I found a coat at Goodwill.

It was hidden among the rows of itchy coats and soft furs. The puffy sleeves of leather stuck out as I dug through the arrangement of fabrics. It reached out to me, grabbed me by the arm and dug its nails into my skin, begging me to take notice of it. Please, please see me. And I did. The color was the first thing I saw. It was a shade of blue and black, the two colors dancing together on a painter’s palette made up of fabric to create a beautiful stormy gray. Was it made to look that way or was it weathered from age? My fingers glided across the color as if I expected it to really be made of mist that settled over the ocean on a cloudy day. The leather was one of the softest things I’ve ever touched, and it dare rivaled the hideously gaudy fur coat that sat to the right, hogging the spotlight and clamoring for the attention I wouldn’t give to it.

I pushed the luxurious furs to the side and picked the leather coat up off the racks. It felt heavy in my hands. My shoulders sagged under the phantom weight.

Yes, the color was as extraordinary as a hurricane and yes, the leather was as soft as roses and yes, the weight was as heavy as a hug, but it was the inside of this coat that made me fall in love. Fall as madly and deeply in love as you’re able to with an article of clothing. Because the fabric inside was marked up with maps. Maps of the globe, outlines of our world, marked with Unknowne Land, Magallanica, and Europa. Old star like compasses pointed North to the sun that stared longingly at the moon, and the moon who stared longingly at the compass. Every ocean and river and border swam and trekked its way across the fabric, foraging a path through the arms and hem and collar. It was colored like old parchment, weary and faded, the kind of color writers fantasize about; that dreamy, romantic, looks like it smells of old books color that promise good stories and day-long daydreams. And that story color was splashing the maps that would be pressed against my back and chest and wrap me up in its endless adventures.

So of course I bought it. It was only $15. What a steal, right?

I didn’t even try it on before I made the purchase; I trusted the sag in my shoulders. It would swallow my frame the way Black Holes swallow up galaxies. I would love to be a galaxy if this coat would let me share its suns and moons.

I was wary of wearing it out. I kept it hidden in my closet for a week. Maybe I feared that it wouldn’t keep me warm enough throughout the increasingly colder days of Iowa in winter. Maybe I didn’t want to expose it to the world in fear that other people might notice its unique beauty and take it away from me; what if the person who owned this coat before me saw me walking around wearing it and, realizing they’ve made a horrible mistake by throwing it away, demanded they take it back? Or maybe I was afraid of the smell. Yes, the smell. Because as anyone who shops at Goodwill knows, there is a distinct old smell that lingers in every knitted sweater and baggy pair of mom jeans.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the smell comes from living in the backs of closets, the same place where people shove their problems under shoeboxes and cram their skeletons into stained dresses, before they dig it all back up again, throw it all in a garbage bag, and then thrust it into the hands of the unsuspecting Goodwill employees to hang them on racks for shoppers to find and take those ghostly memories that were not theirs home with them. And my beloved coat had that smell. Granted, I wasn’t sure if the smell I picked up was from the skeletons or from the fact that it was old leather. Very old leather.

A week had passed and I had done nothing but shove my coat into the back of another closet with a different family of skeletons and a grab-bag of problems, rather than giving it the love and attention it deserved. So one day while getting ready for class I decided to wear my coat out for the first time.

I picked it up off the hanger and ran my fingers over the material tenderly, admiring the print as the suns and moons with their old faces stared off in their own reverie. The tag at the lapel said it was made in Korea by the General Clothing Company LTD, a clothing brand that can only be found on Poshmark and eBay now. I searched for the tag that would tell me how I could wash it because what if people noticed the smell of the coat and thought I was the one emitting the odor of secrets and unresolved trauma? I found the desired tag I was looking for and in doing so, discovered something even more remarkable.

OUT SHELL: 100% GENUINE LEATHER

LINING: 100% POLYESTER

I suddenly found myself holding it more delicately. I had never encountered anything made of genuine leather before in my life and suddenly I was holding an entire coat that was made from nothing but. I held it the way I would hold a child: awkwardly and uncomfortably and in fear that it would squirm out of my hands at any moment. How was I supposed to hold something this precious? How could I just shove it in the back of a closet for so long? How could someone just leave it on the racks of Goodwill when it should be kept safe and untouched?

I called my mom. She answered on the third ring.

“Hi sweetie.”

“Hi mom. So, I have a question for you…”

I explained to her that I found a coat. A beautiful, magnificent coat. But it smelled. It smelled like Goodwill. She laughed, because she knew exactly what I was talking about; my mother is no stranger to stuffing problems in garbage bags. As I was speaking I thought of how many years my coat must have seen come and go. After hearing it was made of genuine leather, she told that I definitely shouldn’t wash it in my washing machine. She suggested that when I come home for Thanksgiving I bring it with me and take it to dad’s dry cleaner. They were good friends, dad trusted him, he hung out there for a half an hour every Saturday morning to chat while he was picking up his church pants. Before hanging up, I blurted out the last of my thoughts on the subject.

“How could anyone just throw it away?” I asked.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I can’t wait to see just how amazing it really is.”

“Yes, it’s fantastic. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And it only took me about five minutes after that conversation ended to realize that I didn’t want to wash the coat. I didn’t even want anyone else touching it.

I imagined the story and the history that was woven into every stitch, the ghosts of past wearers I held hands with through time when I stuffed my hands in the coat’s pockets. It wasn’t just a coat to me anymore, it was a collage of people who had worn this coat before and had lived their lives in it, saw the same beauty in it as I did. Who knows how many people left their mark on this coat. How many lives has this coat lived? How many nights has this coat spent with its arms wrapped around another to shelter them from the cold that will inevitably weigh us all down? How many owners has it seen come and go and where in the world have they traveled together? The mountains and oceans it carried were telling of its long life. I felt the past and the present converging into one, and I readily standing in the center.

I didn’t want anyone to touch it.

Don’t get rid of the perfume or cologne that’s in its pores, don’t fade the fabric of the suns and moons that have seen countless faces before mine press their world against their back, don’t dust out the skeletons. This is my coat, my treasure. A treasure that someone stuffed in a garbage bag for me to find on the racks in between faux fur and pilled sweaters. Someone had lived their life and done all the living they could do in this coat and didn’t throw it away but gave it away to another soul who would live their own life in it and make their own mark and tread across their own world. And that soul was me.

And perhaps one day I will realize that I’ve told my story in this beautiful old coat, I’ve made my mark on it and I will pass it on like a legacy to the next person who will create their own mark, live their own lives in it and carry the entirety of the world on their back with the suns and moons as their guide and the starry compass leading the way.

But for now, this coat belongs to me. And I have so many more stories that need to be told.