Neal

Neal entered my life as a trend. You may remember a time in the early 90's when all the girls were getting those silly colored leather coats. Some were dark green, some were navy blue, I even recall a purple variety. The inside liner was made of the smoothest polyester and most had intricate designs on the inside.

Neal was of the navy blue persuasion and I admit, he was trendy. He was bought for me when I was an eighth grader and I wanted a leather coat to impress God-only-knows-who [my brother fill-in-the-blank, *wink*wink*], perhaps the selfish twits I was continually striving to be like. Hey, I was 13, what do you want? At least I grew out of it unlike most of my peers at Miami, but thats another story. I've often compared Miami with middle school. At no other points in my life have I felt so much pressure to fit in. This phenomenon is especially sickening when you realize that college is supposed to be a time of exploration and finding yourself and your own style. We're building our futures today. We're all here in the Oxford community for the same purpose; you'd think we'd be a little more understanding. You'd think there would be a little more camaraderie among the student body as we're sequestered here together for four or five years of our lives in the middle of nowhere. Thats four or five years of our lives we'll never get back so why waste them living to impress others. Live to impress yourself!

I digress. I knew my real friends didn't care if I had a trendy leather coat or not, but someone was always looking. Someone's opinion could be altered by the slightest article of clothing and I wanted to make the right statement. Looking back, I can't fully explain the rationale behind buying Neal, but thats not the point of my story. There he was and I loved him.

So already something good has come from a single trend. Love grew. Don't ever ask why mosquitoes or male nipples exist.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Its a coat! How meaningful can this story be? Will I regret spending any more time at this web site, time I'll never get back [we have so little, realize]? Will I actually be dumber for having read the rest of this drivel?" Well you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Keep going, hopefully you’ve seen the rest of my page. Have I ever led you astray?

Now, Neal was very special to me, beyond the novelty of owning my first leather coat, beyond the trend of brightly colored cow hide. He was so special I named him. I do have a habit of animating inanimate objects, remember, but I actually name very few. I named my first silver horn, and I named Neal. I still recall the day I christened him. It was Mrs. Lamb’s first period English class. I was probably telling Krista Ward how much I liked my new coat and she asked if I was going to name it. She was probably making fun of me, slightly. "If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?" Krista was like that, but regardless, I thought of Neal, a favorite camp counselor of mine I’d glorified into this grand figure of something and I named the coat after him. [Turns out, in working with the human Neal again many years later (or psuedo-human as the case may be, if you've met him you know what I mean) , I was way off. He was no grand figure of anything. I digress once more...] I wanted to capture Neal’s essence and somehow keep it with me. Oddly enough, I only ever knew Neal in the summer, but I kept his namesake, my coat with me only in the winter. Hmmmmmm, intriguing.

Okay so I’m digressing A LOT. I’ll get on with it. You see Neal was a very special possession of mine. When it would start to get warm in the spring I would inevitably leave something in his pocket. Then when it would start to get cold again, I’d pull Neal out of his slumber in the hall closet and find the little treasure I’d left. Surprise! Sometimes it would be a wadded up dollar bill, sometimes it would be a note, or a hair barrette, but it was always a nice find on the first dreary cold day of the season. There were other treasures associated with Neal. He had the neatest little inside breast pocket where I kept all sorts of things, little treasures that I always wanted to keep with me, next to my heart, like a note from a boy or miniature license plates with our names on them I’d bought at Wal-Mart. These were things I would pull out and discreetly look at when I was bored in class, things that would remind me of happier times when I was depressed. Neal was a keeper of all my secrets. I had a Tuba Exchange key chain on the zipper I’d picked up at a NABBA convention that clanged when I moved, as did the cute little buckle on the collar. My sister would always yell at me for being too noisy...

Neal and I were quite the team. He hung off of my shoulders gently yet protectively. If it was warmer I’d wear him on my elbows instead of my shoulders, unwilling to part with him. He was joy and comfort, but I didn’t always realize this.

