the red shirt

_{Paul Mullins, Sugar}

The red shirt is the red t-shirt and it's what I wear to bed at night. I wear it because it smells nice, it is made of a synthetic blend that is rather soft, it fits me well, and, oh yeah, it's not mine, it's his. Call it the equivalent to a locket of hair, a lipstick-kissed envelope, or a perfumed handkerchief. We work with what we have when we don't. Our imagination grows in direct proportion to our loss. The mind is a powerful thing.

On the drive back I listened to This American Life. It was an old program, one about love, specifically romantic love and, appropriately, it was called Chasing Love. The thing about romantic love is that it is a relatively modern invention. In it's absence we are miserable and lonely. In it's presence we are, at worst, confused, insecure and, often, still lonely. It prays on our fears. It continually alludes and yet, occasionally, when all the planets line up correctly, it pulls us in, draws us forth and we feel like super human beings because of it. For a brief moment in time we are satisfied and fulfilled, we are plump with desire, we are drunk with passion. We are not alone. We are, in fact--despite our darkest doubts--lovable and desirable and, more importantly, understood.

It is no biological accident that we are driven to choose--or obsess over--one mate to the exclusion of all others. We need someone who will stick around when the babies are born until the children are capable of taking care of themselves. And, Lord knows, that could be years. Scientists are now proving that our brains are hard-wired for romance. "If you think of romantic attraction as a kind of drug that alters how you think, then in this case it's allowing you to take some risks you wouldn't otherwise." Yeah, remember that Roxy Music tune, Love Is A Drug? Apparently, some people have a stronger romantic drive than others.

The red shirt is also my equivalent to the red shoes. I can't stop missing him when I wear it. It is hard to part with in the morning. But it is equally hard to don it in the evening because I know, full well, what it will conjure up for me. His absence. The distance. My loneliness in this new town. I have worn it so much, the red shirt no longer smells of him. It smells of me. And in that sense it becomes only a reminder of my feelings for him. And those are quite complicated. And on some days, quite impossible. And on others, quite sustaining.

Some people would rather have their freedom, their time, the space in their heart. They could do without the heartache. And some would give up anything for love. They are in love with falling in love, they easily become empty only to be filled by someone else. With only 400 or so years of romantic love as a social convention we are still figuring it out. 300 fewer years if you figure it no longer has to have anything to do with procreation, or even marriage. What is the social contract we sign when we say I love you? Surely, it's different that I do? But nonetheless we place a lot of weight in those three tiny little words. We imbue them with meaning far beyond their capacity. Three tiny and rather unpoetic words. The key to our happiness? Or merely a mirage?

We are taught from an early age to be individuals. We are encouraged to think for ourselves, to reach for our dreams, to develop our independence. At the same time, all the books, movies and music around us hold up love as a holy grail, the highest form of enlightenment, the purest path to self-fulfillment. It is between those two contradictions we get caught. One definition of romantic love is that it must take you by surprise. And it's true, it is an impossible thing to go out and look for. But it is easy enough to put on a red shirt. And, although I no longer remember what the red shirt looks like on him, and I can hardly recall him even wearing it, there is a man out there missing his red shirt and I, now wearing it, am missing him.