The Purse and The Scarf

pursex

There was once a purse more solid and secure than any other purse in the town. She was large with a dull leather body, and a strong strap that dangled by her side. The only problem she faced was that she felt perpetually empty.

I need something to fill me up, she constantly thought. Something logical. Something I can rely on. She stuffed herself with money. Loose dollar bills and coins weighed her down. With her new wealth, she could buy anything she wanted.

She bought a wallet for organization. She bought chapstick so that she wouldn’t crack. She bought a comb, floss, band aids (just in case) and a pad of paper. Still, she felt empty. Her items were necessities, but she still needed more.

The other purses she saw looked fancy. They were patterned with the help of different stitches. As a collection of material, they stood together, fabric clinging to the outside of their leather. They had color and life where her body felt heavy and dark. When the purse looked at the others, she could only feel sadness.

Then one day at the thrift store the purse saw a scarf. It was pink, flowy, and blew in the air conditioning.

“You look like the perfect scarf,” the purse said.

“Thank you, but I’m far from perfect,” the scarf replied.

“But why?”

“I’m too flighty. Without something to tie me down, I’ll blow away. You are the perfect one. So secure and strong. If only I had your presence.”

“You wouldn’t want to be me,” the purse lamented. “I may be secure, but I feel completely empty. Can I use you to make me feel whole inside?”

The scarf thought for a moment. “No, I can not fill you up.”

“But I need you. I have all this stuff inside me, but I’m still so empty.”

“I can not fill you up. I’m too light and there is not enough of me to fill that hole.”

The purse started to cry. “What will I do?”

“I’ll tell you what,” the scarf said after careful consideration. “We can become friends. Arm in arm, we can travel throughout life together. You’ll tie me down, and I’ll support you.  I’ll never be able to fill you up completely, but a part of me will cover you with color.”

The purse stopped crying. She held out her strap and the scarf clung on. Together they would face the days side by side.

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The Jar

jar

I like to call it my glass pocket. The jar that holds scraps of paper, twisted, bent and floating to the top. Crinkled memories saved. Sketches of celebrities doing novel things in far off places. A picture of David Duchovny eating McDonalds on the Coney Island ferris wheel twirls in place. Diana Ross singing Stop In The Name Of Love to Isis.

Put a lid on it, they say.

But I can’t close my pocket. Its memories might shatter.