Note: A story I wrote about a month ago.

Today, while standing on the subway platform outside, I felt a cold wind blow on my face. I was glad I had on my grey North Face fleece vest under my wool jacket. It kept the wind out and my body warm.

I received the North Face vest as a Christmas gift from my buddy Walter about seven years ago. Walter was an outdoor guy who loved hiking and mountain climbing and wore a lot of North Face gear. I haven’t talked to Walter in a few years, but last I heard, he was stationed out in Iraq doing military intelligence. Hope he’s alright.

I’m not a follower of fashion trends. I usually wear whatever is comfortable for the weather and fits well. I’ll sometimes wear the same outfit for several days until I start noticing any funky smells. I can’t remember the last time I went shopping for clothing other than for boxers and socks. Over the years I’ve accumulated a good number of clothing from gifts and giveaways, and it seems like each piece of clothing says more about the people I know or used to know than it does about my fashion sense.

Take for example my gym wear – a pair of gray AND1 shorts and a black t-shirt with the letters “VOLUNTEER” on the back in bold. The shorts once belonged to my high school friend Jason. He lent it to me once when I went over to play basketball at his house right after school. I told him I would take it home and wash it for him, but ten years later, I’m at a gym in Queens wearing those exact shorts. Jason gave up trying to get the shorts back years ago, but always calls me a cheap ass whenever he catches me wearing the shorts. The t-shirt is one of four identical shirts that I snatched from a corporate soup kitchen event we had at Morrison & Associates when I was a paralegal. I remember my co-worker Julia remarking how she planned to grab four size small shirts since she was always lacking black shirts to work out in. At the time, I had a slight crush on Julia and lusted after her incredibly tight body on a daily basis. I always guessed she was a gym rat, and after listening to her talk about how unattractive it felt to have sweat stains show on non-black t-shirts, I too adopted a policy of wearing only black shirts to the gym. I took four mediums and snatched five smalls for Julia. She was grateful.

Hanging on the coat hook on my closet is a beat-up faded red hoodie from Gap, a perfect wear on autumn nights and spring mornings. It was a birthday present from Katie, a girl I dated for a year in college. I wore it almost daily to classes and to bars around campus. I still wear it these days, even though it’s been at least six years since I last saw Katie. I’ve thought about her from time to time, especially when other girls who’ve come and gone have put on the hoodie, unaware of its origin. I think I still liked it best when Katie would put it on in the mornings while waiting for me to make coffee, with her short gym shorts on and her hands comfortably placed inside the front pocket. Sometimes she’d cover her head.

Thinking so nostalgically about Katie fills me with a bit of guilt. I look over at my girlfriend Megan who’s sitting in my bed reading a book. She’s wearing one of my long-sleeve shirts, an olive green one from American Eagle. It’s a tad bit weird seeing her wear the shirt. It was a gift from my ex Susan, who thought I would look wonderful in green. Susan and I broke up last year after dating for two years. It was a nasty breakup that seemed to erase all pleasant moments we ever shared. I remember the awkward moment when I ran into Susan a few months ago and I was wearing the olive green shirt. We were civil and made small talk, but I could see that her eyes were focused on my chest, probably wondering how I could still wear something from her after our bitter split and the many months of trying to move on. I really like the shirt and it’s not something I’d avoid wearing just because of its history. I blow a kiss towards Megan in a silly way and she responds with a wink. She has no idea, but she looks very comfortable.