In My Favorite T-Shirt

She’s wearing your t-shirt.That’s the first thing you notice as you step into the diving pavilion. It’s early, just after eight o’clock in the morning, and you were just rubbing the sleep from your eyes and thinking about how it was criminal that you have to wake up that early during the summer , when you look across the tables and see her sitting there wearing your shirt. It’s clearly yours, even though you all own the same obnoxiously orange one. This one she’s wearing is too big on her; a little too long, bunched around her waist. And on her arms, the sleeves go down almost all the way to her elbows. And you know how her camp shirts look on her; you’ve only been going to camp together for the better half of a decade at this point, and you’ve literally seen her grow into these shirts. And that one is yours.