The Glove of Christmas Past...

They kept my palms sufficiently warm at the parade this weekend, as I knew they would. They're ultra reliable like that... my black, smooth, fleece-like gloves. I peeled the convertible tops back to snap some pictures and eat chicken nuggets with the kids then pulled the mitten tops back on without losing any warmth in my stubby digits. There was a small secret pleasure to be felt in having something so versatile, well made, effective and easy to use. We all waved at Santa as his float passed by, the last one in the parade procession, and we sang Christmas songs out loud the entire time.

Later that night I was carrying a fluffy pile of coats and jackets into the house when I patted my side pocket and felt a void. Not a big deal, my glove must be in the car somewhere. But no, I searched the coats, the car, my purse and did a mental inventory of anywhere else it could be. My search came up fruitless, and was immediately followed by the sad reality that one of my coveted gloves went missing.

This is supposed to be a non-event. Gloves, scarves and mittens get lost more often than any other cold weather accessory. And they're all very replaceable. So why the painful twinge in my stomach? Why am I fighting the urge to sit for a minute and cry?

Maybe because it's one of the very last artifacts in my possession that bring to mind your existence; a dangling remnant that proves that we once were friends. Somehow those gloves didn't make their way to the trash that day that I tossed out everything you'd ever given me. Yet I've taken for granted their source all these years later. So I thought about you for a moment... one of the few people who could appreciate all the time I spend alone in my head, you'd laugh out loud and applaud my efforts towards abandoning logic and submitting to utter ridiculousness. You were hysterically outlandish and completely ridiculous too.

Maybe I'm not inclined to weep about our old friendship, nor would I seek it out again. I think our decade-long camaraderie served its purpose, ran its course and was exactly what we needed at the time. Maybe your glove is haunting me because through it I recall a time where I could be whoever the hell I wanted to be with the sun still shining gloriously on my face.