"Hey, come here for a minute."

Beth walked into my bedroom and turned to see the photograph I was pointing to, part of a collage I'd made years ago to depict our junior year of college.

She looked at the photo, then looked back at me and the yellow shirt I was wearing. Three-quarter sleeves, two buttons at the top, sunshine lemon yellow. She started laughing as she realized that I was pointing at a picture of my happy, yellow-clad self standing next to an incredibly tall singer-songwriter wearing maroon.

"This shirt met John Mayer." I sighed with over-the-top, sarcastic flair and started to laugh. It had been part of the grand unearthing that came with my mass reorganization, and I'd been delighted to find that it still fit and was still the shade of bottled sunrays.

See, this wasn't just a shirt. This was a pivotal part of V concert history, friends. It started a year-long trend of Yello Concert Wear, that led to the purchase of numerous yellow band shirts and my bright presence at shows.

This was The Original Yellow Concert Shirt. I'd worn it to some random show and had a great time, so I decided it was lucky. I'd worn it to my first show at Paradise (the epic VaCo/Howie Day/Pat McGee Band benefit) and others that I can't pinpoint right now. Because I'd wanted the Mayer experience to be a great one, I wore it during a February scramble to kick snow out from behind the car of the friend who drove us to Higher Ground. I wore it as Michelle and I laughed with John about the philosophical merits of Count Chocula, and I wore it as I whirled around with surprise to face the stage when I heard the first notes of the "Babylon" cover he played during soundcheck; the shirt's color must have paled a bit in comparison to the blindingly bright smile on my face as I joyously blew his laughing form a kiss. He was playing the song because I'd mentioned it was my then-favorite and I'd been delighted to hear that he'd been known to occasionally perform it.

I stopped wearing it sometime junior year, but always held onto it because of the memories attached. I wound up putting it away and only unpacked it this weekend.

Beth laughed as I talked about The Shirt and then cued up "Your Body is a Wonderland" on the iPod and began to dance and sing about.

Funny, thinking of what I did and didn't know the last time I'd worn it. I couldn't entertain the notion of life after graduation at that point; I didn't know so many of the people that are regular characters in my current days. I had no way of knowing who would come into my life and which of those would leave, or stick around - whether I wanted them to or not (or a little of both - ahem). I had no idea of what role Washington would play in my life or how I'd find my way back to Vermont, with whom I would settle into a pleasant little domestic space, even what music I'd come to enjoy.

I sure as hell didn't know Mayer would wind up winning Grammys, or that Howie Day would actually make it big (we'll ignore the whole legal thing, for the sake of nostalgia).

My concert gear has turned darker over the years that have passed - reflecting the change in color choices in the rest of my life, actually. Black. Dark.

But maybe I'll take a walk on the brighter side for a little bit. I think yellow's going to have to make an appearance at the venues a bit more often.

But not that shirt. I'm going to keep that one to myself - and hum a little bit of "Sucker" each time I happen to take it off the hanger...