By A.E. Bayne
The bag was not large enough to hold all of her possessions, but she knew this before she started. That was not the point; rather, the point was for her to look fashionable while traveling on the train north to liaison with him. So, as she pulled the all too small bag out of the dusty closet, and after brushing a protuberance of cat hairballs off of its surface, she swung it through her bedroom, arcing it onto her rumpled bed.
This glossy red, faux alligator print bag had cost her nothing, a throw-away from a friend who’d obtained it through an offer from Estée Lauder at the mall; but she thought it looked fairly chic, as it was meant to look. The bag would have made a fine work satchel, perhaps a solid case for carrying papers to and from class, but it had neither the depth nor the breadth to hold all that she would need for this night’s visit.
She opened the bag, fingering the zipper, and then the polyester lining with pockets for cell phone and makeup. Into it, she deposited an extra pair of shoes, in case they decided to take a walk in Olde Towne that evening, as well as some touch-up nail polish for her toes. She would wear heels to meet him at the train station, but she didn’t think she’d be able to hold out if they strolled around town; however, the heels did make her legs look ten miles long, and the flats always gave her the sensation of being dwarfed by everyone around her. What the hell, she would have the flats in case the heels started to give her blisters. She could always stick them into her bag if they went out.
The plan was to stay in for dinner and a movie, so the shoes would probably come off at the door. Speaking of which, she would definitely need a suitable outfit for bumming around the apartment. This would be their first attempt at a weekend together, so she wanted to give it some thought. If she took something too revealing, he would think that she was looking for sex immediately; and while she would like to see the evening end that way, she would also like to be able to get through the film. So, maybe the yoga pants and the cute t-shirt. That was low-key and wouldn’t send the message, “jump my bones,” before the end of the film. She imagined herself snuggled up to him in her tee and spandex/cotton mix. Yes. Check. She threw it in the bag.
In also went the facial wash, the moisturizer, toothbrush, toothpaste (no, he probably had toothpaste), hair brush, hair clip, make-up bag packed with her “light” face, two pair of fresh underwear, contact lens solution, glasses, deodorant, perfume, an extra bra, and a pair of socks.
She figured that she could wear the same outfit coming home in the morning, but maybe she should pack a fresh top. On the way up, she would wear the loose, brightly embellished peasant top with the black walking shorts and black heels. Maybe she would switch to casual in the morning with a powder blue, fitted button-up tank and her abalone studded thong sandals. They would most likely hit a diner for breakfast.
Done! The bag was packed. Wait! She shoved her cell phone with its charger, camera and extra battery pack, a notebook in case she had a chance to write, and the novel from her bedside table into the sides and corners of the bag. Oh, and an extra pen. Could she fit her drawing tablet? No, no more room. She could carry it. No.
This was one night, she reprimanded herself. Was she over-thinking the packing? Probably, but this was new and rather exciting for her. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance.
The bag itself looked less like a sophisticated piece of travel wear and more like a stuffed sausage with a gaping wound on top. She struggled with the zippery lips, pulling them close to tight with her weaker left hand, while attempting to force the zipper along the teeth to close it with her right hand. Just, one, more, half, an, inch! There! The closed bag now resembled a misshapen sofa cushion, large bulges pushing out on either side. So rotund was the bag, that the handles barely allowed a finger hold when she grasped them together to pull it off the bed. Maybe she had over packed. Could her life really be so complicated that she needed a full-sized suitcase for an overnight visit? Why couldn’t she leave these things behind?
She pulled the bag down the hall, cursing and scuffing walls as she went. It gave her an unsightly gait. This was certainly not the urbane image she had hoped to display on the train to the city, nor when she exited the car and walked into his arms. She was envisioning Grace Kelly, but looked more like Quasimodo.
Dropping the bag by the door, she let out an audible, “phew.” Good golly, miss molly, she had no idea how she was going to get the bag to the station. She checked her watch. The cab would be here in ten minutes. She checked her reflection in the mirror by the door and swept the dewy sweat from her brow. Looking good.
Her phone vibrated against her hip, causing her to jump into the table.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me,” he said.
“I just finished packing.”
“I hope you didn’t go to a lot of trouble. You won’t need much.”
“No, not any trouble, “ she crossed her fingers.
“I mean, it’s no big deal, right. Just dinner and a movie,” his voice trailed away.
“Sure,” she didn’t like his tone. “I’m excited about coming up though. This will be fun.”
“Yeah, but you know, we can just, hang,” he casually suggested.
“Um, okay.”
“I mean, we can go out and go shopping for food,” he picked up.
“Yeah, that’s what we said,” she edged.
“And then the movie.”
“Well, yeah.”
“It’s just, my back has been bothering me,” he began.
“Oh, what’s wrong, “ she asked quietly.
“Just the usual. It’s very sore,” he sighed.
“Oh, okay, I’m sorry. Maybe I can give you a back rub?”
“Maybe. It’s just, I can’t really do anything, you know.”
“Do you want to, “ she paused, breathed, gulped, “do this another time?”
“No! Well, no, not unless you do,” he back-pedaled.
“Oh, well, I’m okay with either way, “she said too fast.
“No, no, come on up…” he said half-heartedly.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Come up. We’ll make dinner and watch the movie.”
“Okay, because I am packed. We don’t have to do anything.”
“Yeah. It’s just…” he stopped.
“Just?”
“It’s just, what are we doing here?”
The question. She thought for a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“What does all this mean? What are we doing?” he weakly elaborated.
“Getting together? Like we planned?” she said, dismayed.
“No, I mean, you know how I feel about us,” he said.
Oh, she knew. She sighed audibly.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I just think we should make it clear. What are we doing? Are we friends with benefits?”
He made it sound so tawdry. Really? Friends with benefits? After three years? Now she was getting angry.
“Well, I think we’ve been through a lot to call it that. Is that how you think of it?”
She hoped he could hear the frustration in her voice.
“No! I mean, I know you are not the type to want that kind of relationship,” he said pointedly.
“No, we’ve talked about that.”
“But that is what we’re doing, right? Because you know that I’m not into having a relationship right now.”
“So you’ve said,” she paused, hiccupping a tear. “I guess I just thought, after last time…” she trailed off, pausing to let the emotion sink back into the pit of her stomach.
“You thought what?”
“Well, with what we’ve been through recently, and then the way we were together the last time,” she offered and then stopped. “You know what? I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore. I feel very stupid.”
“No! What do you mean? You should not feel stupid,” he blurted.
“Well, yeah, I do. I feel like I misinterpreted what you meant last time, and it’s not the first time I’ve done that with you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
“So, where do we go now,” he asked.
“I think we both need some distance at this point,” she said decidedly.
She looked at the bag, tipping over with its ridiculous weight, thinking about the farce she had allowed herself to believe.
She continued, “I don’t say that out of anger or malice, but life needs to move on for both of us. We’ve got too much baggage.”
“Oh, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me. I do,” he said, unconvinced. She knew he thought she would come around again in a few weeks, a month tops. It had been that way for three years.
“The fact that you can say that to me, and accept the fact that it will mean that we won’t have anything to do with one another, tells me that we don’t have any kind of relationship. It tells me more than you could have ever said directly. It tells me that we are over. Goodbye then.”
With tears finally searing a trail down her face, she hung up the phone and let it fall from her hand. It spun across the table and bounced off of the much abused glossy red bag.
