The Pink Sack

There is no experience more painful than looking for an item

inside my mother’s pink tote bag. My mom has carried the same bag

my entire life, a flimsy piece of thin, neon pink cloth that strongly

resembles crinkled tissue paper. Looking at it, one would assume that

the absolute most weight it would be able to carry would be equivalent

to a BandAid and two hair ties. However, the never ending surplus

of products that reside within that cloth could easily restock a small

CVS. Chargers, ear plugs, hair ties, Aquaphor, pens, ten chapsticks

“just in case you can’t find the other nine,” credit cards, every gift card

ever received, granola bars, Goldfish crackers, water bottles, Advil,

Tylenol, iron, vitamins, tissues, masks from the pandemic, because

“you never know when the person next to you at the theater will start

coughing,” a baseball cap, and of course a ziploc bag in every size,

because “you never know when you’re going to come across food to

take home.”

If she used a bag that was better suited to carry these items, this

surplus might be acceptable. However, beyond its unflattering

appearance, the bag is extremely impractical. There are no pockets,

just one large hole in which every item is submerged beneath the

other. Looking for an item produces the same frustration that I felt

as a young child digging through the sand hoping to reach water. No

matter how long and how vigorously I dug, my desired product never appeared. Above all, its absolute worst flaw is that it has no zipper.

Running around in public looking as if we’re invested in the most

extreme game of pick-up sticks as we gather every scattered item

that has spilled from her bag has become our daily norm. The people

who sat near us at Derek Hough’s Christmas show last year probably

still think about those two strange women who spent the entirety of

intermission crawling under the seats gathering stray items.

Her continued use of this sack is not because she has no other

options. On the contrary, she must have at least 50 unused bags in her

closet that have zippers, pockets and are much better quality than her

hot pink tote that she got for free in a give-away before I was born.

However, despite her plethora of choices, and the constant pleas from

me and my sister, the bag remains draped over her shoulder. Though

I continue to tease her and try to hide my embarrassment whenever I

am asked to carry the sack in public, a part of me, the part that must

be subconscious, has grown accustomed to it. Deep down, there is no

other bag I would want to see my mom carry.

Last week, there was a fire drill during my economics class. My

hand ached as we walked down the staircase. I had left my computer

on my bedroom floor that morning and as a result had spent the

entirety of class taking notes by hand. It was one of the first cold

winter days where the temperature made standing quietly in a

single file line extremely unpleasant. I stood with my arms wrapped

around my body in the sea of silent high schoolers. I was staring

ahead, looking at the back of the student in front of me, when all of

a sudden I saw a neon pink tote bag swing into my view. I could not

see the person holding the bag, as they were blocked by numerous

shivering bodies. However, I knew that there was only one person

that sack could belong to. A few moments later I saw my mother

powerwalking into the dead silent crowd with my computer in hand.

My friends began pointing and mouthing “um Julia is that your

Mom?” and the teenager in me wanted nothing more than to vanish

from embarrassment. However, I couldn’t manage to hold back my

gleaming smile as I saw her and her bag prancing towards me.

Her bag has become a staple of her individuality and unapologetic

confidence, of which I am in awe. Despite family, friends and peers

nagging on her bag year after year she continues to carry it through

life undeterred by all the comments, that, while light hearted, would

most likely drive others to decide to carry an alternative purse.

But not my mom. Secure and unbothered, she continues to walk

through life with her neon pink tote by her side, at black tie parties,

fancy dinners and even through a crowd of high schoolers, which is

honestly the bravest endeavor of them all. That day, I stood there in

the frigid air, my eyes fixated on her pink bag knowing that I would be lucky to ever embody half of the confidence she has. I don’t know how

I’ll get there. It’s a pretty high bar. Maybe I should start by carrying a

neon pink tote bag.