You see, Neal took a lot of abuse. We were together for many years and well, sometimes things happen that are beyond your control. And them some things are within your control and you screw up anyway... I remember a nasty mashed potato incident while he was still new. He always had a smooth spot on his elbow after that. I’m not even sure how it happened. Furthermore, he was always on the floor for some reason. If I hung him on the back of my chair during class, his arms would ultimately get stepped on or nudged by a crossed leg behind me. I would just pick him up and brush off the dirt and go on. The wrist band quickly stretched out too. It even snagged eventually. Over time he faded to a sort of navy gray, no longer the strong blue he'd been when I first met him at the Wilsons in the Huntington Mall. Even up to my freshman year at Miami, I was still getting him into trouble. I remember the first time I wore him at Miami. I took him to Prime Time on thursday night, and even though there are signs all over Kelly Auditorium that say “No Food or Drink in Auditorium” he still managed to get soaked in a sticky soda-like substance. Why people at this particular higher institute of learning can’t read I’ll never know.

So I never really cherished him while he was with me. I’d named him but he was still just a coat. And yet I did cherish him. Note the time span of my story here. We began in late 1992 and the saga continues today, in early 2000. Of those years, in how many do you think Neal was still trendy? Maybe one. I loved him and wore him regardless, unselfishly. He was a good coat and he served me well. That is until I crossed over the line.

 In college, Neal took on a new role in my life, as do most relationships at some point. When I suddenly found myself trekking across the quads in sub-freezing temperatures several times a day, Neal was no longer sufficient. As strong and good as he was, as cute as his intricate polyester lining was, he just wasn’t always warm enough anymore. He then became a bridge. Previously, I’d had “Coat” and “No Coat” weather in my life. With the entrance of a new coat which shall remain nameless, I then had “Coat,” “Light Coat” and “No Coat” weather. The entrance of that third category was very important.

Well now I believe I’ve illustrated all the major points you’ll need to understand what happened next. The stage is set, if you will. And I know what you’re thinking. Some of you are saying to yourself “Melissa, I know you’re smart and all, but what IS your POINT?!?!?” I’m getting to that. While others of you have become deeply involved with my story and its true life characters and are now on the edge of your seats to find out what happened. Lets review shall we:

•  Neal is actually a coat. Sorry if you didn’t catch that. I know I can be hard to follow sometimes.
•  I got him because I wanted to be cool but I grew to love him for the sake of loving him.
•  I wasn’t always a good owner. I took him for granted sometimes.
•  Eventually he became the coat I wore when it was kinda cold, but not really.
• On another strange note, previously unmentioned, I had a pair of driving gloves that matched Neal. I lost one at Hall Auditorium freshman year and had to throw the other away, knowing I’d never find it again. I had not yet been acquainted with the art of Martha Stewart Living at that point in my life or I would have made a nice hand puppet out of the one fate had spared.

A few weeks later, as a favor for Mrs. Nash, I helped usher the Glee Club - Choraliers concert. On this fateful night, I was feeling a little talkative (which I am not, maybe wordy, but generally not talkative) and I was chatting with one of the “professional” ushers. I don’t know how that works but she was a students and she works there somehow. I was telling her about my predicament and her face kinda lit up. She recognized the coat! She remembered finding it in the balcony and taking it down the stairs to one of her managers. She wasn’t sure what had happened to it after that so she told me she’d look into it. We continued ushering together and when her manager walked by she asked him what had happened to this coat. He had no recollection of ever seeing it. My hopes were dashed but not completely. He said that perhaps the other manager had seen it. Well I checked back with all of them several times but no one had ever seen it except the one usher.

Eventually it began to sink in. Neal had gone from whence he’d came. Gone to be reunited with the glove he’d lost so many years before. Gone to where he wouldn’t have to be stuffed under any auditorium seats to be spilled on and stepped on and abused. I had just gone too far and Neal, who had been so loving and gentle, could no longer take the strain of my “love.” Even the kindest and gentlest and lovingest of creatures can only take so much abuse. I deserved to lose him. I had never deserved his comforts in the first place.

