A Memoir by David Margolin

I kept his “green-and-blue The Legend of Zelda Nintendo beanie” because playing Nintendo together was one of our favorite activities. I kept his bright red-black-and-white checked shorts, and his bright-red tartan cap, because he was a playful dresser. Years ago, I had given away one of his t-shirts to my best friend’s young son. That t-shirt featured a hand-painted girl hula dancing above my son’s name. My friend gave it back to me in a frame after my son died.

The only item of his clothing that I ever wear is the Bugle Boy jacket with the hood, elastic cuffs, and fleece lining. It closes with a zipper and snaps; it makes me feel warm and secure. I hope that my son felt that way when he wore it. I sniff it, hoping that I will still be able to smell him. His scent is long gone, but I still feel a connection with him through this garment. After many years of occasional memorial wear, I reluctantly replaced the zipper and had the holes in the pockets sewn. I try to balance the need to keep it in working order against the desire to keep it as it was.

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David Margolin lives, works, and writes in Portland, Oregon. During his career as a Neurologist he has done a lot of medical/scientific writing. Now he is enjoying the relative freedom of creative writing. He has published in Friday Flash Fiction, Five Minutes, R U Joking?, Little Old Lady Comedy, and Memoir Magazine (pending).