The Black Bag
21 Mar 2005 Leave a Comment
I resent that black bag. Hanging around his neck like an albatross. It will be the death of us. He carries it with him like a life preserver to save him from drowning in commitment. And after a year together it still provides him with a way to escape. For the last month we haven’t spent one night apart and yet he still can’t leave the retainer that he only wears in his sleep at the place that he spends every night! I watch him, morning after morning, make sure to pack it up in his black bag and take it with him to work. I can’t escape that morning ritual. Even when I attempt to sleep through the compulsive packing, I am sharply woken by the sound of his vitamins rattling in their bottle as he throws open the flap, making the bed shake. I lie, sleepy and irritated, forced to witness his belongings, one by one, disappear into that black hole. And then, to make sure I don’t go back to sleep, there’s the harsh sound again when it’s closed. The black bag continues to rattle with every step as he leaves, taking with it every sign of his presence (that I haven’t purchased and placed there) deep in its black folds.
Aloha there, I'm Megan Finley. I'm a 30-something girl, living in Los Angeles with that guy I married and our rescued pets. I work online (a LOT) for the 
