Literature
625
I left my sweater at her house.
It was mauve and black striped, long-sleeved and shirred down both sides
It was my favourite, or I would have left it. I had to go back. She would have torn it apart in a fit of rage or passion, and I couldn't afford that
I loved that sweater.
I wore it on my first date with a boy, to an abandoned playground, an odd date. We took a picnic dinner and a Ouija board and sitting there in the misty half-dark we told secrets we'd never told anybody. I said the time I broke my aunt's Chinese teapot, and he talked about his brother's polio. It was our first and last date
We never even used the Ouija board.
I sat