I have fatally misplaced my favorite jacket.
Now the term favorite might seem slightly disingenuous as I had just the one jacket. So in a certain logical sense it had no competition to be anything other than that. But I would argue that if I had had a hundred and one other jackets in my wardrobe, none would have surpassed it in my treasuring. Indeed, my value of it was probably why I just had the one. If you have what is to your liking, why in Seventh Heaven would you seek to obtain something else?
But I went and did something careless and stupid, which go together more than any other words.
I apparently left it some place that is apparently no longer a retrievable place. I say apparently because I cannot be sure, since part of misplacing things is not being sure of where they have been placed.
But I think I left it in the DeBoest lecture hall of the Indianapolis Museum of Art when Gary and I saw White Frog during the LGBT Film Festival. I remember wearing it for sure and the weather being the kind of weather that is in-between jacket and no jacket required. I remember taking it off and putting it on the back of the chair. I’d like to think I remember putting it back on, but I don’t think I did.
Nor thought about it really, until a few days later when I was actively looking for it and, much to my horror, could not find it.
Could not find my cherished 10+ years old SGI-USA jacket, given as a gift to me from my husband many years ago and still in excellent condition, being worn through more with memory and sentimentality than with the baring of thread. It had soaked up enough of me to be a shadow personality and was one of the few me-defining things I own.
I contacted both the LGBT Film Festival and the IMA, but no luck. Being 99.9% sure that I had left it there in the hall, I can only conclude that it was subsequently picked up — stolen — by some other moviegoer.
It would be some solace to think that maybe it was grabbed by someone who had nothing to shield him from inclement weather and only took it out of desperation. That indeed would befit its SGI origin, giving Buddha-minded protection to someone in need. But we all know such a scenario is less likely than a camel sneaking through an eye of a needle when no one is looking.
I cringe, recoil, and want to vomit when I imagine some asshole with a shit-eating smile on his face saying, “Score” as he grabs my beloved jacket off the chair and out of my life forever.
Ah, gee whiz…
So help me Bodhisattva Never-Disparaging, but if I could, I would split his grinning thieving head into seven pieces with my very own fingers and cast each bloodied piece down one by one into the Hell of Incessant Suffering.