Well Worn Out

This is the story of a shirt. This shirt was worn by a man. This story is about that man.

They found each other early in life as they grew strong on the same cotton farm. The man, then a boy, was nurtured by his parents, and the shirt, then raw cotton, was nurtured by the boy. As soon as both were mature enough, they left. The young man, on little more than pure youthful optimism and a complete naivety of the dangers of life, made his way into the vast potential of the outside world. The shirt was picked, sold, spun, dyed, and made cloth. Deft hands then sewed the cloth into the shirt, the same shirt that the young man saw in the window and purchased the first day of his travels.

Together, the two explored the world and made it a point to never return to anyplace they had been before. Along the way, they picked up a pair of leather boots, clean and wanting of adventure, and a belt, hardened and smooth asking to be broken in. Together, the group found all the joy and happiness the world provides for the unencumbered. Years were spent on the road working odd jobs, rambling from place to place, and having no responsibilities. In towns, they stayed up all night drinking and flirting with barmaids. For days, sometimes week, the shirt, boots, and belt would be out all night with the man, taking advantage of the young, resilient body. But, the longer the group stayed, the more uncomfortable the comfortable surroundings they became. And soon, when the belt was scarred, the shirt was worn, and the boots begged for miles, the group would set off again. In between these adventures, the man took the opportunity to wash and dry out, clean his companions and sleep off mistakes. This was the way of his world, of their world. Total and complete freedom. But the joy of freedom is fleeting, and the young man, unknowingly, began to look for stability.

When he found it, the boots were first to be cast off. It happened one day as the young man, the shirt, the boots, and belt crested a hill. Below them was a beautiful valley town. The shirt felt a faster twitch in the man’s heartbeat, the belt felt the breath fill and hold, and the boots could sense the pace quicken. In this way, though the young man himself may not have felt the attraction to this place, his travelling partners were certain that this place was special. As the group approached town, the twitch turned to fluttering, the breath grew deep and calm, and the boots slowed. Right then, at the entrance to this village, the young man knew this was what he had been searching for. In the span of a few days, the group found a small home to rent, a job working in the fields, and a community they could belong to. This community, however, had societal standards and the boots, having been re-soled and repaired too many times to be remembered, looked too road worn to be publicly acceptable. Soon after establishing himself, the young man purchased a pair more fitting of a gentleman and the old pair, the boots of a wanderer, were retired to a chest at the foot of the man’s bed.

The young man again worked the cotton fields. He developed a reputation as a hard-working, independent man who had potential, albeit a little irresponsible. He was embraced by the community and he, in turn, was a grateful citizen. One evening, after a long day working the cotton fields, the man, the shirt, and the belt sat at a local inn waiting for a good meal and a better drink. As the man looked up to thank the young woman bringing his plate, he caught a glimpse, a mere flash of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The shirt felt his heart jump, twitch and flutter and the belt stretched and relaxed quickly as the young man tried to catch his breathe. He asked the barmaid “Who is in the kitchen this evening?” “That would be our new cook, Nora” she replied. The not so young man ate quickly, drank too quickly, and loitered around the Inn hoping for one more look at Nora. That opportunity never presented itself and he was swept out the door with that evening dust. When he got to his bed, he undressed and looked at his belt. Each cut and scar on the leather represented a memory, if only he could remember them all. Though he was drunk, he recognized that this was a different kind of fog, like everything was viewed through broken glass. It wasn’t faulty memories, he was changing. He took the belt, and with a sigh, he placed it on top of the boots in the chest at the foot of his bed.

For a full week, the not so young man had dinner at the Inn. He finished every meal drinking until either he ran out of money or the barmaid ran out of patience. On Friday, he once again entered the Inn and there sat Nora alone at a table with two drinks. Crestfallen at the idea she was waiting for someone, he sat in his usual seat and ordered. The barmaid, quite annoyed at both seeing the man yet again and seeing just how ignorant he was, leaned over and whispered “She’s here for you” as she motioned toward Nora. “She said she had to meet the man who could eat three dinners a night.”

