Page 5

“Thanks, man,” says the busker, who drops his hand from his guitar, letting it dangle from the strap around his neck. He reaches across the case, extending his hand for my uncle to shake.

“That song means a lot to me,” my uncle says, taking his hand. I can hear the sudden choke in his voice. “I had some rough news today, and I was looking for a sign to let me know it would all be all right, and here you are.”

The busker nods as if sympathetic to a problem that goes far beyond him and his guitar, then juts his chin at my uncle. “That’s a great jacket, by the way.”

Instinctively, I look down. The jacket I pulled on in Koko’s store only minutes ago engulfs me. Its sleeves are so long they almost reach my fingertips.

“You know what,” my uncle says, unzipping his almost identical jacket and handing it to the busker. “This old thing has witnessed some good times, but I think it has room for a few more stories. Here. Take it.”

The busker reaches out and then hesitates. “It’s really okay, man. I don’t want to—”

“I insist.” My uncle presses it into his hands.

The busker stares at the jacket for a moment. “Are you sure?”

My uncle nods his head. “Can’t take it with me where I’m headed.” He smiles. “But let me give you some unsolicited advice—” His voice cracks, but he takes a deep breath and continues. “Life is a gift, and you don’t always appreciate that fact until…well, it’s too late. I guess what I’m saying is…don’t wait to do the big thing, because there is some peace in knowing you damn well squeezed every moment out of your life that you could.”

The contents of my stomach turn sour.

What is unfolding in front of me right now is not a complete figment of my imagination.

I think it’s a memory.

Only it didn’t happen to me.

There was a night last year at the beginning of August. After a string of hot, humid days, we had an unexpected cold snap, and Larry came home shivering.

“Didn’t you take a jacket?” I chastised, failing to notice the pained lines etched into my uncle’s forehead.

“Sit down, Beans,” he said. “I have something I need to tell you.”

He didn’t tell me specifically about the busker that day, only the grim diagnosis and how, on the way home, he had heard his song in the subway. He was certain it was a sign from the universe. A reassurance that even though he’d be gone soon, I’d be okay without him.

I felt my heart split open that night, and standing here, watching Larry now, the thin layers that had started to grow back—to heal—rip right back open again.

Larry turns and moves for the stairs. I try to call out or follow, but the world around me goes black. I’m ripped away before his name can leave my lips and thrust back to reality.

3

I open my eyes and stare at that pink velvet curtain. Pulling it back, I’m struck by the sight of my reflection in the store’s three-way mirror.

My eyes are wide and wild, my near-black hair a little mussed, but otherwise, I look like me. Perfectly normal.

I step out of the changing room, my eyes trained on my reflection. I’m still wearing the blue dress, though it’s mostly engulfed under the giant black jacket.

Koko appears behind me in the glass. “Okay, I know I said oversized was in, but that might be a bit much.” She steps toward a rack of clothing and begins searching through the pieces. “I think I have a brown suede cropped one that might work better. I feel like you have the bone structure to pull off Old Western meets Little House on the Prairie.”

“It’s fine.” I wiggle out of the jacket, needing it off immediately.

I toss it onto the top of the rack, my body breaking out in a full-blown sweat.

What the hell just happened?

I reach out and grab Koko’s arm. It’s solid and real, and I definitely don’t pass through it.

Her eyes widen with surprise and then soften. “Hey, are you okay?”

I don’t know. I feel fine, I think.