the long sweet minute

Like a parish priest in gym clothes, the sight of me in a heavy metal t-shirt takes some people by surprise. Bright red with a prominent skull on the front, the vintage tee I’m wearing today might portray my love for a little-known thrash metal band from the 80’s. Or just indicate that I buy fake vintage t-shirts at Abercrombie & Fitch. In fact, I was never a fan. And I hate the mall. But the t-shirt crept into my wardrobe a long time ago and there it remains: Evidence of an ex-love, who loved that band.

In the past I’ve written about my favorite concert tee. But there’s another type of relic that looms large inside my closet: T-shirts that belong to ex-boyfriends. The lost artifacts of failed relationships. Soft from years of washing and wearing, they’re still a perennial favorite. But what do they say about me? About the people I have loved… and lost?

I barely give pause when I come across one of these old t-shirts today. Except when someone notices, like the guy at the 7-11 did this morning. “Flotsam and Jetsam?” he asked, tilting his head and looking puzzled. Oh… right.

I tore up your photos. Threw away your love letters. And I really never think of you at all now, unless I need an anecdote: “I actually dated a guy in a heavy metal band. No, really.”

But still, I love your t-shirt.