November 23, 2022 / 3 Minute Read

the hoodie

I’ve been homeless for as long as I can remember.

And my earliest memory was the day my dad died.

I was sixteen at the time.

Since then my life has been a living nightmare.

I decided to push the memories deep into my subconscious. 

Beneath the ocean floor of my psyche. 

Or so I thought.

Sometimes the memories would return.

And when I say sometimes, I mean every minute of every day.

The yelling, his various girlfriends, his distinct smell of cigarettes and gin. 

They would constantly pop into my mind.

Uninvited and unwanted.

I wish they would stop.

I wish I could forget.

My dad wasn’t always the nicest…

But at least he was there…

At least he didn’t leave…

Until he did.

It began to rain, so I put my hood up.

My favorite hoodie.

My dad had given it to me when I was eight.

It was one of the few gifts I’d ever received from him.

At the time it looked like a dress on me, because it used to be his.

But I didn’t care.

It was a gift from my idol.

My everything.

So I wore it with pride.

Since then I’ve grown into it.

It fit me perfectly now. 

Well I wanted it to fit me perfectly…

In reality it was a little small. 

As I continued my trek, it happened again.

They returned. 

I was back in our old apartment.

My dad worked nonstop, but we still didn’t have much. 

So I made my own fun, usually pretending I was an explorer.

I would stalk around the house, opening cabinets and dressers looking for treasure.

On this particular day, I made the foolish decision of invading my dad’s room.

I found a box under his bed.

I opened it to find a few magazines with beautiful girls on the cover, a pill bottle, and a green substance that smelled like a skunk.

When my dad got home the house still stunk.

He knew I had gone through his things.

He accused me of being a thief and a liar, before attacking me. 

And then it was over. 

It’s been years since my dad passed.

So why do I still have these memories?

Why can’t I forget about him?

Why can’t I escape?

The rain continued to pour.

My hoodie was soaked to the point…

Wait…

That’s it!

The hoodie!

It’s the hoodie!!!

Every time I look at it…

It reminds me of him. 

Since the day he died, I’ve never taken it off. 

Not that I have a lot of clothing options to choose from anyway.

But now I understand.

I’m still holding on.

Holding on to my old life.

Holding on to the pain and trauma.

Holding on to the man I thought he was.

But that man never existed.

I pulled it off. 

The rain covered my tears.

I took one final look… 

And I threw it away.