A Red Cap and A Leather Jacket

By Sarah Parker

I was always uncertain of what you were. You came in my life in such a hurry and then just sped away, leaving me in the dust even though you never meant it. 

I still wondered why you chose me. You never explained why, even in those last moments, when your bright eyes met mine for the last time; you left me with more questions than what I started with.

You were always just the red cap, and I the leather jacket. Together we were an ensemble, but apart just items. 

.

I first saw you sitting there with your red cap and shorts in the shade. You laid there in the grass with your head resting on your threaded fingers. 

It was really hot, I remembered. Sweat pooled from underneath my hair line at the back of my neck. So, I sat in the shade beside you. 

The grass itched at the backs of my thighs. 

“Hey,” you said. 

It startled me, so I just stared over at you, with your eyes closed, not a care in the word. Casual.

“It’s quite hot, is it not?” 

I nodded even though you couldn't actually see me through your eyelids. But yet, I know somehow you felt my nod, which made you want to drive the conversation further (I don't have any idea why). 

“What’s your name?” you asked, sitting up from the grass and clapping some of the blades from your hands onto the ground between us. 

When your eyes opened, I saw clarity and simplicity that can only be described with the color of glass in a white room. 

I mumbled my name shyly and you answered with yours. Then, still propelling us forward you asked: “Why the jacket?”

Looking down at the smooth leather on my arms that did nothing but trap the summer’s heat further, I replied with: “I never seem to get hot.”

You snorted and retorted with: “That’s bullshit; I can see the sweat on your nose.”

Like anyone would’ve, I automatically wiped all of the sweat from the bridge of my nose and the top of my upper lip, making you snicker at me.

I suddenly grew quite warm and snapped. “Just because I sweat does not mean I, myself, feel hot.”

“And flustered,” you continued after me with a raw dirtiness that I grew to associate with you and only you. 

I laughed nervously and you smiled, feeling accomplished with yourself. 

After my laughter was slowly fading away, you looked up at the leaves of the tree above us, the sunlight slowly patching through the openings of the greenery. “So why are you under this tree with me?” you asked while still admiring the distant treetop and sky. 

“I’m waiting,” I answered, hoping that was good enough of a reply for you. 

It was. 

“Is this your first day waiting?” 

I nodded slightly to answer the question. “How about you?” I asked. You only tilted your head at me, so I continued. “How many days have you been here?” 

You spent a few moments trying to find the correct response before replying simply with: “I believe my time here will be over soon.” 

When my time for the day was up, I rose from the ground, watching your eyes and head follow mine. I turned to leave, only to hear you protest. “You're not going to say any kind of brief farewell? I'll be here for you tomorrow.”

Turning back around, I softly smiled and said, “Any kind of brief farewell.” 

You laughed.

I don't blame you for laughing. I used to be quite funny.

.

The next day you were there like you had said, except your red cap was twirling in your right hand as you leaned up against the tree that sat alone in time. 

"The leather jacket made another appearance, I see,” you greeted as you admired my front from where you stood. “Might as well just leave it here when it’s time to go, you’ll be here once again.”

“Is that what you do with your hat?” 

“Yes, I suppose.”

.

The day after that I walked up to see not my jacket hanging from the tree branch like I had left it the day previous, but curled up under your head as you slept sprawled on the ground, with your cap sitting at the foot of the tree. 

I wondered how long you had been there waiting for me.

I sat and waited in silence. 

It was austere. 

.

Some days when I came you were asleep like that, while other days you were wide awake ready to discuss the numerous amount of things that seemed to always be on your mind. 

Since we never saw each other but under the tree, you would tell me about all of your adventures with people you met briefly: A king with a stutter, an actress with blonde hair and a crisp white dress, a World War II veteran with a piloting helmet. 

One story featured a comedian with a knack for impressions.

You asked me about all the places I had traveled, like you had never seen a snowy peak or a beach before. 

“I like to stay close to home,” you explained after I asked you about why you were so keenly interested with my vacation history. 

“Well then how do you meet so many interesting people if you never leave?” 

You replied hollowly with: “They usually come to me.”

.

The leaves were already orange when you first touched my hand. 

