The jacket belongs to Winter/Spring 2010. She takes it out of the cedar closet because it’s autumn now and she needs to go outside. It’s still too big, the arms dangle over her hands, the bottom brushes the space below her knees. It desperately needs a wash, and she clucks her tongue, disappointed at herself for not having done so before putting it away for the summer. She sighs at the salt stains, the black gash marks from absently leaning against countless surfaces, swiped by car doors. Shrugging the jacket over her shoulders, she feels the weight of its synthesized warmth and instinctively ensconces her hands in the pockets. In the right pocket there’s nothing, only emptiness, smooth fabric, cold to the touch.  She presses her right palm flat against the inside of it, closing her eyes, trying to remember what happened the last time she wore the jacket. In the left pocket, her hand brushes something small, crinkled, wrapped around something hard and oddly shaped. She opens her eyes, left-handed fingers closing around the item, drawing it out of its cave for a better look. The smile appears as a reflex, inspired by the maple leaf shaped candy she now holds in her hand. The wrapper is still sealed. She thinks she knows where it’s from, who it’s from, ripping the clear plastic enough to pop the candy out. She holds the translucent, amber candy between thumb and index finger, staring at the small air bubbles paralyzed within. All this, and then she puts it in her mouth, closes the closet, bounds up the stairs, three at a time.