Because I Like It

"Why do you wear that thing? It's ugly, and it makes you look fat."

I looked down at the beat up motorcycle jacket that I'd worn religiously for the last two years. Its leather was worn and torn in places, and it was several sizes too large. It still had the lingering scent of cigarettes and leather cleaner, a scent that I loved. I remembered when I'd gotten it, the last time I'd gone to visit my grandfather before he'd died. I'd gone without a coat, and when it came time to leave, he'd bundled me tightly into his motorcycle jacket. "I don''t want you to get sick, Sarah," he'd said to me. Two weeks later, he'd been in the hospital, and the next day he was gone, a loving memory.

I took another deep breath, taking in the smell of leather and smoke, the smell of my grandfather, and answered her.

"Because I like it."