That Jacket

That Jacket
By Mallory Wheeler
I pull my old green jacket out of the closet once again. another year at camp is approaching/ I am overcome by the familiar smell of burning pine. The scent of smoke coming form the campfires of years past liger on this jacket. I hold it close, and take in as much of the scent in one breath as I can.
I hold it away to look at it. When it was new, a dark forest green, and a little big, I was sure I would never wear it. It looked like something straight out of a war movie, with its many pockets.
But I took it to camp that first year when I was eleven, and that ugly army green jacket became my camping teddy bear.
I look closer and see the small hole burnt into the left hand sleeve. Playing with fire. I see the tear down the right side, and remember falling down the logging trail last year, and tearing up my legs. I look at the inside of the jacket, and see how green it is compared to the outside, which has bee unbleached to a dull grey brown from the sun.
I slip it on now, a fairly tight fit compared to how big it used to be. The jacket hugs me, and holds me close. Once again, I am surrounded by that smell of campfire smoke.

Written at Writers@Harriman