Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
The receipt inside the manila envelope had shown the deposit for my college housing, paid in full on that very same afternoon.
He had traded the only valuable thing he owned to make sure I would have a room of my own in the autumn.
I carefully lifted the blue work shirt from the hanger and folded it over my arm.
The small metal toolbox was heavy when I lifted it from the shelf, the metal latches rattling in the quiet room.
“We should go home,” Clara said, her hand resting gently on my shoulder.
I locked the empty cabinet and slipped the small key into my pocket.
The hallway upstairs was completely silent as we walked toward the exit, our footsteps muffled by the heavy rubber soles of our shoes.
We stepped out into the cool night air, the gravel of the parking lot crunching beneath our boots.
The sky was clear, decorated with a million tiny stars that seemed to watch over the quiet town of Oakhaven.
Clara held the car door open for me, and I slid into the passenger seat, keeping the folded blue shirt and the heavy toolbox on my lap.