That night was the beginning of a courtship and it wasn’t long before the man asked Nora a question. And, with Nora's answer, the young couple became the young betrothed. The man became a land owner and hired men to work the fields. He held public appointments of high regard and was generally looked upon as a steadfast and competent man. Nora was an enormous success in her own right. She became renowned throughout the region for her cooking skills, took over the Inn, and ran the town bakery. Though the shirt at almost all events in the couple’s first few years, as the two gained esteem, the occasions where the shirt was acceptable attire became fewer and fewer. And so, the shirt spent more time waiting than ever before. And the longer the time between events, the farther down the bureau it traveled. Once living in the top drawer, ready to be worn at a moment’s notice, it finally found a home under forgotten clothes in the bottom of the bureau. The shirt grew threadbare and faded. But it always was there, always waiting

The evening before the wedding, the man was feeling the pull of irresponsibility that happiness often brings. This disregard of consequences reminded him of a time long past. A past where this same freedom was standard. He felt his spirit lift even more as he went to the bureau, to the bottom drawer of that bureau, and to the shirt.

The man swung, swayed, and skipped through the town on his way to the tavern. As he felt the rush of expectation for both his marriage and the evening ahead. He remembered the life of a young man. He remembered the nights in the bars, the wonderful new cultures he found. He remembered the excitement of a touch. This drove him harder and he increased his pace. He smiled and waved at the fellow townsfolk, letting everyone see his joy. But his greetings garnered only odd looks of embarrassment and disapproval. He did not care. He was happy and invincible today.

The walk to tavern, however, was long and soon, those look’s and whispers began to chip away at his confidence. His shoulders fell, his gait shortened, and he lowered his eyes as he wondered “What are they carrying on about?” Stopping in front of a shop window, he saw his reflection. And then, all at once, he saw himself. In the glass was a wizened man, a face that had seen life at its best and worst. A man respected and in high standing within society. A man, not a young man, a man that had earned a life. And then, he looked at the shirt. It was ill fitting, stretched at the belly, too large at the shoulders, and the collar two sizes too small. And the dye, though faded, was not the color a distinguished man wore. The people weren’t passing judgment on the man, they were embarrassed by the dissonance.

He returned home, wondering where time goes when one doesn’t pay attention. He, for the first time in a long time, opened the chest. Reaching in, he removed the belt and the boots and reverently placed them on the bed. It struck him how grand he remembered these items, but how, now, with the benefit of perspective, they looked tattered. He recalled how the boots would beg him to keep going, keep walking, keep exploring. But he remembered for every beautiful mile they all walked together, there were always days, sometimes weeks of sleet and rain. He remembered his sore legs, the nights alone by fire, and realized that though those boots that brought him some of his fondest memories were also responsible for loneliness and years of difficulty. He held the belt and remembered as much as he could about all the conquests each notch represented. Then he remembered the lies he had to sell, the many number of times he slept alone, the raucous nights at the bars punctuated by the slow, painful morning. He understood that most of these notches were forgettable, a minor moment of lust, and could not compare to the love he felt now. These two no longer represented youth, they were worn pieces of leather that a young man happened to own. “But the shirt…” he thought “surely the shirt can be salvaged.”

He removed the shirt and gently folded it, laying it next to the other travelers. Gone were the bright colors and style that first attracted him to the shirt. Gone, too, were the strong back and thick arms of the youth that used to fill it. Today, both the man and the shirt were tired, smelled of smoke and wine, and neither were nearly as bold as he remembered. Though both he and the shirt were full of stories, the man realized these stories also came at a cost. Again, he saw the joy and happiness of that young man overshadowed by the solitude that filled the average day. He realized that he was holding on to the good memories and jettisoning the bad and that the reality of his travels was much different than the few wonderful moments he could recall. He placed the boots and belt back into the chest, back to the place they had been relegated to for all these years. He then set the shirt, and what was left of his youth and youngmanhood, on top. With a deep breathe of disappointment aimed at the items that held him back from being truly happy, he shut, locked and slid the chest under the bed for the last time and went about finding something more appropriate to wear.