My story begins on an Indian Summer day in mid-October. The blue sky, bright sun, seventy-five degree weather did not fool me. I knew that, even though the current temperature called for a tank top and skirt, I would regret not being prepared after sunset. So I dressed in layers, as I typically do when it’s not summer: leggings under my dress, short boots, a scarf, and my brandnew, long, cream colored Prana sweater. I was prepared for the drastic temperature drop that I knew was coming.
At the same time, somewhere else in Boulder, there was another young woman getting ready for the day. She looked out the window and saw the hot sun and blue sky and chose her outfit, but she left her sweater at home, hopefully for the last time.
I was newly single on this particular October day. My girlfriends were taking me out to go dancing at an obnoxiously loud and sweaty dance club in downtown Boulder– not my typical scene. Like everyone else, we got to the club and proceeded to lay our things down in a corner. I do remember taking out my ID and credit cards, just in case someone had particularly sticky fingers. My sweater – you know, the cream colored Prana one, size medium – was amongst these belongings.
I turned to cross the street and parked right next to me was a cop car. There was hope yet that I might reunite with my sweater! I rushed over and knocked on the window, abandoning my friends behind me. I explained what had happened and pointed to the girl and her boyfriend, who were turning the corner just ahead onto Broadway. The officers unlocked the back door and told me to jump in, so I did. This was my first and only experience sitting in the hard plastic back seat of a police car. They drove forward slowly and turned onto Broadway just as I saw the girl get onto the Skip bus with her asshole boyfriend. I shouted for the police to pull the bus over, and can you believe it? They did!
I finally got my sweater back. I put itover my chilled shoulders and the first thing I did was smell it. It smelled like smoke. I inspected it more carefully and found a cigarette burn on the cuff. I don’t smoke. I guess it could have happened that night, but a different thought entered my mind when I saw that round burn mark. Did I have the right sweater? Was she telling the truth? I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know. But what I do know is that you should always bring your own sweater, but if you forget, don’t steal mine, because I will get it back, no matter what it takes.