The t-shirt in my dresser drawer is not folded or rolled, it is wrinkled. Ideally the relic would be folded nicely, clean and ready for use, but it isn’t and that’s OK too. I’ve had this t-shirt for years, 5 and 1/2 years to be exact. It was given to me at BYU (brigham young university) youth soccer camp , July 2006. White with blue lettering, all it says is BRIGHAM YOUNG SOCCER. Over the years this shirt has meant different things to me.
Messages in Cotton:
14 – I went to soccer camp at BYU. Have you ever been to soccer camp? I have. It was amazing. Please ask me about it. I have a story for you. I had friends there.
15- Don’t worry. I’ve played soccer before. I am like you.
16- Do you know who Brigham Young is? I am just now learning why I am proud to wear his name across my chest.
17- I don’t have time.
18- I could have gone to BYU. It’s not for me, or maybe I missed the application deadline. I got this shirt before high school and I didn’t have to use tricks to make it look old. I’ll wear this shirt out of loyalty to my roots.
now…
I applied to BYU this summer. I’ve been ready for a change, a new adventure, a new set of eyes. For months I diligently checked my mailbox, petitioned to God, and whined about its delayed arrival. I was a woman in limbo, not here, not there, absolutely frustrated by the ambiguity of my future. Then, on a warm October night I got a ” we regret to inform you,” and that made me still. I won’t lie to you and tell you that I didn’t care. Rejection never feels good. My eyes leaked for a while and I spent a healthy 24 hours with a black cloud over my head. After the mourning period was over I felt fine. I feel fine. I’m glad that I don’t have to wonder anymore and I’ve spent some time cataloguing the things I love about this Durango. There are many beautiful things to love. I can say without hesitation that I am happy to be busily inhabiting this corner of the world.
Today while I was scrounging around my closet looking for nothing in particular, I found my old t-shirt. It has holes all over it. The fabric is soft and delicate, completely worn out. I thought about tearing it into pieces and using them to dust and scrub, but I couldn’t.
19- I didn’t get in. I don’t fully understand why, but I’m trying not to think it’s because of defect. I’m not angry, I’m electrified. I’m trying to divine the future using the process of elimination. I am finding unexpected meaning in my life. I am wild and brave enough to stuff this shirt in my dresser drawer, because in many ways it is indecent to wear out.
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