The confirmation came through at 247 PM

The confirmation came through at 2:47 PM.

The coat was on the truck.

I'd been wanting it for six months,

the way you want things before you have them—

with this specific kind of hunger

that feels like it will transform you

once it arrives.

It arrived on a Tuesday.

I hung it up in the closet

and walked past it this morning.

Then again at lunch.

Then again coming home.

The fabric is good. The fit is right.

The color is exactly what I'd pictured.

It's everything I thought it would be,

which means it's nothing I thought it would be.

I've been saving for years.

I transferred the money into a separate account

like I was preparing for something serious,

like this coat was a down payment on a life

where I'd feel different,

where I'd walk into rooms and feel like someone

who could afford to take up space,

who didn't have to apologize

for the things she wanted.

But the cardboard box is still in the bedroom.

The coat is still in the closet.

And I'm still here,

the same person,

just lighter in the account,

just heavier in the ribs,

just waiting for the moment

when having something

is supposed to feel like something.