Red Bag of Courage

Red Bag of Courage


Tucking myself into a corner table at the Social Cafe, Barry Manilo streamed Copacabana in the background. Humming right along with Barry, I set up my workstation. On the right of my laptop I lined up my spiral notebook, Bic pens, and cell phone on the wobbly bistro table.

Already dressed for my two-o’clock appointment, I rolled the frayed white cuffs up on my last clean blouse. A vague scent of mothballs clung to my navy blue pants. The coordinating Anne Klein jacket draped forsaken on the back of the chair opposite me. A simple conservative outfit totaling less than twenty dollars at Goodwill, but worth every penny to make me look professional.

Just shy of one o’clock, growls and gargles rumbled from my stomach tempting me with the cinnamon and vanilla flavors waffling through the shop. Clattering of small dishes and utensils reminded me to eat something. Fat chance. Down to my last few dollars, I already spent half on a steaming cup of burnt coffee with a sprinkling of Equal. I relied on the caffeine to keep me focused, but I let my eyes wander.

The cafe is off Main Street where people seeking a reprieve from high-end shopping can relax with an over-priced cup of coffee and perhaps a scone or a muffin. However, Danish and cupcakes with swirled icing teased me from behind a glass case. Business was mainly to-go as the atmosphere was tight and occupancy limited with only six small tables and a two-seater sofa wedged between two pillars.

Piping hot coffee stabbed my tongue while I tunneled through my email. A lot of it was just junk mail, except for my Visa notification. It warned that I was maxed out, and two months in arrears, plus some words that implied pay now or die. More aggravation came from the sound of two giggly girls. They parked their skinny butts on the fake leather sofa, tossing a glossy cherry red shopping bag to the side. The fake six-foot Ficus plant, separating us, made for good camouflage. They hadn’t even noticed me. I continued viewing my email while they chattered on.

“Ash, I think he’s going to propose to me.”

After several shrieks and gales of ‘oh my gods’, I peeked through the pretend plant and my heart sank like a cement boot. I tried to look undisturbed when hot coffee dribbled down the front of my blouse. Wide-eyed in shock, my happiness crept further away moment by moment.

It was them! The pretty girls. The bullies from high school. The ones I did not miss for the last four years. Ashley and Tara. The flawless mean girls who smirked and mocked me. The girls I wanted to sit on and crush with my then enormous butt. I was no longer the chubby girl with big glasses or hard to tame hair, but their taunts still echoed fresh in my mind.

The rude jeers, tormenting my already fragile psyche came flooding back. “Hey, fatty Patty, you want more catsup with those fries?” Then one of them drowned my meal with the red stuff. I lacked courage to say anything. I just laughed it off, holding back tears of shame.

“Look away Tara, the four-eyed chubberoon is coming. Run for your life.” Or, “Don’t look upon us with your ugly eyes.” Yes, high school was hell and I was so glad when it was over.

I went away to college and became a poor starving student. My roommate, a heaven sent Japanese girl named Suzume, shared her culinary cuisine and habits. Instead, of gaining the freshman fifteen, I lost twenty-five, then fifty, and finally a grand total of seventy-five pounds. Suzume and I ate like sparrows on tofu, vegetables and occasional grilled fish. But it was nutritious and healthy and we were best friends. She lifted my spirits and called me by my real name, Patrice. I helped her with calculus and she tried in vein to teach me Japanese. It was the best of times in our tiny little dorm room.

I stopped wearing glasses and got contacts and learned to use a flat iron on my hair. All in all, I’m not a great beauty, but I do all right. But at this moment, I was still the four-eyed fat girl in high school. And to make matters worse, almost a vagrant.

I wanted to make a mad dash for the rest room to clean the stain from my blouse, but what if they recognized me? Would they taunt me for being a slob and wearing charity clothes? No doubt in my mind. They sat there all pristine in their white summer outfits sipping from red cups. They were still flawless, and I hated them. They were difficult to ignore with their summer tan and long hair.

I was a dunce in the corner and prisoner to their conversation. Their chatter was grating on my last nerve.

Ashley had a string of boyfriends she was using and enjoyed the attention of dates and gifts. She was getting rid of someone named Kip something because he didn’t bring her flowers on their first month anniversary. “Looser.” She made the L sign against her forehead. Also, she was only in the thinking stages of finding employment with her art history degree. “If I have to work, I want to get an editor position at someplace like Vogue, or Glamour. I can’t be bothered with the small rags.”

