The Green Sweater

The Green Sweater was my favorite. I suppose it was the color, the material (something really soft) and the way it clung to her breasts. She just glowed in it – like life itself. She already had the most beautiful eyes I had ever looked into. Something about them held wisdom and playfulness at the same time. This sweater only intensified them.

Sometimes I was lucky enough to watch her get ready for school in the morning. Sometimes she came to pick me up for school. Either way, there was always a moment just before seeing her where I held my breath waiting to see what she was going to be wearing that day. Not that I really paid that much attention to clothes. I’ve definitely never been into fashion. But certain colors, materials, and shapes help bring people’s beauty out. Maybe they feel more comfortable in some things and so they are more of their authentic selves. Maybe they just feel sexier. This sweater was like that. Maybe it was her choice of bra. This is something I barely know anything about. My partner wears “sweater bras” and that seems to do something I like, so who knows. Anyway, I’d see that sweater and think, “It’s gong to be a really hard day.” You might be thinking, “Why hard? I thought you liked the sweater!” Yes, I loved it. I wanted her in that sweater.

Now, when I say “wanted” it’s kind of funny. I know what that means to me now, but what did it mean to me then? I honestly did not know. I really didn’t. That’s what I find so fascinating about it! No explicit sexual fantasy filled my head about her when she was wearing The Green Sweater. I just couldn’t wait to touch her and my body was on fire all day, all the time, just thinking about the possibility. I just craved being entwined with her in such a big way – I just burned inside. I pictured it over and over in my head just to get that rush.

I can remember climbing the stairs to her room barely able to walk. I would be trying to talk in a normal voice, I would be trying to keep my ears from turning red, and I would be trying to keep from moaning out loud. Each step was harder and harder as I followed her up what seemed like an impossible flight of stairs. I remember getting quiet. Sometimes she would poke at me to try to get me to laugh. Sometimes she would get angry thinking that I was cutting her off. Sometimes she would just get annoyed with me.

We were heading to her room to “study”. I would pray equally for two things: please push me away so I don’t have to feel this exquisite and excruciating pain; AND please stay connected to me so that when we get inside that room, you will close the door and hug me.

And then the hug would come.

She smelled like flowers and felt like a perfect pillow – soft but not too soft. She was taller than I so my face pretty much sunk into her chest. I just wanted to melt into her. I tried to just melt away. I was always sure she could feel me tremble. The neurons would be firing off in every direction and I would go weak in the knees. Then the blood would rise all the way up my body until my eyes started to burn, go blurry, and then – I would start to cry. What else could I do? Come right then and there? Maybe – that would have at least made more sense to me!

But, no, I just wondered what the hell was wrong with me. How could it hurt me so much and yet I continued to want to do it over and over again?

After I don’t know how long, we would somehow let go of one another. I’m sure I was extremely careful to be the first one to let go or at least act like it the very second she started to. Then, we would go on with our homework. Often we would try to “process my feelings” but I didn’t know what my problem was, so I usually just pushed her away. At that point we might even have a fight.

That night I would lay awake just hoping we would “make up” the next day and that someday – very soon – she would wear that sweater again.