It started out new.
The businessman slipped it on and it smelt of fresh leather and opportunity.
He had spent far too much money on it, he knew that, but he would earn it back, he was certain. As he stared at his reflection in the window of the subway train, his fingers tingled with the thrill of exciting prospects. It made him look like a somebody instead of a nobody. That’s what he thought anyway. He pushed back his greased hair, smoothed his suit and straightened his tie.
He wore it to the interview, into the office on the 51st floor. It complemented his best shoes that he had spent hours polishing vigorously, until they shone. As he sat in the reception with the polished glass windows, he stared down at the city.
The great sprawling city that was so far away from home. He tried not to let his fear of heights bother him. He had never been up this far before. But he didn’t let his nerves show, not in front of the other 10 people also waiting.
He got the job. He knew he would. How could they not hire him when he worked harder, and fought harder than anyone else he knew?
He wore it to work every day, into the office with the shiny desks. He wore it as he worked his way up through the building, charming everybody as he went.
Eventually, the businessman outgrew the coat, and he barely even noticed when he left it behind at a very important meeting. He got the deal he wanted, and everything else seemed irrelevant, as he went off to celebrate with his colleagues.
It was slung over the back of the chair, in the empty conference room when the cleaner came to mop the floors. He did his work slowly and steadily because he had no real reason to get home. His son, the aspiring writer, was gone for the weekend and even though his apartment was tiny, it felt empty without him.
He picked up the coat to stack the chairs and it was heavy in his hands, thick and warm. He held it up. It was only slightly worn, still a fine coat. It looked like it would be the perfect size for his son.
He knew he should hand it in, but he also knew there was a whole pile of neglected coats that never got claimed.
He desperately wanted something to give his son, because usually all he had to offer was a bed in a small and shabby room. He wanted to give his son the world, because he deserved it.
So he took it. Even though it nagged his conscious slightly, it was worth it when he welcomed his son home with it. His son’s eyes lit up and he smiled that beautiful smile of his. He lied about how he got it and his son put it on straight away.
He wore it to the park, where he sat on a bench for hours, watching the world go by, and writing.
The coat kept him warm from the bitter autumn winds and he came everyday, while the seasons stained the leaves gold, and the winter sent them cascading to the ground.
He came there when spring showed its first signs of new beginnings. The pocket was the perfect size for his notebook. He wore the coat to the meeting with the publisher, the smiling woman who told him that they loved his novel.
He wore it to the printers, where it got ink splattered and he didn’t even notice because he was so enchanted, watching his words, his thoughts, being bound between a cover.
The writer came back to the park the next summer and found that it was too warm for the coat, so he shrugged it off as he sat on the bench, still watching the world.
He was lost in thought when a man came up to him, smiles and nerves, asking him about his novel. They began to talk, and then to walk, a friendship blossoming effortlessly beneath the trees.
He didn’t come back to get it because other things suddenly seemed far more important.
The couple found it on the bench when it started to rain, suddenly and heavily.
The rain caught the philosopher and the procrastinator walking through the park by surprise but they just laughed, so happy in each other’s presence as they were.
The philosopher grabbed the coat from the bench and held it over both of them. She looked at the procrastinator shivering underneath the coat, mascara running down her face.
It was in that moment, the philosopher later thought, as she watched the procrastinator laughing, her drenched hair clinging to her head. It was in that moment, the philosopher always thought, that she fell in love with her.
The philosopher took the procrastinator’s hand in hers. It was cold and shivering. Even still, they walked slowly, the coat wrapped around them, neither wanting to leave each other just yet. They walked around past the boathouse, even though it was the longer way to go, talking and laughing.
The philosopher walked the procrastinator home, and as she left her at the door she finally was brave enough to kiss her.
The philosopher walked home in the rain, smiling the whole way.
The coat was abandoned in the street, left on the pavement, drenched and crumpled.
It was like that when the man stumbled upon it, still too sober, so that everything seemed harsh and cold.
He had been wandering all day, all evening, but he had no where to go. He picked the coat up and put it on. It was damp and ink-stained and worn but it still felt of love and hope and opportunities.
He drew the tattered coat closer around him and walked out into the night.
