Dear Anonymous,
'I don't wear collared shirts.' he states though I do notice he is wearing one. He is emphatic. His speech punctuated with meaning.
'Last time I wore one of those was at my partners' funeral. We were together three and a half years. I changed his diapers at the end. No mention of me in the obituary. No mention of me at the funeral. His sister, she took everything...'
and then he is choked up. No words. A long painful moment, a perplexingly long inhalation that has stopped and I just want to breathe for him.
'I'll take the shirt.'
It is a Ralph Lauren. I tell him Ralph would be lookin' good on him. We smile.
He suddenly animates himself,eyes to the leaden sky. 'Faaaaaaahhhhhhccccckkkkkkkkkkk. And now the rain!'
He leaves. What is it we leave. What is it we carry forward like him, in a wobbly shopping cart lifted from across the bridge in another town. Filled with the crumpled and broken. With the redeemable. With our baggage placed alternately with tenderness and violence.