Winter Unclothed
Copyright© 2026 by Kate Evergreen
Chapter 5: November 26th Coat
The days after the first full naked walk blur together in a haze of grey light and cold air and the feeling of skin against the world. I wake up every morning, and I don’t put on any clothes. I walk to the kitchen. I drink my coffee. I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.
And I don’t wear anything.
People stare at me. They whisper about me. They take photos of me. I see them on their phones, their cameras pointed in my direction. I hear the clicks and the shutter sounds. I hear the whispers and the gasps.
“She’s crazy.”
“Did you see what she’s wearing?”
“Is she okay?”
“Someone should do something.”
I don’t respond. I don’t explain. I just keep walking.
I walk through the cold. I walk through the whispers. I walk through everything, and I don’t feel a thing.
But something is changing. Something is happening. I can feel it.
I feel like I’m becoming something else. I feel like I’m shedding more than just clothes. I feel like I’m shedding the ghost.
I think about the man in the library. I think about his questions. I think about the answers I’m starting to find.
I think about the layers. The layers I’ve shed. The layers I still have to shed.
I think about what’s underneath.
I’m starting to find out.
On Monday morning, I walk to campus. The temperature is in the single digits. The wind is blowing. My skin is exposed to the air. Everything is exposed.
I walk across the Washington Avenue Bridge. I stop in the middle to look at the river. The river is still frozen. The ice is thick and grey. The chunks of ice are still stuck together.
But the cracks are getting wider.
I stand there, naked, looking at the river. I think about the ice cracking. I think about the water starting to flow again.
I think about what that means for me.
I walk to campus. I teach my classes. I have my meetings. I grade my papers. I do everything I’m supposed to do.
And I don’t wear anything.
In my Ethics seminar, I talk about the nature of the body. I talk about how we inhabit our bodies. I talk about how we use our bodies to express ourselves. I talk about how we use our bodies to hide ourselves.
I look at my students. They’re trying to figure out where to look. They’re trying to figure out how to act.
But none of them says anything.
After class, Emily comes up to me. She’s looking at me with concern in her eyes.
“Professor Berglund,” she says. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Are you okay? Really? I mean, I know you keep saying you’re fine, but “ She stops. She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.
I look at her. I look at her concerned face. I look at her eyes. I look at the way she’s trying to figure out what to do.
“I don’t know if I’m okay,” I say. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been okay. But I think I’m getting closer to something. I think I’m getting closer to being real.”
She looks at me. She doesn’t understand. But she doesn’t push.
“Okay,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure.”
I walk to my office. I sit at my desk. I stare at the wall.
I think about what I said. I think about being real. I think about what that means.
I don’t know if I’m real yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be real. But I think I’m getting closer.
I sit in my office for the rest of the afternoon. I grade papers. I answer emails. I do everything I’m supposed to do.
And I don’t wear anything.
At five o’clock, I leave campus. I walk across the Washington Avenue Bridge. I stop in the middle to look at the river.
The river is still frozen. But the cracks are getting wider.
I stand there, naked, looking at the river. I think about the ice cracking. I think about the water starting to flow again.
I think about what that means for me.
I walk to the library. I walk through the stacks. I pass the history section, the sociology section, and the philosophy section. I turn the corner toward my usual table.
He’s there.
He’s sitting in the same seat, wearing the same coat, looking at the same river.
I walk up to the table. I sit down. I take off my bag. I put it on the floor.
He looks at me. He looks at my naked body. He looks at my bare skin. He doesn’t say anything.
I don’t say anything.
We sit in silence. The library hums. The river flows. The hours pass.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the notebook. He writes something. He slides it across the table.
How are you feeling?
I read the words. I think about them. How am I feeling? I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer that question.
I don’t know, I write.
Yes, you do.
I read the words. I think about them. Yes, I do. I know how I’m feeling. I just don’t know how to put it into words.
I feel like I’m becoming something else.
What?
I don’t know. Something real.
He reads the words. He looks at me. He nods.
Good.
He writes something else.
The next step.
I read the words. I think about them. The next step. There’s always a next step.
What is it?
One month. You wear nothing. You don’t explain yourself. You stay in the district.
I read the words. I think about them. One month. No clothes. No explanations. Just walking through the world as I am.
And after a month? I write.
You figure out what happens after a month.
I look at him. I look at his steady eyes. I look at his unreadable face.
I think about the offer. One month of walking naked through the world. One month of being exposed. One month of being real.
Why? I write.
Because that’s how you’ll know you’re not hiding anymore.
I read the words. I think about them. Not hiding. That’s what I want. Not hiding.
What if someone touches me? I write.
You let them. To stop you, to help you, to harm you. You let them. And then you continue.
I read the words. I think about them. Letting someone touch me. Not flinching. Not fighting. Just letting them.
Why? I write.
Because that’s how you’ll know you’re not afraid anymore.
I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. But I know I want to try.
I’ll do it.
He nods. Just once. He puts the notebook in his pocket.
“Good,” he says. “Start tomorrow.”
He stands up. He looks at me.
“See you next month,” he says.
And then he walks away.
I watch him go. I watch him disappear into the stacks.
I sat there for a long time. I think about what I just agreed to. One month without clothes. One month without explanations. One month of being seen.
I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I don’t know if I’ll survive.
But I know I want to try.
I stand up. I pick up my bag. I sling it over my shoulder.
I walk out of the library. I walk home through the cold. I don’t feel the cold. I don’t feel anything.
But I feel something else. I feel like I’m on the edge of something. I feel like I’m about to take a step. I feel like I’m about to let go of something I’ve been holding onto for a long time.
I don’t know what it is. But I’m going to find out.
I walk home. I walk through the snow. I walk through the cold. I walk through the darkness.
And I think about the next month. I think about what it’s going to be like. I think about the stares and the whispers and the photos. I think about the people who are going to try to stop me.
I think about the people who are going to try to help me.
I think about the people who are going to try to harm me.
I think about what I’m going to do when they touch me.
I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
But I’m going to try.
I walk into my house. The house is dark and cold. I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t turn on the heat.
I walk through the dark to my bedroom. I lie down on my bed. I stare at the ceiling.
I think about the man in the library. I think about the one month. I think about what it’s going to mean.
I think about the bag. The bag over my shoulder. The one thing I haven’t shed.
I don’t know why I’m holding onto it. I don’t know why I need it. But I can’t let go of it.
Maybe I’m not ready. Maybe I need something to carry. Maybe I need something to hold onto.
But I think about what it would be like to let it go.
I think about what it would be like to walk through the world with nothing at all.
I close my eyes. I try to sleep. I lie there in the dark, in the cold, in the silence.
And I think about tomorrow.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know who I’m going to become.
But I’m going to find out.
I woke up in the morning. The sun is rising. The light is grey and thin. The snow is still falling.
I stand up. I walk to the window. I look out at the world.
I don’t put on any clothes.
I walk to the kitchen. Ingrid is there. She’s making coffee. She looks at me, at my nakedness. She doesn’t say anything.
She pours me a cup of coffee. She hands it to me. She doesn’t say anything.