It felt so cool on top of mine. 

The wind brushed past us both as we sat at the base of the tree, our hands suddenly interlocked with one another. 

The blades underneath us were as soft as worn leather. 

It smelled like pumpkin pie in the valley and I never wanted to leave because the sun always shined by the tree and I hated the dark. 

“You’ll be back tomorrow,” you assured me. 

You were right, just like every other day.

.

When the tree shed its leaves and snow started to fall on top of us, I was at first surprised you hadn't traded in your cap for something more weather appropriate, but then I looked up and realized for some strange reason, the sun was out and there were barely any clouds in the sky.  

The sky was the same as when I admired it from under the tree that first summer day. 

.

Your lips brushed past mine right before it was time for me to leave for the day as small buds of green emerged from the wood and the yellow grass began to turn a sickly green. 

It was such a chaste kiss I couldn't even get a feeling for what your face felt like upon mine. 

So, the next day when I arrived you took off your cap and put it on my head before grabbing my face with both of your hands and roughly stating: “You're so strange. I hate you.” 

Then you kissed me so roughly I got the breath devoured from me.

After breaking apart from me, you tossed my jacket at me and we didn't speak for the rest of my wait--turned away from each other like schoolchildren in a fight.

Before I left, I sat the hat and the jacket at the base of the tree and walked away with a heaviness in my heart keen to that of death. 

.

After that incident when I came back you were waiting for me, my jacket in your grasp. 

“This is what I do,” came out of your mouth.

Shaking my head confused I stood in front of you expectantly. 

You continued in a different way. “I’ve never felt such an attachment to any singular person before, and I ask myself, why?” 

I reached out and grabbed a part of my jacket, so you and I were holding it together. 

“So, therefore, I am strange to you,” I observed. 

You nodded while looking at the ground, feeling so unsure about everything. No. That was supposed to be my job. I was the unsure one, and you the sure one. You were definition and I uncertainty. 

So, I kissed you and gave the sliver of courage I had back to you. 

.

I remember one particular day where when I came to the tree you were waiting for me with a wide blanket and a cup of tea, even though it wasn't cold because the flowers on the ground were blooming. 

I was especially warm that day, under the blanket with you.

.

When the green fully returned to the tree and the grass became rougher like my first day of waiting, I came to you on your last day.

You already had a look of solemn that made this day even harder on me, knowing that I would come back the next day and you wouldn't be there. 

While I was putting on my jacket and you were putting on your cap, I asked: “Will I have to wait alone tomorrow and the days after now?”

Adjusting your cap you replied lowly, “After I leave, it won’t seem to you like waiting anymore.”

I nodded even though I barely understood anything about that tree, you, or myself. 

“Sit with me,” you said half-heartedly. 

We both sat underneath the biggest branch, shaded from the sun above us.  

“How much time do you have before you have to go?” I asked almost in a whisper. I could not bring myself to look at you. 

“I'll begin fading in a few moments I believe,” you answered distantly.

With melancholy brewing inside of me, I replied: “You were always so certain.”

You turned to me and said with tears inside of your soul: “This is what I do. This is always what happens, it’s just even harder now.”

I shook my head, “I don't understand. Why is it so much harder?”

“So many I have lost, and I have never felt-” the back of your throat closed and tightened while trying to hold back the sobs, “-so much before.”

“You love me.”

“Dutifully,” you answered. “But you will live on. I promise.”

I shook my head again, the river flowing down the side of the hill. “No, not without you. You’ll be here tomorrow for me like always.” 

You nodded, your nose turning bright pink, “I will try. But the universe wins at the end.” 

“No,” I choked out. 

Your hand fell on top of mine as the sun began to fade into the distance. 

“Never let go of my hand,” I managed. 

I saw your face above mine, the grass coaxing me from my back. 

“Is this the fate of us?” I murmured.

The world grew dimmer.

“Is this all we will get?” Tears dropped onto the blades.

“It’s not quite fair is it?” you asked me while taking off your cap.

“I love you,” I answered. 

You nodded as you set your cap on top of my face, making sure the last thing I ever saw was glass. 

I remember the sun’s heat suddenly disappearing and my hand hitting darkness.

  

~fin~