Chapter 4 - Evie Wore Mike's Shirt

According to Boy: The shirt in question—white, button-down collar, starched, not stirred. Wait! Why did I say that? The shirt Evie wore was one of my dress shirts. You should have seen her. She spent the whole weekend in it, and we spent the whole weekend in bed. It was her first trip to New York to see me.

I had anticipated this weekend for weeks. We had made love before—once or twice in Grand Rapids. I knew the first time that I looked into her deep brown eyes that she was something special, and that I would love her forever. I remember well our first kiss, the sweetness of her wet mouth.

I do believe that I loved her even before we met. Evie was everything I had ever imagined a girl being. She was the girl that my mother talked about when I was young. Mom said I should find a beautiful girl; that a beautiful girl would make me happy. That’s what Evie was. But she was more than beautiful. Evie could make me laugh, and she always listened to what I had to say, and she even laughed at my jokes. What a totally perfect person!

As I remember it, we actually did spend almost the whole weekend in bed. We would get up a bit, go out and get something to eat. Then come back to the hotel. Evie had not brought pajamas—at least that is what she said. So, she found one of my shirts, rolled up the sleeves, and that’s what she wore.

When she left, I was devastated. I missed her beyond measure. My first night alone, I could not sleep. I got up, and wrote her a poem. About 2 a.m. I tried again to sleep—still without success. I got up again, and went into the bathroom. As I walked in, I smelled her. "How could that be?" I wondered.

I looked down and spotted my laundry bag. As I lifted it, the familiar smell grew stronger. I loosened the cord at the top, and opened it up. There it was—the shirt that Evie had worn during her entire visit. I took it out. The smell was powerful. I got excited just touching it. I brought it to my face, and buried my entire head in it. "Oh, my God! That’s her."

It was an intoxicating mixture of Estee Lauder Youth Dew, sweat, and love making—three days’ (and nights’) worth. I stood there with that shirt in my hand for an eternity. Finally, I carried that shirt to bed with me, folded it up, and placed it on my pillow. It was almost as though I had Evie in bed with me, and I went to sleep.

The next night, I went to bed as I would normally, but now with that shirt on my pillow. It still smelled just like Evie.

I did this for two weeks. My roommate eventually asked what that shirt was doing on my pillow. I was too embarrassed to explain. This had become an obsession. I should get a ticket and go back to Grand Rapids, or fly Evie out to New York. I did not bother to explain what the deal was with the shirt, I just tossed it in the laundry, and made my travel plans.