The Garment

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For those who have read 'Afternoons With Mister D',
the story below uses two of the characters introduced in the story.
For those of you who have not, consider picking up a copy on Amazon.
This novel is available in both print and kindle formats.
Afternoons With Mister D



Alice fixed herself a mug of coffee.  A quick glance at the kitchen clock told her it was a few minutes before six. "You're up early," she said, speaking to her niece. "For a Saturday."

A slight shoulder shrug was followed by a mumbled response, "I couldn't sleep."

Three and a half months had passed since Alexandra moved in.  The seventeen year old had transferred over to the local high school, but in the time since arriving at the bus station, she hadn't developed a single friendship.  Except perhaps, Mrs. Halworth the next door neighbor.

Now, it was a chilly December morning.  There'd been a hard frost the night before.  Alice could see its veil, in the early light, on the back lawn.  Lacy fibers of the coming season, promising to prepare the way for winter.  The Advent season was upon them.  Soon, she'd set up a tree in the living room, with a manger beneath its boughs.  She hoped there were a few miracles, in this season of joy, for her niece.

Alex, as the young woman preferred to be called, had thrown a robe over her tee-shirt and shorts, her normal sleeping attire.  The sleeves of the robe hid the purple slashes on her forearms.  Alice had never asked why, and she wouldn't.  The scars left by cutting were the reason Alice was asked to open her door.  Her sister and brother-in-law were struggling to relate to their daughter and hoped the girl's favorite aunt could break through.  In all actuality, the suggestion was Alice's.  But somedays she wondered if she was prepared for the turmoil in her niece's soul.

A cutter.  The words were harsh, and made no sense.  Alice considered the action might be a rebellion, but against what.  Sure, her father was a minister, a devout one.  But Alice had never known her niece to doubt the existence of her creator.

"Thank you for making the coffee," Alice said as she took a seat facing her niece.

Alex looked up from the steaming mug between her hands.  Her deep brown eyes focused on her aunt.  Alice wondered, what crisis could lead a teenager, who had her nose buried in a Bible, to using a razor blade against her own delicate flesh.

"I had a dream," Alex stated, before turning her gaze back to the hot coffee.

Three and a half months.

The young woman spent her days upstairs, in the spare room working on canvas with oils, or stretched out on her bed, reading a tattered leather bound Bible.  A query passed through Alice's mind and heart.  It was directed at her savior. 'If her faith was so strong, why the scars.'

"I remember it in great detail," Alex added, after an extended pause.

Alice didn't want to pry.  She sipped her coffee and waited to see if her niece would continue.

She did.  Slowly. "I was in the woods.  A trail.  I've been there before.  I didn't want to be there.  I was moving away... from... a clearing.  He was in front of me... walking away."

"Who?" Alice chided herself for asking a question that might draw Alex back to the shadows.

"Jesus.  I think it was him.  His garment was billowing up behind him as he hiked along the path.  I tried to catch up.  I wanted to touch his garment.  I'm not sure why.  I have no disease like the woman who touched him... on his way to Jairus' house.  Maybe I thought..."

Alex paused, took a sip of coffee, and seemed to ponder her next words.

"I ran," she continued. "I almost caught up, but he kept walking away.  I'd run again, over and over.  Every time I got within a grasp of his billowing robe, he seemed to pick up pace.  I wanted to scream to him to stop.  I didn't have a voice.  I knew this, though.  The woman who touched Jesus' cloak, in the synoptic Gospels, was healed of a physical ailment.  I don't need to be healed of my scars.  I need to be healed of so much more.  I ran again, and again my fingers couldn't reach the fabric.  Then I noticed, he wasn't picking up his pace when I neared, I was stopping.  I looked at my feet and saw that they were still, unmoving.  I was the one who wasn't reaching toward his garment."

Alex returned to her coffee.  Alice had learned one thing about her niece in the past months.  She opens her soul in her own time, and gives just so much.  To pry would be to turn off the flow.  Alex was finished sharing, for now.

"You want some Saturday morning fried eggs and home fries?" Alice asked, pushing her chair back.

Alex looked up.  Maybe a smile touched the corners of her mouth, maybe not.  She nodded her head, answering the question about breakfast entries, and said with a tiny voice, "Thank you for just listening."



copyright 2025 - Donald P James Jr

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