Your Coat (Short Story)

You met me in third grade along with twenty other brats you would have to deal with in the room. I was always that shy kid in the corner not wanting to participate in anything. I didn’t want anyone to see the tears that I would try so hard to hide in that corner. By the time I stopped crying, the sleeves of my ragged second-hand old sweater were already drenched. You noticed and I always shooed you away because I was told boys weren’t supposed to cry. I felt exposed when you saw me and even felt resented you for seeing that vulnerability that I managed to conceal since starting school. And those storytimes told in class always did a number to me. They always had happily ever after endings and I thought so hard as to why my life was never as like those perfect characters.

When it was wintertime, you would allow us to play in the snow and you saw how I refused to step outside let alone make snow angels like the rest of the kids. I couldn’t stain my jacket with that dirty soil and it wasn’t waterproof like the expensive coats the children wore. Mine was thin, wrinkled, and its stitching on the left sleeve had loosened every time I snug my arm in it which was pretty common. The coat was two sizes small, but it was all I had. Upon seeing all the kids making their snow angels, half-done snowmen, and play in reckless snowball fights, you asked me if I wanted to play with them and I said no. You proceeded to tell me to step outside and enjoy the beautiful course winter offers. Still, I said no and you frowned on my disobedience. You then walked over to the closet. I thought you were mad at first, but then you came towards me with a smile and with a huge bag in your left hand. You handed it to me and said, “This is for you Marlo.” I suspiciously opened the bag and in it was a brand new heavy winter coat. You said, “I noticed how you’re always cold in that old thing. This is a present to you Marlo.” I had never received a present in my life and felt so frustrated that you wanted to change me in. So I threw that coat at you and bolted out of the classroom. You didn’t follow me because the other kids would be left unsupervised. I wasn’t surprised because who would follow me anyways. I was actually used to be unsupervised.

The very next day, we were assigned to create poems about our homes. I tortured you with a nasty expression as you went over the directions. We would have ten minutes to create our poems, then we would have to recite them in front of the class. I remember hearing about the kids play with their Transformer toys, laugh to Shrek, and go sledding during the snowstorms. Smiles illuminated their faces and they went beyond the assignment by drawing their family on the board raving about how they always had fun. Midway through the poem presentations, I put my head down on the desk ashamed of my non-existent childhood and ultimately my place in this world. Why did they have Santa, a warm bed to sleep on, money, hot wheels, television, and a loving family? Again, that old sweater was my comfort zone for my tears and you noticed it once again. Oh, I hated getting caught crying. I knew you caught me when you skipped my turn and made Jimmy go next instead. But, I didn’t care too much this time because our dismissal time was near. I noticed something different that day though. You let another teacher lead us out single file. Then, you pulled me out of the line to talk to me. You said, “Marlo, I want to call your home to make sure everything is fine”. I said, “You can go on and try.” I could see that I was frustrating you because you walked to your desk to grab the emergency contact book. You slammed the book down but sighed saying, “Marlo, let me help you out.” I stared at you for a good ten seconds before I replied calmly “Just call ho-” And just like that my voice cracked and the jacket that isn’t so so waterproof was soaked with a waterfall of my tears. “I don’t like my home,” I said managing to overcome these tears. You then took off my jacket trying to pacify me and my episode. I would normally fight you off, but this time I just let you.

You proceeded to take off my old sweater and finally saw the dark scars and bruises painted my arms. I looked down hoping you weren’t looking at me even though you clearly were. And what did you do? You embraced me. It was not only my first true embrace that I had ever gotten but the first time someone hugged me for crying. The next day in school, you set me aside privately to tell me “I dug into your records and I reported the abuse in your foster home.” Hearing this I was livid and hated that in return of showing my vulnerabilities to you, you betrayed me. I said “Why? Why? WHY?”  increasing in volumes each time with tears ready to burst. “Where am I going to live?” I said struggling to pull myself through the entrance of the tears. And you then stroke my head and said “With me” with pure glee. A moment of shock passed me momentarily. I quickly overcame it by asking “But what about-?” You interrupted and said, “Don’t worry Marlo, my son. Don’t worry!” And from there I let you take the wheel.