My Life With the Leather Jacket

When I first glimpsed it while trudging through the light snow on Eighth Street, I did something I shouldn't have. I turned around and did a double take. It was well-worn and scruffy looking, with many long strings dangling down its back. Its jet black color was something most girls my age shied away from when choosing their accessories, for it gave an unwanted menacing appearance. Despite being made of this unwanted color and having a tough leather exterior, I truly believed this jacket was capable of keeping a girl comfortable and warm.

There was another aspect of the jacket that intrigued me. Its golden buttons reflected the shimmering lights of the six-foot tall Christmas tree, giving them a curious gleam that could outshine any star. To my surprise, the gleam intensified when the jacket caught a glimpse of me. Its buttons all shimmered at once, one teasing wink. I smiled my sweetest smile, hoping the girl wearing the leather jacket would not notice.

But alas, she did. With her cold eyes fixed in a chilling glare at me, and her chapped, obsidian lips poised, she buttoned up the leather jacket, making it as close to her body as possible. Strutting away, she blew cigarette smoke all over it, and the golden buttons dimmed, glowering at their owner.

As I watched her stalk away with my beloved jacket, my own jacket, a very nice, yet very boring Abercrombie & Fitch jacket that I had only owned for three days, gently tightened its grip on me. It was the type of jacket everyone expected me to wear; the right brand, the right color, and the right size. So far, every time I wore it, I had received the same comments I had always received with such a jacket, such as "It's so cute! Aren't you glad you bought it?" and, "Why can't I have a jacket as cute and soft as that?" It had been the same ole' song and dance all my life, and thinking of the leather jacket, I decided I wanted a fashion change.

I spent the rest of the evening pushing my stereotypical jacket farther and farther down my shoulders, for it desperately wanted to keep me warm. The night ended with me leaving it all alone next to the rode on a curb, thinking that some other girl might stop and pick it up.

The next morning I left my dorm room early and was moseying around Eighth Street, when I spotted the leather jacket from the night before lying on a bench. I immediately ran over to it, brushed the light dusting of snow off, and lifted it up. It reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Not caring about the opinions of anyone who might see me with it, I slung it over my shoulder and hurried back to my room.

Fortunately everyone was either sleeping or out, including my room mate, so it was quite easy to sneak the jacket in. Once safely in my room, I scrubbed it in my sink, hard enough to remove the smell, but soft enough to not damage or disturb it. Then I toweled it off and laid it to rest in my bed.

Hours later, I learned that the girl from the night before had grown angry at it and abandoned it. It was rescued from its sorrow by a friend who wore it to a bar, where tons of alcohol was spilled on it. Not wanting to take it to a parent-filled house, the friend left it on the bench, hoping someone other than the police would find it and clean it up. Luckily for the jacket, I was the one who found it.

Through out the day, I learned more and more about the jacket. It was made in San Francisco, where it lived a life of many hardships. Then it travelled to Oklahoma as the main accessory to a stripper named Candy. Candy abandoned it for a John Deer hoodie that smelled of chewing tobacco and moonshine. It then was picked up by a woman who liked to fill its pockets with a fine, white powder. After ridding itself of the woman with the "cocaine eyes", the jacket was taken to Massachusetts by a girl whose pale skin and dark thrills were so eerie the best explanation for her was that she had been coined by none other than Poe himself. The jacket remained with this girl for over five months, the longest it had been worn by anyone. But as time progressed, the jacket grew steadily unhappy with the girl, for she was shrewd and did not like any other girl admiring it. Last night, when I noticed her jacket, was apparently the straw that broke the camel's back.

As I held the jacket in my arms after it told me all this without being pressed, I realized why I liked this jacket so. Unlike all the other jackets I had worn in my life, this one was real. It had experienced things other jackets only dreamed of. It was comfortable and warm, funny and supportive, and when I put it on, it fit me like a glove. The jacket seemed the happiest I ever imagined it had ever been in its life. Its golden buttons twinkled as if they were laughing from joy, and the arms seemed to tighten around me, a loving embrace that lasted long into the night.

The next morning I went to classes wearing my prettiest floral shirt and the leather jacket. All the girls' stared, pointed their well-manicured fingers, and made cruel remarks about my risqué wardrobe. I simply laughed and the golden buttons seemed to laugh with me. I no longer cared what those girls with their superficial jackets thought of me. I was truly happy and it wasn't because of something they had had to offer me. It was because of a choice I had made on my own.

The decision to begin a life with the leather jacket.