All This... Over a T-Shirt

So... I was searching for some old class work the other night... Someone had asked about a course that I had taken my freshman year... and as a total sentimental packrat, I save everything.

After not finding the packet in all of the places it would normally be kept, I spotted a box, which had remained untouched since my arrival back into Ithaca.

I opened the box to find some clothing, folded and stacked neatly above some random papers and memory items from the last semester I was at Cornell.

Now, like I said... I�m a very sentimental person. I save everything. I have the ticket stubs from all of the times I saw Clueless in the movie theaters... I save maps, brochures and itineraries from my past vacations... I have ticket stubs, menus and notes from both men and women of my past...

I also save clothes.

The hardest part of going off to college was to take all of the clothing that I wanted with me. Granted, I had lost a lot of weight between my high school graduation and my grand voyage off to the unknowns of college... about 45 pounds, at the time.

But... it wasn�t a matter of choosing which of the articles I had dubbed as "fat clothes" and the newer, better fitting garments...

It came down to t-shirts.

Yes. T-shirts.

I have t-shirts from all sorts of different occasions. I have shirts from my high school student council days... shirts from elementary school. Literally 75 t-shirts from an eighteen-year span of time. All of them hold a very special sentimental value to me. I have an extra-large pale blue t-shirt from a conference I attended in Arizona. I can still remember trading a highly sought after white Illinois bucket cap with an advisor from the host school for it. I remember how jealous the other students of my delegation were that I had actually gotten one of those precious shirts, as they were in high demand, but severely limited in supply. I remember putting it on and how I stretched the neck trying to fit my chubby little cheeks through the tiny neck hole. I remember it pulling and grabbing at my belly and feeling fat... but still proud at my bartering achievement.

When I opened the box, I saw one shirt in particular. It was an orange Abercrombie t-shirt, with fading blue trim down the arms and neck... with a large number on the back... and the obligatory name in blue print on the right hand side.

I had completely forgotten about this shirt. It holds a lot of memories for me. I had coerced it out of someone before winter break of my sophomore year... and while I had seen the owner afterwards, still always held onto to it, dearly.

The shirt holds so many memories for me... and the second I saw it... they all came flooding back.

At first, I was reminded of a lot of really good times... remembering the times I had seen the shirt being worn... how it was a little bit large... but still seemed to fit so well...

I remembered a night of drinking... and how close we had grown through this evening.

And then I remembered the pain. I remember being extremely upset and confused one evening in May and lying down on my bed to hold my stuffed Snoopy to try to ease the tears. As I turned on my side to face the wall... the shirt was there... as a reminder of that past... one which I would try to desperately to forget.

Even though there were so many good memories associated with it... the events which had occurred latest were still freshest in my mind... and as such, clouded the past and made it hurt.

I remember wearing the shirt, myself... and feeling so comfortable in it... feeling so at ease... so at home... so... safe.

But at the same time, I would look in the mirror and think about all of the memories associated with it... and I would feel the pain.

As I opened up the box, I suddenly remembered putting it in there.

The shirt had caused a dilemma during the packing process. I know that I needed to move on... to move past the haunting memories and the longing for the happier, simpler times...

I wanted to throw it away... to get rid of the constant reminders of everything...

At the same time, I wanted to take it to Florida... because it was comfortable... it looked good on me... and it made me feel so comfortable and loved.

Yes. This thought process was all regarding a t-shirt.

Perhaps I over analyze things too much?

I digress...

Anyhow... at the time of packing... I thought of two options.

Option one: Throw it away. Dispose of the past. Rid myself of the constant reminders and regrets and feelings.

Option two: Take it to Florida. Try to remember the happier times and not dwell so much on everything associated with it.

I remember the shirt being one of the very last things I packed. I didn�t feel like I could just dispose of it. While it was associated with a lot of different memories that I wasn�t sure I wanted to have anymore, I didn�t think I could just dispose of it. At the same time, I didn�t really want it as a constant reminder of everything that I missed and regretted back in Ithaca.

In the end, I decided to pack it in a box to stay at school. The final decision came with very little thought or reason... but as I look back on it, now... it�s so symbolic.

When I left school last May, I was in a bad place, mentally. I was very unstable and I knew that I couldn�t focus on my schoolwork and wasn�t learning anything. As such, I knew that it was best to take a semester off in order to get myself into a better place and come back, refreshed, refocused and ready to attack whatever came at me.

In effect, I was running away.

Not only from school, mind you... but also from a host of interpersonal conflicts and issues. I was also running from the financial trauma associated with school and my family. I needed out.

But... when you run away, as I have learned, essentially all you are doing is delaying the inevitable. I knew that I was going to have to come back to finish my degree. I knew that I was going to come back and have to deal with the financial drama. I knew that I was going to have to come back to deal with the people I had run so far to escape from.

