and my heart started pounding about a million miles a minute, as it always did in his presence. But here's the most hilarious part--we'd seen each other around for years but had never spoken to each other, even though I knew the other guys in the band. I thought he was really full of himself, really arrogant. It turned out he was just as painfully shy as I was. I know this sounds like something out of the '50's (with the letterman's jackets and all) but that's just a little background on the jacket.

Fast forward three years. He's now my boyfriend. (We managed to hook up in spite of ourselves, but two more pathetic courters you've never seen.) He had some clothes at my place and one day I guess he left behind his jacket. It was HUGE on me (I'm a size 4 and he's an XL) but I loved to slip it on. I didn't wear it out in public very often because I looked like a child wearing her Dad's clothes, but I always felt good with that jacket wrapped around me. I remember that the right cuff was frayed. It was infused with his vibe and it made me feel the way I feel when he wraps me in his embrace--protected somehow. And for someone who spent the first 40 years of her life being so fiercely independent that she couldn't and wouldn't commit to anyone or anything, that was a new feeling for me. I had finally realized that protected didn't have to mean weak--it could mean someone's got my back. It could mean that I'd finally found myself in an equal relationship where we both looked out for each other. It could mean it was okay to be vulnerable.

All that...from a jacket.

posted by Marilyn @ 6:55 AM