Tears and Laughter: The coat

There is a coat in my closet that hangs on the right, at the divide between what is his and what is mine. This coat is mine, now. It had been my grandmother’s once, when she had been much younger.

Sometimes, I will touch the sleeve or feel the collar, when I pass by or stand deciding what to wear.

I will even admit that I have more than once on a quiet afternoon tried it on. It does fit.  I’ve wrapped myself in it and stood in front of the mirror. I don’t know when I put it on if I am wanting more to sense her memory near me, or if I am trying to catch some fleeting glimpse of her lost in me somewhere. But really, I’m probably never going to wear it.

I question myself sometimes about why I even keep it. It is not my color. It is not my style. In fact it clashes with everything I own just by hanging there. I like things black and slimming and fitted. The coat is beige, with this dramatic fur collar. It is long, and in a classic cut. My mother insists I can wear it forever, but it doesn’t look like anything I ever would.

I was reminded of how I became who I used to be, that turned me into who I am, on Highway 41 Thursday. If you have never driven Highway 41 between Monroeville and Camden, I invite you, and you will understand why the traffic that way is seldom heavy.

I’m always telling people they had best be ready to drive when they get on 41. It is very curvy, but it is a beautiful stretch highway that connects the very end of the Appalachian foothills with the flatlands that lead to Florida. The radio reception isn’t bad either.

I was hoping to find some form of talk radio, when my search button landed me on the beginning raw chords of “I Love Rock n Roll.”

I turned the volume up, and for about three minutes, I was transported back in the 80’s. And I remember – like all of us who were kids during the 1980s – when that song first became popular. Nobody until then particularly knew who Joan Jett was. Some people thought her and Pat Benatar were the same person.

She had her appeal though, with her black hair and rebellious attitude. And apparently, although I had never made the connection or given it any thought until that moment, there was something about her I must have liked. Or maybe there was something about her as an artist I appreciated or maybe I related to something in her music, but I’ll be honest. I didn’t realize Thursday, but I’ve been dressing a little bit like the woman for the past 32 years.

It was all timeless to me, until the song was over. For a few moments, I was as young as I ever was.

Then the car fell quiet for a silent second, before the station’s call name blared out that it was an oldies station.

I laughed out loud. Prior to that, I was missing jukeboxes. I had decided to buy black boots and a new coat too, in leather.

Since then I have decided that I will be keeping the beige coat with the fur collar.

Who knows, give me a couple of more years and I may be wearing it.

Amanda Walker is a columnist with The West Alabama Watchman, Al.com, The Thomasville Times, and The Wilcox Progressive Era. For more information, visit her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AmandaWalker.Columnist.