Work Text:
‘that mustard not so yellow bag’
i remember the first time she mentioned it. ‘i left it at [he who i refuse to name]’s. everything i have is in there.’ twas a heavy downpour. that last night of september. we hauled every single thing we could. every single bit cramped in a green white cab waiting out in the dreadful rain, but the mustard bag that held her ‘life’. the bag was kept in that deep dark recesses that had once been her life with him. typical that he bought chains and locks to secure it there. clock ticked one and i remember it as if it were a black and white movie in constant replay —- her, scared and determined in that downpour… delved into their tool shed for anything to wreck that closet open. when she came back, she held it as though it was the last stretch of tube that kept her breathing. that last night of september, in that barely sizeable excuse of a car, we helped her escape what she once called my new life.
barely 6 months, i open my eyes and from our bed, i see that mustard - not so yellow - bag sitting out in our living room — open and not lying bare. i blink and next i saw is her, in red shirt and jeans, walking back and forth. blow dry. deo. lotions. shoes. pumps. 3 inch heels. flats. dresses. jeans. shirts. purse. discovery suites laundry bag. toiletries …. it filled the mustard bag one after the other.
i didn’t stand up. i watched as she walked into the room and back out. into the 2nd room and to the kitchen. to the dresser back to the couch. i watched and in my head, ingrid bergman and humphrey bogart were a side show also in constant replay. it was my black and white movie of choice.
the mustard bag was filling up. i stood. walked to the side of our couch and sat by the big red pillow. animatedly, she spoke the whole time. i hardly heard a word.
it was a preview of what will be and i got an all press pass backstage access to see it.
i continued to sit, legs bent as if i am to channel my zen and do yoga. she continued to talk with that usual enthusiasm, with that subtle sing song inflection. she spoke of people in and out of our lives. she spoke of the incident now at work, of much more that now seemed gibberish as i sat there pretending to hear all of it.
then she spoke of him. and how in a few weeks they will be at macau.
she spoke and i looked.
and in our couch sat the discovery suites laundry bag, that maroon daily baggette … and that mustard - not so yellow - bag.