The Purse (Part 2)

This past semester was a source of extreme anxiety for me for many reasons. Among them was a growing sense of terror that after years of total silence, my mother was about to resurface.

I had been speaking to my maternal aunt at this point, and my maternal grandmother (though they were sworn to secrecy). This was high-risk for me, since the last year in particular had been soooooo good and I had so much to lose. In addition, I had also added a couple of my cousins on Facebook. I worried that I was starting to let my guard down.

My family laughs at me and my paranoia. They tell me, she's gotten the message. It's been years, she's accepted that our relationship is dead, but I know better. I know it. I know it like I know that the sun will rise. She's out there, and she's always up to something...

Anyway, there was a great deal of stress in my world regarding whether or not she would show up at my graduation. I was promised that she wouldn't, and I withheld the information regarding the ceremony specifics for as long as possible.

Thankfully graduation came and went without issue.

I was flooded with relief. For a while I felt as if everyone else was right after all. Perhaps she'd given up the weird passive aggressive behavior. Maybe now she was willing to just let it go.




In an unrelated event several months ago I lost my phone, and then a short time later my wallet. My dad attributes this to the fact that my purse is more or less a sack. It's made of cloth, it's got pictures of bones on it, and there is no means of closing it. Ever since then he has been on a mission to get me to upgrade to a grown-up lady-purse. Something that I am vehemently opposed to. (I begrudgingly upgraded to sack purses after dad continually expressed his displeasure with the manilla envelope I had been using prior).

Shopping trips with dad are often punctuated with him browsing through the purse section, him explaining the benefits of a real purse (i.e. it closes, and you won't constantly lose stuff - which would be a valid argument if we weren't talking about me here. I could lose an elephant in an empty closet.), and me desperately trying to distract him with anything else. So far I have been successful at avoiding having to upgrade to a real purse. Something which I am very proud of.



The weekend before last my car broke without warning. It was towed to the mechanics where it proceeded to run perfectly. At the end of the week Dad and I went to pick it up.

I opened the car door and sat down. Then I saw it.

A Macy's box.

I did not touch it. I looked at my dad and asked him what it was.

'It's from Agent X' he said.

I was pleased that he hadn't mentioned her name, or called her my mother, but displeased about the box.

As I stared at it, I said about a million I-told-you-so's in my mind. That box, it validated my constant state of hyper-vigilance. It was (to me at least) evidence that I was still right, and also perhaps that I had let my guard down a little too much.

'Don't get all twisted up' he said, lets just see what it is. I scowled at him as he opened it.

In the box of doom, was a purse. A grown-up Guess purse. With a zipper and everything. Just like the awful ones dad had wanted me to get. The clearance tags were still attached, but she had taken the time to cut out the actual prices for some reason. There was no note. Just me, my dad, a Macy's box, and a purse. Alone in the car.

Dad was thrilled. We'll just pretend it's from your grandmother he tried to reason. We don't know whose idea it actually was to buy it, maybe they all picked it out together. It's hard to say who it's really from...but he could see I was horrified. He changed tactics.

He looked me in the eyes and reminded me that he had just paid the mechanic for my car repairs. And then he told me that he expects me to carry the purse like an adult because I love him sooooo much.

I drove back to work. I went about my week. I pretended it didn't exist. But still it taunts me from the back seat of my car.

I am sure this was just coincidence. That the stars just happened to align in this most fateful sort of way. That my mother, inexplicably, after years of silence just decided at random to send me a purse. That it was all just chance that things happened the way that they did. But so many things about it nag at me. All the details that don't make sense. Why send it to my dad? Why not my sister who she actually has contact with. What was with the tags? Why take the time to cut out around each of the numbers on the price tags? Why not just cut that part off? Or remove the tags? Why now? Why a purse? The list goes on and on.

I know I'm giving her too much credit. I know that her plans are bizarre, chaotic, and poorly thought-out. I know that she's not clever enough to execute something half as sophisticated as this, and still, still it gnaws at me.

I look back at all the other just totally random and bizarre interactions we've had over the years and I just can't shake the feeling that she has some sort of hidden agenda.

For now the purse sits where dad left it, in the back seat of my car. My life continues to move forward, to be lovely and blessed, but the questions (for the time being at least) still haunt me.




And that Dear Friend, THAT is all I know. I'm still sick, possibly even sicker than before, and exhausted (hence the extra poor writing, lol), and I still miss your face. I hope things are well. Sending all my love.

Me.