BAGGAGE

Today was the first day I’ve gone without a Band Aid over my Nearly Ready new scar. In line at the Coffee Bean this morning, I was basking in my ability to reach in my pocket for change without snagging a bandage when I suddenly heard a voice behind me.

“What happened to your hand?”

I turned and it was the woman I think of as the Bag Lady - not because she’s homeless, quite the contrary. She was the first woman I saw carrying the newest Marc Jacobs/Louis Vuitton handbag which is white with brightly colored logos. Go on... laugh. I don’t have a handbag obsession and this isn’t something you should have known about. I’d just read an article in the New York Times on how impossible it is to buy the bag in NYC - a supposed waiting list of two years. My Bag Lady has had hers several months and every time I’ve seen her, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time (meaning any) observing her and her bag. I pictured her glibly handing over a Platinum card, perhaps even in Paris. Maybe backstage after the runway show, cooly double kissing the models and acting surprised when Marc himself hands one to her as a favored customer.

We’d exchanged smiles and hellos but this was the first time we’d gone to the next level. Now was my chance to solve The Mystery of the Designer Bag. Maybe it’s why I did what I did, the anticipation of uncovering the truth overwhelming me. I choked. I panicked. I lied.

“Oh, it happened in a knife fight.”

Uh, excuse me, I said to myself, what did you just say? I even instinctively looked her in the eye as I spoke, a trick I’d gleaned from too much Law and Order where the serial killer blinks when he lies. The sentence hovered between us like a jittery hummingbird in the small window of opportunity I had to correct myself. Just tell the nice woman it was a joke. Ha ha! Knife fight? Look at me, I’m gay! Hello!

“Oh my god! It must have been horrible! Are you OK?”

There went my window. She had already moved on to vague concern, eyes widening while her handbag hung neglected on her arm. If I told the truth now I might seem cruel or devious, a con-man who steals people’s sympathy with fake wounds. On the other hand, admitting I’d stupidly fallen in my apartment and broken a glass table top sounded, well, prissy after a knife fight, especially if I confessed it was a fab mid-century piece I’d really liked. While a major issue surrounding my accident was I’d broken something very cool, it was perhaps not as big an issue as being involved in a knife fight. Story writers for the prison drama Oz would smirk at my dilemma. “Hey, I know. Let’s have one of the inmates trip in his cell and break a Knoll table! Ha ha ha!”

“Well,” I finally replied, “I’m OK now.”

“Does it hurt?”

Well sure it hurt. But once I accepted the loss of the table and talked myself into thinking it was maybe not that cool, I felt better. In fact I’ve already bought a new table to replace it. But believe you me, the first few days were touch and go. The bag, I reminded myself, ask about the bag! What kind of man is involved in knife fights and has an interest in handbags? Tranny street hookers, that’s who. I’d talked myself into making a choice - knife fight story or handbag.

“It did at first but the doctors say I should regain full feeling.”

The moment I dragged other people - doctors, for god’s sake - into my story, I threw in the towel. I realized why children sometimes lie, not because they have to but because they can. At this point I could have easily included astronauts or perhaps cowboys and indians. I could have gotten cut fighting off dinosaurs.

She opened her purse to pay for her soy milk latté and I quickly scanned inside for the label. I’d also learned in my research that the pattern outside includes cartoon-like eyes in a couture attempt at whimsy. No label, no eyes but she turned and caught my attempted investigation. I smiled at her and she smiled back, perhaps a little more slyly than I’d expected. Her bag, my knife fight. We both cut our losses and tucked our secrets somewhere else.

“Feel better.” she said as she picked up her drink and walked out the door.

Funny, I felt immensely better already.

5:02:52 PM    sro home /