To my surprise Tara replied, “Did you even take any journalism classes? How about an intern position?”

Ashley convulsed into laugher. “Pfft. You mean work for free? Are you kidding?” They both snickered. “Besides, I need more time off…maybe take a vacay at a Mexican resort and just lay in the sun.”

Vacay? I’d never been on vacation. I could only imagine Mexico, or any place else for that matter. Am I jealous? You bet I am. But, at least if I was to go to Mexico, I’d at least get to know it – not just sit around getting skin cancer like an ass-hat.

I went back to surfing on my computer and forcefully disregarded the enemy for awhile. I busied myself researching the company I wished to be gainfully employed with soon. Time flew by and the next thing I knew, Ashley was leaving for her mani and pedi appointment.

“Why don’t you come with me and get the works?” Ashley slung her Coach bag over her shoulder.

“Love to, but I’m returning this lame gift Tom gave me for something more me,” replied Tara.

“Okay, it’s been fun,” Ashley blew air kisses. “Call me soon and sooner if Tom pops the question. This is so great.”

“I know…can’t wait to get my ring.”

“It’s all about the ring, girl. Later.” Ashley flipped her blonde hair and swished out the door.

Tara checked her watch and decided there was time for another five-dollar cappuccino. She tapped her foot as she waited for the barista to finish with the crew-cut guy wearing a postal uniform. I watched another job hunter, a middle aged man set up by the window; give Tara an adoring once over. Her lush chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail that almost reached her waist. The perfect arched brows and sweeping dark lashes were set off by the peony pink lip-gloss. A good disguise for the devil’s sidekick.

My attention was drawn back to the pinging of more email, thus, I missed the disappearance of Tara.

The forgotten red bag sat like a lonely soldier on the sofa. It glistened with promise and craved my attention. It called out to me, but I waited. What if she came back? Time was closing in on me; I would have to leave soon for my interview. I stashed all my stuff back into my leatherette bag, discarded my cup on a tray for washing, and with casual nonchalance snagged the sacred bag. I placed it on the empty chair with my jacket and waited, eyeing it with suspicion, my heart pounding like a hammer.

With fifteen minutes left until my interview, I needed ten of those minutes for walking. I grabbed everything like a thief and smuggled it into the ladies room.

I had to see what was inside the bag. It was from a little boutique called CouRage. I reached inside and grasped the tidy bundle wrapped in tissue paper. Laying it on the granite vanity, I peeled back the layers of tissue. Raising the scarlet silk, I buried my face in it before I let it unfold and billow its full length of five feet. “This is beautiful.” Hand painted gold symbols detailed each end of the scarf. The accompanying tag explained the symbol meant Luck. I wanted to marry Tom. All this beauty for the price of $200. Aghast, I looked in the mirror above the sink and for the first time noticed the awful brown coffee stain on my blouse. I pulled on my jacket and buttoned it up. The stain screamed, SLOB.

I stood paralyzed. Would it be stealing? Maybe. But I found it – finder’s keepers. I could turn it over to the clerk, or I’ll just put it on for a moment – get the feel of it, first. Twining it twice around my neck I tugged it down to cover the stain. The transformation was incredible. I stood up straight adjusting my resale jacket, radiant at how well the color enhanced my appearance. I oozed confidence.

A stall flushed. It never occurred to me to check for occupants. Grabbing the cherry red bag, I crammed it into the waste can, and then rinsed my hands. I gasped and cringed when I saw Tara exit the stall. I felt the flush of perspiration dotting my face. The roots of my hair tingled with dread. Her mirrored reflection stared hard at me as she lathered her hands. I could smell her Chanel. Turning away, I gathered all my things, and tried to make a graceful exit before stumbling over my own feet.

“Wait.”

I froze with my hand on the door.

"Is that a CouRage scarf?”

I panicked for a split second ready to spill my guts, but I realized Tara still didn’t recognize me, nor was the cherry red bag in evidence. I gambled. “Of course. My boyfriend, Tom, gave it to me.”

Tara frowned. I cracked a big toothy smile and walked out. Mean girls don’t run.

“It looks good on you,” she called through the closing door.

“And I’m feeling good,” I sang right back.



Word Count: 1775