I always liked used things. Used clothes, especially. I would go into a store and run my hand against the hangers, against materials. With time I was able to recognise the material just by touching it, just by the way it felt against my fingertips. I could also tell the material just by looking at it. How it was woven, what the threads were like, how thick, how rough, how fluffy.

My wardrobe is full of them. The clothes I rescued, mended, washed by hand several times, in a cool water, in a cool rinse, in a cool room, drying flat until they were awoken again and got upright when I put them on.

I saw this one immediately, I bought it a moment later. I washed it by hand, as always. Squeezed gently rough fibres, watched the grey get darker in cool water, filled with soapy lavender scent, as always. I dried it flat, as always. I put it on, upright, as always.
And then I smelled her. The lady with brown hair and silver hoops dangling from her ears. She was smaller than the XL size on the label, I know she wore this jumper loose. I could smell the perfume she applied on her neck, not flowery at all, at least not on Mondays.

On Mondays my jumper smells watery, like lotus. Maybe she was always hungover and did not want anything strong. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays my jumper smells a bit fruity, like peaches. I think of peaches, because when I close my eyes and take a breath, I see pastel orange under my eyelids. For the rest of the working week the jumper smells like lilies. I wonder whether her perfume bottle was also white. On weekends however I smell heavy jasmine and oriental notes, maybe she was going for posh dinners. Or for difficult dinners, where the powerful scent was the only sign of rebellion she could afford.

I wash the jumper in lavender wool soap on Sunday evenings. On Mondays it smells of water lotus. Then of peaches. Then of lilies. Then of jasmine and spice. Not once had it smelled of lavender.
I think I know why, now.

The lavender must have been giving her a headache.