Mom's Shirt

“Jack,” Jason cried out, “where did you put Mom’s shirt?”

“I dunno, you’re one the one that always does laundry,” he yelled back. 

He swore, if murder wasn’t illegal, he’d be an only child by now. But instead of being upset with him about the missing shirt, he took it out on the other poor wrinkled shirts, shorts, underwear, and sweaters. If he couldn’t take it out on his stupid idiot of a brother, the clothes would certainly feel his wrath. 

That’s when his dad walked in on his rampage against the clothes in the drying machine. 

“Whoa, Jason,” he said with a hint of compassion for the clothes, “what did the clothes do to you? I’m sure they’re innocent!” 

He gave no response. He was not in the mood for any of his dad jokes. He only offered him heavy breathing in return. 

“Seriously son, what’s goin’ on?” 

At least this response was different. He slammed down the last pair of underwear from the dryer into the basket he was piling up. 

“I can’t find her shirt,” he mumbled. 

“Well, finish the pile you have in front of you and maybe you’ll find it,” he said, leaving him with the clothes. His dad was always good at that, knowing what he was talking about with little detail. It’s something he appreciated, especially since he didn’t plan to be talkative. Not today. Not while he was folding her clothes. 

Walking back from the laundry room, he went into her old room again. It was so bare now. He remembered all of the Audubon bird paintings she kept in here, all of her old jewelry stacked on her dresser like a sort of pirate’s cove, her shoes literally falling out of the closet and she would have to call him to help her put them back. To see it all in boxes made him sick to his stomach. The only thing left to pack were her clothes. It was painful enough to wash them because they now no longer smelled like her comforting perfume that smelled like vanilla she put on every morning before she left the house. Now, he had to fold them and put them away in dusty boxes. It felt like he was locking her away, never to see the light of day again. 

But there was no sense in standing in the doorway and ruminating over it. He may as well get to folding. 

The first thing he pulled out was an old green camp shirt. It read in big gold gold stylistic letters: MAY THE FORCE BE WITH PEARL ELEMENTARY SCHOOL! 2012-2013. 

He could hear her now: “Jace, I AM your mother!” with her long fleece robe and doctor’s mask covering half of her face. God, she loved Star Wars so much, almost more than he did. 

After folding, just put it to the side. 

After progressing through some underwear and shirts, the second thing of hers he pulled out: those stupid bell-bottom jeans she was convinced was so “hip and cool” as she put it. He told her to get rid of these a long time ago and she said she did. He guessed it was one final gotcha. 

After folding, just put it to the side. 

Another relic of the past: her old hoodie with Mario’s smiling face on it. His face was almost gone but the distinct brown mustache was still there. She was such a nerd. 

“You used to steal that hoodie all the time and run around in it when you were little.”

He turned around to see his dad standing in the doorway with a sad smile painted across his face. 

“Yeah.” 

He came and sat down next to his despondent son. 

“I won that for her at a convention we went to for our third date. It was a raffle that she told me she didn’t want to do, but I insisted because I was an idiot at the time.”

“You still kinda are,” he said under his breath. 

“Hey, I heard that mister!” 

The two shared a mournful chuckle. 

An uncomfortable silence soon followed as he continued to fold. Each fold seemed to last forever. 

“You know she’s not really gone.”

“I know.” 

“I mean, seriously, you act just like her, it's like she lives inside you like a little gremlin, albeit a pretty gremlin.”

“Ugh, shut up.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the dumb humor sometimes. It was the only thing that kept him from crying. 

“If you want I can finish-”

“No,” he said abruptly, “it’s okay. I want to do it.”

“If you say so.” 

More uncomfortable silence, only broken by the shuffling of clothes in the basket. He was getting down to the last of it now. 

He suddenly found his father’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Jason, I want you to promise me something,” he started, “Promise me you will keep her spirit alive within you. Don’t let her be kept in all of these boxes. She was more than what this room, even her clothes had to offer. Yes, they were extensions of her personality but they were not her, just pieces of her. Remember the song we always used to sing together in our Lion King pajamas, “He Lives In You?” 

“From Lion King 2. I just finished folding those.” he croaked. 

“Same principle, son. She lives in you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

Jason collapsed into a mess of tears in his father’s lap. Who knew that doing a basket of laundry could lead to this? 

“Also, guess what, I found something.”

“Wait,” Jason said through soaked eyes, ”did you find it?” 

He presented to his grieving son the t-shirt he was looking for; a shirt that had his high school mascot on it, with the title GOOOO PANTHERS! centered around a faded roaring panther holding the trumpet.

“She wore it to every game,” he said, rolling up the shirt and putting it next to the basket. 

“You’re not going to put that away?” 

“No,” he said with a tender smile, “Not this one.