I Found a Letter in My Jacket From 1997. The Ink Was Faded. The Truth Wasn't.

Synopsis

I was cleaning out the hall closet. The one that eats things. Every house has one — the closet where coats go to retire and shoes go to die. In the back, behind a box of Christmas lights I haven't used since Obama's first term, I found a jacket. My father's. Brown leather. Cracked. Smelled like cigarettes and Old Spice. The smell of 1997. Dad died in 2003.…