On: The Story of a Black T-shirt
This article is best enjoyed while listening to the song "Graduation (Friends Forever)" by Vitamin C - https://youtu.be/tz_NxOF7RB4
This is the story of a black t-shirt. But it’s not the typical story of trials and of triumphs. It’s hardly even about beating the odds of adversity. Instead, this story is about comfort and memories, and about companionship. It’s about how one article of clothing stayed with me for almost four years and despite being relegated to a corner of forgotten things, didn’t lose its comforting feel. This is the story of the black t-shirt that has seen my good, bad, and worst days. This is the story of the black t-shirt that has watched other brand new articles of clothing take its place. It has seen itself go from special to being relegated to a dark corner of the wardrobe, piled on by newer clothes, but choosing to remain steadfast and expectant that someday, nay, one day, it would be remembered for its warmth and it would go on to fulfill its destiny.
If I am being honest, I can’t even remember when exactly I got this black t-shirt. However, I know that prior to the telling of this story, it was the oldest clothing I had in my wardrobe. I’ve always loved the color black and it was no surprise that upon purchasing it, it was the piece of clothing I would go to wear without a moment's thought whenever I had somewhere to be. In fact, whenever I did my laundry, I’d ensure that I separated it from the rest of the dirty piles of clothing. To wash it, I’d use a sweet-scented bathing soap, kept aside, especially for it, while I’d use a regular detergent for the others. Also, I’d make sure when I hung it on the clothing line outside my apartment to dry, it was pegged firmly so it wouldn’t be blown away by the winds. The rest of my clothes could be tossed from my apartment to the next two houses and I wouldn’t care less, but this black t-shirt had to be safe.
But like most things in life that we love, we often get bored of the constancy of their presence. So, as time went on, despite how much I loved this black t-shirt, I began to neglect it for other newer, more flamboyant articles of clothing. Soon, I began only choosing to wear it to bed as opposed to wearing it during the day as my go-to attire. In fact, I soon began tossing it in with the other pile of clothes whenever I wanted to do the laundry, not caring if I used the regular detergent on it anymore. It had become ordinary to me and as time passed, I completely abandoned it and left it wallowing in the corner of my wardrobe. And the truth was that, in that corner of the wardrobe, it may have had to live out the rest of its days if I hadn’t randomly noticed its presence one cold Saturday morning, some months back.
I believe I was in search of something else to wear; something different but familiar. In ransacking my wardrobe, I found it. It was peacefully folded and lying underneath a pile of other clothes, left exactly where I had kept it. I picked it up and smiled, remembering the good times we had had together. And in some ways, I’m sure it smiled back at me too. In some ways, I figured that as I wore it, it also sighed in relief at the familiarity of my skin. I’m sure it thought to itself “Finally, being patient does pay off” as it hugged my body and provided that all-so-familiar warmth that I was used to. On my part, I felt a sense of calm run over me as I wore it. It wasn’t as special or as new as the first time I got it, but even in its aging, it felt soothingly youthful.
More than anything, it was a momentary reminder that sometimes the best things in life are old. In the months after I found it, we became re-acquainted, but this time things were a bit different. This time, I mostly wore it to bed. But unlike before when that felt like a demotion, this time it felt more intimate. This time putting it on to go to bed was my way of saying that I trusted it. I trusted it to keep me warm with its familiar cotton fabrics. I trusted it to be there with me on the nights when I had to soak my pillows with the silent tears of despair. I trusted it to be there for me to lean on whenever I needed a shoulder, finding its soft fabric waiting to support my head. The dynamic was different this time around because I had found a companion in my darkest moments and it had found its destiny.
But all good things must come to an end, as they say. And even the old must die. A few days to this day, I noticed a tear by the side of this black t-shirt, which hadn’t been there before. Days later, I noticed that the neckline was even slacker than it used to be. Then the final straw came when two afternoons ago, on trying to pull off a loose thread from it, I accidentally pulled too hard and loosened the hem badly. When this happened, I figured it was all part of the tell signs that I was trying too hard to ignore. And although it still felt warm against my body when I wore it, I became more aware that with each wash, it was beginning to lose its essence. It became looser and its closeness to my body drifted inches apart every day. So, I knew deep down that it was time to let go —time to say goodbye. But not before commemorating our time together; and not at our best moments, but at our worst —me, looking unkempt, depressed, and forlorn and it looking slackened, old, and faded.
We took pictures. In some, we smiled. In others, we looked bland. In some, we laughed. In others, we frowned. All of these were meant to capture a semblance of all the moments we had shared together. And as I say goodbye to it and watch it transition from my wardrobe to become a useful kitchen rag, I wished it all the best in our final moments. I smelled it and hugged it one more time before letting it go. And in some ways, I’d like to think that it said goodbye to me too and then wished me a happy birthday; reminding me once again that sometimes the best things in life are old.
As I posed for the camera and waited for that shutter sound, I too kept repeating the words to myself in comfort: “You’re thirty-one today, Mifa. Remember, sometimes the best things in life are old.”
Cheers!
Happy Birthday Mifa..
Happy Birthday my G and shout out to your black shirt. Tried and Trusted doesn't begin to define the shirt. Cheers.