The Sweatshirt

a diary of events

photo taken by me

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Day One (Feb)

Saw a pile of clothes at the stadium today on my stair run. Just sitting there on the bleachers: two sweatshirts, sweatpants, leggings. Someone’s daughter is definitely in trouble when mom realizes half her wardrobe is missing. Ran past the pool/batting cages on my way home, kept thinking about it. Honestly tho? At a school this fancy? A girl can probably lose two whole outfits and her parents won’t even notice. Not my problem.

Day Seven

The clothes are still there. Been a whole week and they’re just sitting on the bottom bleacher like nobody gives a shit. This time I stopped and actually looked at them. Navy blue sweatshirt on top with a family crest (I think it’s called). Says “The Duffmans”/underneath “The Beach House 2025.” Flipped it over revealing a bright yellow surfboard on the back, orange stripes, ocean-blue wave. At the top it says “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf”. At the bottom “Peace Love and Tammy Forever.”

Has to be a memorial thing, right? Poor Tammy. I’m imagining the whole family gathering at some beach house to remember her. Everyone’s showing up with a trunk full of groceries - organic pasta, marinara sauce, wine, pistachios, all the stuff for a week of sad but meaningful family bonding and grilling fish from the local beach guy. The sweatshirt’s still got that new fuzzy feeling inside like it’s never been washed.

Hung everything over the stadium railing so people can actually see it on Monday. Maybe someone will finally claim it. At least the sweatshirt. It’s got obvi sentimental value.

Day Fourteen

Unbelievable. The clothes are STILL hanging on the railing. It’s been two weeks. Kids walk right past the stadium every day to get from the parking lot to the school. There’s been soccer games, lacrosse, some field hockey whatever. Poor Tammy’s memorial sweatshirt is just flapping in the wind. Nobody cares.

You know what? Fuck the Duffmans. Why am I caring more about their stuff than they do?

Day Twenty-Two

Been raining all week. Took Boris past the stadium today and the clothes are completely soaked through. Just hanging there, heavy and sad.

Fine. FINE. I pulled them down and carried them home. Do you know how hard it is to walk a giant dog while carrying an armful of soaking wet clothes? And Boris picked today to be obsessed with every single bush we passed. Whatever. I’m trying to be a decent human here.

Plan: wash everything/drop it off at the school lost and found/done/end of story

Day Twenty-Five (Morning)

Tried to drop the stuff off at school this morning. TRIED.

Got barely past the front door and this woman started frantically waving her arms at me. “You can’t enter without a pass!” “Get back!” Like I’m a 42-year-old lady school shooter with an armful of gym clothes. She’s screaming about protocols. I’m standing there wondering if this is the moment my brain will finally explode from the sheer absurdity of being alive in 2025.

Didn’t even get close to the lost and found. Didn’t get to explain anything. Schools are fortresses/ guarded by screaming women in pantsuits. Don’t even try.

Day Twenty-Five (Evening)

Fuck it. Put on the sweatshirt. Put on the sweatpants. Both fit perfectly. OOO…look at me, I’m a high school girl today. Ppffff.

Went for a jog and ended up at the bar across the street. Had too many white wine spritzers. Watched a grown woman in a onesie quietly sing “Are You That Somebody” by Aaliyah. Pretty decent imitation.

On my way to the bathroom the waitress stops me. “Oh my god! Are you a Duffman?”

I said yeah.

Right now I’m naughty naughty.

Day One Hundred Forty-four (June)

Drove up to Big Horn today for a hike. Three hours in traffic but worth it - the air up there is so different. Crisp and clean. Trees are tall and dense, nothing like the scraggly mesquites down in the valley.

Started walking quietly through the woods. No headphones/tuned in to the sound of my footsteps on the path. Wore the sweatshirt with my own leggings. Perfect for the weather.

About a mile in I hear this explosion of laughter behind me, then someone yells “Hey!” I turn around and there’s four hikers - two men, two women. All smiling at first.

