snapped drawstrings
the drawstring of the black ski jacket i've worn since i was twelve broke this weekend. eleven winters, dozens of trips to the alpines with my father, hundreds of hastily stepped walks in the cold damp air toronto experiences from the period of december to april, it was my shield through it all.
bought by my dad during a boxing week sale, it sits two sizes too large and inflates the shape of my torso to that of the michelin man. "you'll grow into it and i paid a good price" was the rationale provided to me on receiving it as a new years gift more than a decade ago. lined with metallic hued insulation and vents in the underarms, i only reach for it when the weather is especially poor and i'm not warm enough as i come. the jackets i've added to my closet since are only accessory to my mundane black jacket, that i return to at the worst conditions.
the drawstring cinches my waist and keeps the bodily heat i've worked so hard to produce around my body. now without it, the bottom of the jacket falls flimsily below my upper middle thigh, allowing the cold air to creep up my waist and throughout my chest. its purpose lost, it serves nothing more and an overlayer for an already bundled outfit or a garb to throw over when going to dispose of the trash. in addition to the already frayed zipper whose use was replaced by the velcro straps and a stubborn attitude to get the most use of what was given to me as a gift, the drawstring symbolizes the final moments of a long death for the warmest jacket i will ever own.