I'm sure you wonder why I've kept these jeans.
There are days I wonder too. There was a brief moment where I toyed with chucking them. Unwearable I thought. Where I know people would see them in my drawers and wonder what I'm thinking. Why these jeans are sitting here with all the other clothes. Are they laundry day jeans, where nothing else is clean?
It's not that they're especially tacky. They don't look special. They didn't cost a whole lot. In fact, I have another pair just like them.
Sure, they don't fit that well. I've since lost the weight that held them snuggly to my curves. They sag in certain spots, especially around my knees. They're not super flattering, no one ever said I looked hot, sexy or particularly skinny in them.
But what they lack in their ordinary little ways, they make up for in memories.
We were helping out a mutual friend. Someone I introduced you to. Someone who adores you almost as much as you do her. Disaster had struck in our mundane, modern days, we were rebuilding from scratch. It was a spur of the moment decision, but we both found ourselves together.
Everything was fresh and new. We were two high school students, sneaking long glances at each other and I at least, was giggling like I hadn't in a long time. You were typical you; tall, dark with a sense of friendship and unwavering loyalty. Sure there was exhaustion in your eyes, but there was dedication. Someone was in need of help and you could be there for her.
A modern day hero.
She was the first we really told. I knew she'd be supportive. She liked you. She liked me.
She'd been around enough of the previous boys to know I deserved better.
You were that better.
We worked well together. My keen eye against your height. I knew a little bit more and you took direction well. We were teased. Typical old couple, they said, bickering away. Martha Stewart I shot back, proud of our accomplishment. Proud of what we created.
I slipped on those jeans again this week. No particular reason beyond wanting to remember that day after a brief conversation we had the other night. They still fit, although a little looser than on that day. There's still streaks of paint, white and grey marring the dark jean. I'm sure there's invisible left over remains of sticky glue from the wallpaper. The j you painted on the pocket still remains just as bright and eyecatching as it did the day you drew it.
It was the perfect non-date, first date.
Stolen kisses, infatuation, a promise of something more.
What more could a girl ask for?