The Corduroy Goodbye

It was nothing special. A jacket. A simple, old, used-- jacket. Faye had always enjoyed thrift shopping. Doing so, made her feel like she was living in someone else's life. Each piece of clothing seemed to have it's own story. And she was determined to figure them out, or perhaps create her own. But this heavy jacket, hardly her size, caught her racing attention.

Corduroy and cozy. Old, like new. It had seen better days, perhaps years ago. Worn, it was. Torn even. Faye brought it, gingerly, to her thin nose, it's smoky fragrance, burning. A smell she enjoyed. Reminding her of a campfire, forever burning. She laid it carefully across her left forearm with a simple smile as she hurried to the check out.

Leaving, she walked with a skip in her step. It was the jacket. There was just something. Excitedly, Faye slid her arms into the coat, embracing the warmth it carried. With pursed lips and anticipation, she slipped her hands into the pockets.

Paper? It felt like paper. Maybe two. Faye flicked the corners, as she pulled them out. Two papers. One a simple picture of a stunning woman. She was young, skin like porcelain, lips dark and red, like a strawberry. She had dark hair, short and curly. The second, a letter, written in neat cursive, crumbled, and old. Beautiful.

Faye flipped the picture over, revealing the name, Elizabeth. The letter addressed to her as well, along with an address, strangely just an hour north, from where Faye stood, in the parking lot of the thrift store. It was then Faye decided she would find Elizabeth, and give her the letter this man never was able too. But even in her grasp, Faye refused to read the letter, as she felt it wasn't her place.

She stuffed the letter and picture back in the left pocket, as she scurried to her car. She tried her best to imagine who this Elizabeth was. Could she still be alive? It couldn't have been written too long ago? Right?

With hope fading, Faye turned left onto the street, nervous for what she may or may not find.

The house was small. Old, hardly forgotten however. The lawn was clean and neat. Flowers were planted nicely, in a precise order, mostly by color and type. A large blooming tree, a willow, stood twisted and well kept, an old swing, broken, splitting.

Faye followed a small path of pebbles the door, that was colored yellow, the name 'Burgess', painted neatly on a simple yet pretty black sign. Gingerly she knocked.

For a moment she waited.

And then waited again.

And just before she left, the door opened.

She was an old lady. Her tamed hair, white, and short. She wore a pair of cute glasses, that hid her blue eyes. Wrinkles formed around a small smile.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice high and soft, smooth like honey, Faye thought.

"I guess," Faye started as she pulled the letter and picture from her pocket, "I found this and wanted to find her."

The old lady's eyes grew wide, as tears appeared shiny inside of them. She covered her mouth with her right hand, as her left held the picture tightly, admiring it.

"Lizzy..." she whispered.

"You know her?"

"I knew her. This was my sister. She was always so pretty," the lady looked up again, "Where'd you find this?"

"It came with this," Faye handed her the letter, "I found it in this jacket."

The lady took the letter and read it with a grin.

"Owen Marshal. They were so in love. Just like the movies."

"That's sweet. Can you tell their story?"

"Of course sweetie. Come on in!" the lady offered, opening her door wider, "I'm Sara, by the way."

Faye walked inside, closing the door behind her. Sara led her to the kitchen, where she started the kettle to boil.

"Do you like tea? I've a really good chamomile."

"Yes, please," Faye answered politely, taking a seat timidly. Sara nodded as she began to fetch the tea and some sugar.

"Now, let's see..." she began, "I believe Lizzy was seventeen when she met Owen. He was a couple years older, just passing through. They had met at a small dance that the town had put together for the youngsters, I guess." Sara paused as the kettle whistled to be free of the heat, slowly she brought it over and set in on a heat pad in the middle of the table.

"Here you are. Sugar's there, and let me know if you need anything else," she sat back down again and placed her palm on her forehead, "where was I? Oh! The dance! Now, you've gotta understand, Lizzy was the most beautiful girl at this dance and most boys were to afraid to ask her to dance, but not Owen. He waltzed right on up to her and didn't even ask. He only took her hand and spun her around. They looked like a celebrity couple. Like James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, before the breakup, but you're too young. Anyways, after that single dance, she knew. She knew that she loved him, told me so herself!"

Sara laughed to herself, stuck in the memory. She sipped from her tea, as Faye watched in delight.

"Oh dear, and the girls were so jealous! Owen was such a handsome man! They were together all the time and they had never been more happy. I could see it in her eyes. She had such beautiful eyes, just like our mother's, green. I always wished I looked more like Lizzy," she stopped for a moment.

Faye took a swig of tea, and added just a touch more sugar. Pleading to hear more, she sat on the edge of her seat. Faye had always loved love stories, they made her more than giddy.

Slowly, Faye watched as Sara's grin faded in to a saddened frown. Faye tilted her head, curiously.

"What's the matter?--" Faye asked, before Sara interrupted.

"But then came the war. Owen was drafted at the very beginning. They eloped before he left for war, I guess that's just what you did before... He promised that he'd write her everyday until he came home. Only, he never did come home. Broke poor Lizzy's heart. She never was quite the same. You see, Lizzy had a strong belief of soulmates, and I guess Owen was hers."

"God, that's awful."

"Yeah. It really was. I remember they told 'er. It was here. Lizzy had been living with me and my husband, Walter. They came wearing all black, and gave her his things. She was so broken hearted. I'd never seen her more sad, than that day. She cradled his things in her arms while she sobbed," Sara looked at the coat as a grin crept onto her thin lips, "she asked about that coat. They said it was lost in the war. Couldn't find it anywhere. And here it is, fifty years later, right back where it all began. This letter must've have been his last."

"Wow. That's quite the story," Faye croaked, as goosebumps covered her arms.

"Yeah. Lizzy died a few years later. It was car accident. Wasn't even her fault. But I guess they're together now. Happy, I hope," Sara smiled with a small laugh, "probably preppin' Walter for my arrival."

"How'd you and Walter meet?"

"Like nothing compared to Lizzy and Owen. We met at a party, one that Owen and Lizzy threw actually. Walter was Owen's best friend growing up. He adored Owen. Almost as much as Lizzy did! Walter really was perfect, well, perfect enough for clumsy ol' me. I sure did love him though. He passed about a year ago, last month. Old age'll getcha!"

"That's really sweet. I'm sorry about your sister. If you'd like, you can keep the jacket," Faye offered, emotional to the story. It was nothing like she'd heard before.

Sara grinned as she shook her head, "No! It's yours! Keep it, as long as you come and visit me every week. I get pretty lonely up here."

"I'd love too!"

"Did you read the letter?" Sara asked handing it too her. Faye shook her head, "Go on. Read it, set your soul at ease."

Faye's eyes scanned the letter as she read it's delicate writing:

My Dearest Lizzy,

To the girl whom I danced with.

To the girl who has my heart.

To the girl whom I gave it to.

To the girl who will bare my child.

To the girl whom I will see again.

This is hello, for I shall return home in nearly two months. And when I do, I'll hold you in my arms once more, forever. We'll be happy. I'll build that house you've always wanted. I'll kiss you under the moonlight, like we did our first. And forever, I promise to love you.

To the girl who I will never stop loving.

Love, Owen.

And upon her lips she read it, over and over, feeding the hope and faith, that maybe, just maybe, one day she'd have her own story to tell. But for now, she was happy to enjoy Sara's stories. And to think it was the cozy and corduroy jacket that had lead her to this fine moment, one that she'd always remember, one that would be soon apart of her story too.