One of them points at my chest. “Oh my god, are you a Duffman?”

I froze. My mouth went completely dry. “Uh, yeah. Sort of. It’s a family…”

They got excited. “We’re Duffmans! Well, I married in but still! What are the odds? Which side of the family are you from?”

My brain was scrambling. “California branch?”

Wrong answer. The guy squinted at me. “There’s no California branch. We’re all East Coast. Jersey mostly.”

I tried to recover. “Right, Jersey! I meant Jersey. We just vacation in California. At the beach house.”

The woman’s smile started fading. “The beach house is in Delaware.”

“Delaware! Yes! That’s what I meant.” Jesus, I was laughing too loud, couldn’t stop myself. “God, I’m so bad with this stuff. I wasn’t super close to that side of the family. I just thought the sweatshirt was really nice, you know, for the memorial and everything…”

Everything stopped. The forest went completely silent.

“Memorial?” One of the guys said it so quietly.

“Yeah, you know. Peace Love and Tammy Forever. It’s really beautiful. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” The first woman’s voice could’ve cut glass.

“I just assumed it was a memorial sweatshirt? For Tammy?”

“Tammy’s not… dead.” The other woman’s face went white. “That’s her brand. She puts it on everything.”

And that’s when I realized how badly I’d fucked up. The truth unveils itself in slow motion.

“She’s alive,” the first guy said, moving closer to me. “She’s very much alive. So why would you think she’s dead?”

I started telling them all of it. The stadium, the week of rain, trying to return it to the school. But the questions kept coming.

Where did I really get the sweatshirt? (Tammy’s design/ hasn’t even sent them out yet/reunion’s not till August) Why did I make up the California story? Why all the elaborate lies about beach houses? What was I doing out here in the woods wearing it?

“Nobody goes to all that trouble with lies unless they’re hiding something,” one of them said.

They surrounded me. The woman was hissing at me. “You show up in the middle of nowhere wearing our cousin’s clothes, spinning insane stories, saying she’s… dead when she’s not. What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!” I kept saying it. “I swear to god I haven’t even met her! She’s not dead! I was wrong!”

“Then how do you have her sweatshirt?”

I backed up. Caught my foot on a root. Stumbled. One of the guys grabbed my arm/steadying me or restraining me. I have no idea.

“I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

“Shut up,” he said. “Just shut up.”

I saw the woman’s eyes go blank. The guy looked afraid for a second and I jerked away. I stumbled backward and went down hard/head cracked against something - a rock maybe. I thought they were going to actually murder me. The woman squatted down and yanked the sweatshirt up over my head and nearly took my nose off with it. I fumbled around trying to get up. Started running blind. Tripped again/heard something in my back pop. Someone yelled - “sick fucking ghoul”, but when I looked back and they were all running away too, in the opposite direction.

I laid there for I don’t know how long. Maybe an hour. Maybe ten minutes. Everything hurt and I was bleeding and all I could think was: how the fuck did this happen?

Day One Hundred Forty-five

Got back to my car somehow yesterday. I honestly don’t remember the walk. Drove myself to urgent care. I have: a possible concussion, definitely bruised ribs, split lip, cracked tooth. None of this had to happen.

Looked up the Duffmans this morning. They’re all real. Tammy Duffman works in social media in Hoboken. Very much alive. Posts non-stop about her Peloton and her brand “Peace Love and Tammy.” Her surfer clothing line.

After all that, those psychotic Duffmans left (dropped?) the sweatshirt in the woods near the entrance of the trail. I took a long look at it lying there, dirty on the ground. Then I picked it up and took it with me. What’s wrong with me?

Fuck the Duffmans Forever

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A special thanks to the super sexy and talented Ginger Cook (GC) for the challenge! I already had the story going and when your smokin’ hottness came into my inbox. This helped me finish. Also, a nod to Christopher Robin for the list of 12 words. They are all here. Plus, I threw in a hip-hop line for GC. This was fun!!