Pale Trousers

Jack lay his clothes out on his bed. It was the Vietnam Vets reunion. Hobart. Saturday. He was nervous about flying. But, they were tough breed of men; made of steel, could do anything, were built to last. He'd only got interested in attending such occasions since his beloved Julie died a few years back. He wasn't sure why, it helped pass the days, he thought.

The shirts were neatly folded like they would be at a department store, two white, two blue, two gray. His toilet bag was next to them, tartan in colour, dark green. Socks. Underwear. Ties. A jumper. A dark blue sports jacket. A pair of black trousers.

Sara pulled a pair of cream pants from the wardrobe. "Why don't you take these grand pa, they'd look nice with your blue jacket, kind of navy."

"Are no." He took the pants from his granddaughter’s hands and slid them back into the cupboard.

"Oh why?" Sara protested. "I think they'd look nice."

"No darling." He stroked her hair. "Not those."

"Come on. They are much more fashionable. Don't you want to be fashionable?"

"Oh, I never went in for all of that nonsense."

"Now's your chance! Before you die!"

"I rather think I have a few more years in me yet."

"Oh come on, unless you can come up with a good reason..."

"As you age, my darling, you tend to wear pale trousers less and less." He drew in breath and bit his top lip. "To avoid the dot of shame."

Sara raised her eyebrows. She opened and closed her mouth.