So... I left a lot behind. Not only mentally, but also physically.

In Florida, I had very few reminders of Cornell. It was thirteen hundred miles away. Out of sight, out of mind, was the way that I operated.

I seldom called and seldom contacted anyone from Cornell during my seven months in Florida. I liked it that way. I was growing stronger, clearing my head and building the family and support system that I had never had the luxury of having as I grew up.

I didn�t prepare myself for coming back to Cornell. In fact, it never really occurred to me that I *was* coming back. It wasn�t until the day before I had to leave that I really even gave any thought to my journey back to Ithaca. I didn�t even print out any directions. It had never occurred to me that I might not remember how to get back home or that I could get lost.

When I was on the road, I didn�t speed. Normally, I speed a lot... I don�t like taking any more time getting somewhere than I absolutely have to.

My return to Ithaca was different, however. I stopped often. I set my cruise control just under the speed limit and took time to look around to see what I was passing.

I only left about 36 hours between my arrival back at Cornell and the start of classes. Ithaca had always made me miserable and I didn�t plan on being in it without a purpose any longer than necessary.

In the past few months, I have pushed away the feelings and issues that I had when I was last here as far away as possible. One by one, I�ve had to deal with issues... and that�s the way I wanted it. I knew that taking on too much at one time would be disastrous for me.

When I opened up the box and I saw the shirt neatly folded on top, it was as if a ghost was staring me in the eye.

I froze as the memories began to flood back.

I slowly stuck my hand out, as if it was going to jump out and attack me.

I reached down and caressed the shirt with the back of my hand... it was as just as I had remembered it. So soft and silky... so comforting...

I cautiously took the shirt out of the box and unfolded it.

I decided that I needed to put it on, to see how it looked on me.

As I slipped it over my head and the fabric touched my nose, I breathed deeply to take in the scents the garment held. Beyond the smell of the cardboard box, I inhaled the scent of the Mountain Spring Downy fabric softener that I was so obsessed with using last year. And, faintly, I could sense a hint of cologne near the collar of the shirt.

As I stared in the mirror, I saw the face which I have seen everyday for the last twenty years. But, somehow... things were not the same. I could remember the days when the shirt covered me nicely and hung in such a way to hide the remnants of eating too much pizza and take-out Chinese.

Now, however, it was different. I could see my clavicle, bony and sticking out... not covered by a layer of skin and fat, as it had been ten months prior. I remember how I loved the way that the sleeves helped me to keep out of view the flab on my underarms, which I so desperately wanted to keep hidden from the world. Now, however, I wanted to roll the sleeves up to show the world the biceps I had worked so hard to sculpt.

Standing there, staring at a reflection of my current state holding onto the past, I began to barrage myself with a series of questions...

Do I keep the shirt and start to wear it, again?

Do I stuff it into the bottom of a drawer, where it will most likely not see the light of day until I pick up to leave, again?

Or shall I give the shirt back to the original owner, as a symbol of my freedom from the past?

Or should I throw it away and with it the memories which I have tried so hard to escape?

I mean... the shirt is so comfortable... and comforting. It brings back so many memories from the past... both good and bad...

But... I now have to ask if I have outgrown it...

I have changed a lot over the past ten months of my life. I have learned a lot of different things about myself, the way in which my mind works and the way in which I operate. I have also learned a lot from analyzing my past mistakes and how my actions can affect others.

I have also changed a lot of my outlooks. I have grown a bit in my tastes and preferences. I have matured a little in my face. I now have more muscles and a bit more toned than I was before.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought about the shirt. I thought about how it looked on me... and I asked myself if it was really me, anymore. I remember a time in the past where the shirt embodied many of my tastes and preferences. It was so natural and complimented me well, as it masked the things I wanted so desperately to hide from public view.

Now, however, it seemed to not really be a part of me, but rather a step backwards. I am now more comfortable with myself and my body. The bagginess of the shirt keeps hidden the aspects which I have worked so hard on to not be ashamed of. The style isn�t so much me, anymore.

Besides... can I really wear it and not be constantly reminded of all of the regret and pain that has been so intricately woven into the fabric, with such seemingly little effort...?

So, I guess that means I won�t be making it a part of my regular lineup on the wardrobe. Now I have to decide how to deal with it. Do I file it away in the memory box, give it back or throw it away?

I still don�t know.

I am at a point in my life where I have enough behind me... enough of the choices which I have full and total responsibility for... in order to have regret. Certainly, I know I will come across more bridges and harder issues, but I am still struggling to figure out exactly who I am and where I belong. In order to do this, I know that I must deal with my past and use those experiences to help show me exactly who I am and where I will go.

As I continue on the road of self-discovery, I must be reminded that no matter where I go to run, I must always come back...

...and when I return... there will always be a sealed box, which I must open in order to deal with my feelings, my regret, my memories... my past.

later, kids...

~robert