Melissa's "My Mom's Fur Coat"

My Mom’s Fur Coat
by Melissa Marullo

It hung there fancy, sophisticated, and mature, teasing me with its beauty. The blended shades of brown and white with brown buttons that could barely be seen underneath the fur overwhelmed me every time I looked at it. It hid between a blue pant suit with silver embroidering and a red heavy winter coat, both of which resided in plastic garment bags for protection.

Against my face it was soft and itchy. Against my arms and body the beige lining was silky and smooth. Anytime I pulled it out of its spot in the closet, I’d get a whiff of my mother’s perfume mixed with its natural smell that I can’t recall enough to put into words other than objectionable. You couldn’t wash it or else it would be ruined.

My mother’s rabbit fur coat was my favorite thing to try on. I liked to pretend that I was getting ready for an upscale party, all dressed up, keeping warm with my real rabbit fur. Young and naïve, it didn’t bother me that it came from an actual rabbit, and I didn’t realize what someone had to do to get the fur, so excuse my ignorance. It was definitely expensive, and I know this because anytime I put the oversized coat on, my mom would scold me and tell me not to ruin it.

I would never do anything to destroy it. The coat was too elegant, exquisite, and precious. Not to mention, I knew I would grow into it one day. I would be old enough to go to a fancy party, and the coat would be appropriate to wear. It was something I wanted but couldn’t have, not yet. My mom doesn’t know what happened to this article of clothing that I adored so much.

I last remember wearing it when we lived in my house on Beech Road in Plum. We moved twice since that house, my mom assumes she lost it in the move, or threw it away since it was older. I only wore the jacket once when I was finally old and tall enough, and I can’t remember where I actually went in it. I do recall though, after that one time of use I didn’t desire it as much. I didn’t feel the yearn or the need to wear it. Maybe it was because I didn’t have anywhere special enough to go. Maybe we thought by that time it was just too old to wear. Or maybe it was because once I finally had it in my possession, that I no longer craved it.

I might have realized that it wasn’t that great. It didn’t make me fancier, it didn’t make me rich, and it didn’t make mature sophisticated parties appear for my attendance. It was just me in my mother’s old rabbit fur coat. Looking back I wish that my expectations were met. In my eyes, it was and always will be beautiful. I’d like to have the coat back as a memory of what it was like as a little girl playing dress up, without any worries, and wanting to be older.