My blue suede coat

By Lisa Canape

HappyNews Citizen Journalist

Often times we remember an act, like a snapshot frozen in time. But have you ever wondered what happens after the snapshot was taken?

It was a blistery winter day in New Jersey. The weight of wet snow from previous storms and heavy winds twisted and mangled the branches of trees, which were now encased by a layer of ice molding it in its unnatural angles. The wind blew fiercely against anything standing in its way—almost like scissors cutting through fabric, and I wasn't looking forward to walking home after school.

I decided to grab my coat from my locker before heading to my last class of the day, but when I opened the door, I found the locker empty. In disbelief, I closed the door and looked again at the number to ensure that it was my locker. It was, and I was in shock.

"I can't believe someone stole my coat!" I complained when I arrived to my Art class. "What did it look like?" a girl asked. Thinking about how to describe it, I felt embarrassed to respond; the coat was three years old. At the time, it was stylish for the season—when it was purchased while I was in 7th grade. Since then, it had hung in my closet, ratty looking and neglected for three years. This was the first time I had worn it in years and only selected this one among the others because I wanted the length to protect my legs in the brisk wind.

"It's a blue suede, mid-length coat with fake fur trim," I sheepishly responded.

The girl stated, "I think I know who has it. If you promise not to report it to the authorities, I will do what I can to get it back for you. I didn't know it was yours. I am sorry."

"Sure, no problem. I don't care to report it, as long as I can get it back," I agreed.

Days passed, and then a week. I never heard anything more about the coat. I began to analyze the girl's remarks. Why did she say she was sorry or that she didn't know it was mine? Was she the one who stole it? Why would it matter whose coat it was? I concluded that I should have just reported the coat stolen and tell the authorities about the girl. What bothered me was not the fact that I didn't have the coat as much as it was feeling as though I was duped into not reporting them. It was wrong for them to steal the coat, and they should suffer the consequences for their wrongdoing.

Then one night, in the late hours, the doorbell rang. I went to the door and could barely make out the frail, elderly woman standing on the porch in the darkness. Her face was framed by silver hair. As she stood tall, her head only reached the height of my shoulders. And as she began to gush into a detailed narrative, the woman reached up to hand me a blue suede coat draped in a dry-cleaning plastic bag.

"I am very sorry that it took so long to return this to you. We didn't have your phone number to call you. My great-grandson was the one who stole the coat from your locker. In his haste to take the coat, it had gotten dirty, and I noticed that it was torn under the arm. I made him have it dry-cleaned and repaired before returning it to you. He had to get a job to earn the money to pay for the repairs which is why it took so long to return it. He was too ashamed to come to face you himself; I hope you don't mind that I came in his place. I want to thank you for allowing us to return it rather than reporting him to the police. His parents recently died, and I am his only family. The State thought that I was too old to be his guardian, and I was afraid if he was to get in trouble with the law, they would take him away from me. All we have is each other now. Thank you for your patience. I hope you are satisfied with the condition of the coat."

And before I had a chance to respond, the woman disappeared into the darkness. I ripped open the plastic bag. The blue suede coat looked better than it had in years, returned to its former glory.

I never ended up discovering the identity of the boy who stole my coat. Was he simply a good kid who made a bad choice? Did he learn a valuable lesson from his great-grandmother making him to return the coat in better condition than it was when he took it? Our environment can often bring on harsh conditions but, as human beings, we can only weather the storm the best we can. Sometimes nature can be a destructive force. Sometimes we find that the trees have broken under the burden of the weight of snow and ice. And other times, we may see that life can be rejuvenated after a storm. The ice cast on the trees could eventually melt. The once-broken branches can rebound, and new buds might begin to grow. The birds can return to sing a song that promises of better times ahead.

I may have lost my coat in the midst of Mother Nature's heavy snow storm, but I realized that it was nothing compared the storm that a boy was enduring.

Lisa Canape is a licensed clinical social worker residing in Salt Lake City.

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