Worn out

The oldest shirt in my closet today is faded blue, white and grey around collar and cuffs, with a few buttons loose but none missing. A six-inch tear runs down the front, along the buttonhole side. I hardly wear it anymore, but it’s the most important shirt I have because I was wearing it when I hit bottom in October of 1995. Like a certain special song or photograph, this frayed shirt can pull up memories from the past for me and spread them across this present moment in crisp detail and surprising depth.