And this is for you, he said, opening a bag and pulling out a pale yellow short-sleeved cardigan. It's from our aunt. She took it carefully and left the room with the excuse that she was going to try it on. After closing the door, she buried her nose in its softness and breathed in deep. Ahhhhh, there it was. Faint, after having traveled thousands of miles to get to her, but still there. The familiar scent of home. One of many homes.
It fit perfectly, of course. Somehow, over her 35 years, most of them spent away from those who were tied to her biologically, they had known exactly what sizes of clothing to send. Her aunt and Granny were adept at picking out stylish yet fashionably durable items she would wear for years after and then hand down to her sister.
Even though yellow was her least favourite colour, she knew the cardigan was not going to the charity shop. This would become her favourite cardigan because it was more than just a cardigan. It was a symbol of someone's love and care for her.
She breathed in deep one more time. She wished she could vacuum seal the familiar scent for days when she missed the familiar. There were all too many of those.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Share a thought or two. . .