On the first day of fall break, I sat alone for dinner.

I had a copy of the Nassau Weekly, the most recent one, last week’s, because there’s always good stuff in there and the only time I get to read it is usually breakfast on Saturday mornings. But I always bring a copy anyway, just in case I can’t find anyone to sit with.

“Can’t find anyone.” As if they’re all hiding. (Ha.)

Anyway.

Before I got to the dining hall, when I was just leaving my room, I wondered if I should grab a jacket. I didn’t want to take one because it takes a minute to walk over and even less if I run, which I usually do. But then my phone told me it was 45 degrees out, and that settled it. I’d just put a load of wash in, so my white coat with the black buttons was MIA and I had to take my indigo faux fur out of the closet.

I felt rude, almost disrespectful; I’d worn it just the night before, for Halloween, and after hanging it up all night to dry (there was an unexpected and unfortunate downpour during the wait in line for the haunted house), it seemed insensitive to pull the elegant coat back out and interrupt its well-deserved rest. But I wore it.

Nassau Weekly under an arm and phone in hand, I walked. Walked to the dining hall. Maybe the coat weighed me down.

There was chocolate cheesecake at the dessert table. I took a piece, for some reason, from a cake that hadn’t been cut yet, rather than putting the last slice from the other tray onto my plate. Afterwards, making my way down to the table at the end, by the fireplace, I felt guilty somehow. I didn’t regret it, but I felt sort of ashamed. What if people had seen and thought, "How pretentious is she, in her faux fur coat, cutting into a new cake before the first has even been finished?"

I forgot about it once I sat down.

I opened the paper and started reading where I left off. The first article was well-written until the last sentence, which was very — there’s no other way to say it — cheesy, and I didn’t blame the author for it because I’ve done it, too. You’ve experienced, I’m sure, those times when you write a great piece and everything’s flowing so well, just one train of thought to the next, and then suddenly you don’t know how to end it. And so you go with some vague, generalized cliché, because it gets the job done even though it all but guarantees that whoever reads your article will forget it as soon as it’s over.

The second one was good. It was about clothes and the different meanings they hold. Nothing too deep, but very well-written. It was co-authored, four contributors. One of them mentioned an Italian term, sprezzatura: "a studied nonchalance, a careful effortlessness.”

I love a good oxymoron, but there was another reason it stuck with me. Hadn’t I embodied the word just last night, all dressed up with my illogical sunglasses and shimmering, flowing pants? With my counterfeit accent, my scarf, with this very coat?

Yes. (So what?)

I moved on to the next article, and the next, and then half of the next. The dining hall closed. I felt self-conscious on the walk back to the kitchen, carrying my used plates and presenting them to the staff like a cat presenting something dead to its owner. (Do cats actually do that these days? I don’t think so.)

I was cold by then. I had set the coat on the back of the chair next to mine so that it was visible out of the corner of my eye. Why any of the lingering students in the dining hall would steal a faux fur coat from an occupied chair is beyond me — I always leave my phone on the table without a second thought — but I felt that the clothing deserved more vigilance.

At any rate, I lifted it from the back of the chair and slipped it on. It would be silly to say it fits like a glove, because really it fits like a faux fur coat. But I suppose that would be equally absurd.

I stayed at the table for a bit longer, finishing up that last article. “Maybe there’s a silent loneliness in an overcast sky,” one of the earlier ones had proposed. I liked it for the cadence and diction, not for the meaning. At least it began with “maybe.”

On the way out, I turned automatically to the left and took a breath, the words “Have a good night” preparing to tumble out... but then they fell to the floor because no one was there to swipe meal cards.

Right. Closed.

I continued to the stairs, tripped once, didn’t fall. No one was behind me, which was a relief. The coat made me feel ridiculous.

But it kept me warm. The sky wasn’t too dark. (Or was it, and the streetlamps tricked me into thinking otherwise?) It was cold, but it was the kind of cold you could absorb if you imagined it was your power source, which I did.

My phone was in my pocket now because I’d taken an apple, so one less hand was available. I kept the coat unbuttoned despite the weather; if it was open, if the dark blue sweater and patterned jeans underneath were visible, then it didn’t seem so pretentious, I thought. It was more like I just threw it on, maybe even as a joke. I wasn’t serious about wearing it. It was just casual. Just a coat.

Then again, it didn’t really matter whether my coat was buttoned or unbuttoned, or really what I was wearing at all, because no one was out.

I stood up a little straighter. The coat demanded it, even for my pitiful audience of a squirrel and the moon.

I debated running back to my dorm. I usually do, and anyway it would warm me up a bit more. But it would also mess up my hair.

I kept walking.

I could take out my bun, I thought, and just let it all tumble down. I imagined myself running across the courtyard, indigo coat floating up to the sides and billowing behind me, too-long hair soaring back past my shoulders in the air. Apple in right hand — back-forth, back-forth — Nassau Weekly in the left. Maybe I should —

There were people in front of my entryway. I was glad I didn’t run.

I slowed down, going into the building a beat behind them. The guy at the back of the group, I knew his name; I’d even had lunch with him once, back in September, but that didn’t mean anything, so I just looked down and said thanks when he held the door behind him.

My room was finally warm. It hadn’t been for the past month or so, but I called Housing that day and they resolved the heating issue within half an hour. Simple, fast. Free.

I set down my things and straightened my arms, and the coat slipped right off. I put it on the hanger, adjusted it to prevent creases, and returned it to the back of the closet.

It’s a soft coat. Silky. But, I mean, it’s so… big.

I’m sorry. I can’t even think of a cliché.

Laundry’s waiting.