I thought of him often. Every time I’d go to Hall I wonder if could be lurking around any corner to leap out and surprise me. Surprise! Surprise. He never did. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still somewhere in that building. This gave me comfort. I figured he was happy with the philosophy department, listening to all the fine concerts, happier than he’d ever been with me. One day I was watching Martha Stewart Living and she did a special on making children’s hand puppets out of widowed gloves and mittens. This made no particular impact on my life until later that week when I was walking down some stairs at the CPA and I saw a single woolen glove laying on the landing. At first I was happy, “Its time for someone to make a hand puppet, hee hee hee.” And then I was sad as the image of the lost glove lay on my eyelids. Forever alone, both of them alone now. And then I had hope. The glove was laying in a rather conspicuous area of a predominantly faculty populated stairwell of the CPA. Perhaps the owner of the glove would see it and they would be reunited after all, like in that animaniacs sketch where Wakko’s piano gloves go on strike. And I thought of my own lost articles, Neal more than the glove. I just missed him. I felt so stupid for my mistakes and I wanted to take it all back, the mashed potatoes, the shoe prints, the Coke, and apologize to my faithful friend. But alas, it was too late.

It was then that I came to the happy conclusion that I would see my coat again. And my glove and innocence and everything else I’d ever lost. You see, Heaven must be the place where we’ll be reunited with everything we’ve ever lost. It’ll be there waiting for us like a little treasure chest and we’ll remember all our happy times with them... Neal was always my little traveling treasure chest.

So I had made peace with my loss and even with the auditorium that stole him from me, but I still just missed him sometimes. I suppose that would never go away. And this brings us to today when I saw Neal walking across campus. He was on a little girl, presumably a freshman, headed towards south quad. She had long dark hair and was chatting with a couple other girls. I saw him coming towards me and almost instantly recognized him for Neal is not exactly fashionable among today’s freshmen. He really stood out to me. He seemed particularly faded, grayer on her than he’d ever been on me. I knew every detail of the pockets. I could see the frayed cuffs she tried to roll under since his arms were too long for her. I could have been wrong so I kept looking long after they’d passed me. I kept walking. What could I do? I wanted to tackle her little body and rip him off of her. I wanted to know how she’d gotten ahold of him. And as I kept walking away from him, I softened. I wondered if she needed him, unable to afford another coat. This theory is unlikely. We’re talking about Miami, remember. Maybe she’d just found him and thought he was cool and comfy. Was she keeping little treasures in the inside breast pocket? Did she know he had such a long history with me? Did she have a name for him too? Probably not.

And my thoughts turned to him. Did he recognize me as they passed? If so did he miss me and want to jump into my arms again? Or was he aloof, trying not to show his anger at me, or any emotion at all? How long is the memory on a coat? Its been several months, does he even remember me? We spent so many years together! He had to know it was me. Or was he just happier with her? Does she take better care of him? Is he hung neatly in a closet in Tappan Hall and not thrown across the back of a plastic inflatable chair in my crappy candlewood apartment? Does she understand what she’s wearing? Can she see the history on his elbow? Does she speculate about his past?

My mind turned to action. I had to have him back. I knew she was headed towards south quad. I could make little posters with a picture of me and Neal and litter the area with them. She’d have to see it eventually and return the coat to me.

But could he ever really be mine again? Even if he did miss me has it been too long? We had many long years of history together, he was always there for me and now I’ve just missed the last few months of his life? Could it ever be the same or was it really just over the instant I walked out of Hall Auditorium without him? What kind of life has he been living with her? How many hands did he have to pass through before finding another good home? What new history does he have????? Do I, who had been with him since birth, no longer have any right to him? Is he better off?

 So many questions, so many plans and hopes and memories. What am I to do? It is too late. He is gone from whence he came, no different than if he had been playing hide and seek with me at every concert from here to eternity. He is no longer mine, I am no longer his mother.

I have a new leather coat. Its much more stylish than Neal, but he shall remain nameless, in honor of the dead and I will never, ever love another coat as much as I had loved Neal. Though he lives on, in someone else’s care, Neal is dead to me. Gone out of my life.

I leave you now with some words of wisdom:

 
• The loving are the daring. ~Bayard Taylor, American writer
• There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved. ~George Sand, French writer
• Love and the gentle heart are but a single thing. ~Dante Alighieri, Italian poet
• The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost. ~G.K. Chesterton, English writer
• If you love somebody, tell them. ~Rod McKuen, American poet
• Don’t leave anything unattended at Hall Auditorium. ~Melissa Romine, American student