How to Mend a Purse: A Love Story (of Sorts)

It’s oddly comforting, sometimes, to know that no one cares and that you are completely and utterly alone. That’s what I was thinking about that day. It occurred to me at some point at work, as I looked out my cubicle across the aisle, where I could see three more disillusioned-looking women typing away busily. It was all they could do. 1

Type, type.
Type, type, type.
Stock prices rose.
Stock prices fell.2

Stock market crashed after the total freakout of 9/11. Several hundred perished. Life went on. Kill them terrorists. Dear world, I think I’m going to lose my job. Oh really? That’s terrible. Do I care? No, probably not. But I don’t know what I’ll do now. Do any of us? No, I reckon not. So my plight isn’t at all unusual? No, not really. Better get used to it. I’m only twenty-six. 3

“Liz?” came a voice. Jolted by the sound of my self-give nickname and its unbearable familiarity, I winced. Completely oblivious, Eve (the source of the voice) continued, “mmmkay. So, like, Rachel is soooooo pissed at you right now. You know how you told her to do that assignment Daniel gave you? Well, she told David—” David being my boss as well as my ex-boyfriend, and Rachel’s current one— “and David made some random remark to her about how it was just like you because you had no commitment to anything or anyone, and that’s why you broke up with him, because you couldn’t even be committed to a relationship, or you two would still be together.” I sighed at this assault of names and social ties and emotions. “So she’s pissed because…” 4

“Because her boyfriend is still in love with you!” Eve squealed, no doubt thrilled at the drama. “Ohhhh my gosh, Elizabeth…” my glare made her pause; God, I hated when people used my real name! “Why don’t you two get back together?” 5

I massaged my forehead. I’d been getting awful headaches lately, like a constant and steady tiredness that never seemed to go away. It felt like my head was exploding, what from I’ll never know, or like the weight of the world itself and everyone in it was pressing down upon my head. “I—look—I just can’t deal with a relationship right now. Okay? Especially one with someone at the office. I just need a break. All right?” My voice sounded harsh to my ears, so I tried to soften my tone. “I just can’t deal with it right now. All the intimacy. And David, I could never get away from, he wanted to talk about everything going on, and since we were living together and working together, I couldn’t get away. I just needed my life to myself for a while. I just needed to get away. Do you understand me?” Eve nodded, but it was clear that she didn’t. She was an extremely social creature, always tied in with the latest gossip, friends or acquaintances with everyone no matter where she went, very much a part of everyone’s life and everyone’s life very much of interest to her. 6

After Eve left, the day dragged on. Two more (slight over-)doses of Advil got me through the day. It probably wasn’t healthy to go on like this. I took the bus home, as always. Sitting alone, I peered through the dingy window at the streets of New York. I watched the stores and people pass (or rather, I passed them by) and wondered about them. 7

Did the old lady in the baggy jeans and worn-out-looking coat go home to a house where her daughter and son-in-law—and maybe grandchildren— welcomed her with screams and smiles? 8

What about the man, probably a few years older than college-aged but looking extremely careworn, walking alone and slowly with a bag of groceries in his hand? Did he have a dissatisfying career, maybe unemployed? Was he married? Or dating someone, but it wasn’t working out? Or did he sleep alone and wonder—as I did every night, nowadays—if anyone out there was thinking about him and would notice if he stopped breathing?9

The girl with the blonde curls, who appeared to be the ringleader of a group of five or six giggly teenagers, leaning in close, smirking, looking over their shoulders. Probably gossiping about the goth girl walking away from them with an annoyed look. The ringleader smiled and I could just see her proclaiming how absolutely marvelous it was to be her. Somehow, I doubted it. So what was wrong with her, when her friends weren’t there and she was all alone? Did she look in the mirror and wonder why she wasn’t perfect? Abusive boyfriend, maybe, or just lack of focus in life? Or perhaps some idea that, beyond all the superficiality, maybe her cronies didn’t care about her as much when she wasn’t there for them to flatter. Did she realize just how alone she was then? 10

And I wondered about the goth girl in the long-sleeved shirt and sarcastic airs. Why was she that way? And was she really? At the end of the day, would she smile when she spoke to someone special? Did she—just like everyone else, maybe—have someone special in her life? Or was she all alone?11

“F*ck this,” I swore to myself and got off at the next stop. It was summer, and I was going to walk. The bus was hot (air conditioner broken, no doubt) and cramped. Entirely too many people for my taste. Besides, it was just a mile or so to my apartment complex and I’d walked that way so many times I could have closed my eyes. On the way, I was practically assaulted by a Mexican boy of probably seventeen. “You want buy purse, missy? They have pretty hearts,” he crowed, pointing at the pink hearts printed on the black purse. Another pink heart—plastic—joined the shoulder-strap to the body of the purse on one side. Probably the worst part. It seemed so cheap, pretentious, and in such a fake way. “Just twenty dollars! And every week, I give 5% what I earn to charity!” Yeah right. But I bought the purse, even though I hated pink. It got rid of him. I kept walking, eyeing the hearts as if they might bite me. Cheap thing. I didn’t really need it. It wouldn’t do me any good anyway. 12

Presently I arrived in front of my apartment complex. I stood there for a while, somehow unwilling to enter and spend the rest of the evening alone, watching downtown New York from my third-floor window. Clubbing, or a rave? A night of flirting with people I’d never met and would never meet again? Somehow, not so appealing either. But also a better idea than calling up a coworker or two and doing anything with them. 13

So it came down to this: meaningless—if superficially exciting—interaction with people I didn’t know and had no connection to and would never see again, be completely alone, or spend time with people I knew and couldn’t stand and somehow, for some reason, didn’t want involved in my life in any way. David would have said it was a lack of commitment to my friends as well.14

“Watch out!” shouted a frantic masculine voice, and I felt myself thrown bodily into the brick wall before me. “Ooooof!” I grunted, and looked around, more than a little annoyed. My purse was lying in the road. A taxi had whizzed around the block, passing right where I would have been. The purse looked a bit beaten up, but whole except for the shoulder-strap, which had been ripped off right where it met the purse itself. The plastic heart had snapped in two, probably crushed by the car. I could have died if not for…15

“That was my elbow,” announced a rather disgruntled voice. I blinked and looked to my left. “Are you all right?” asked the man, a bit taller than me and about my age. He was handsome, though almost comical in his expression, dazed and slightly worried. “Um. Yeah. I’m fine.” I was dazed too. “Thanks for that… you probably just saved my life.” Did I really just say that? Time to be more suave. “Are you, like, okay?” Oh, good job, Elizabeth. Well done. “Yeah,” said the man. There was an extremely awkward silence in which I looked toward the street. 16

“Oh—your purse,” exclaimed the man, snatching it up. The strap dangled rather pathetically. “The heart bit is broken,” I commented ruefully. “Oh well, it was a rather crummy thing anyway, I suppose I didn’t need it.”17

“Nonsense,” said the guy, brushing the dust off the ill-fated bag and inspecting it further. “It’s still whole, just a bit worse for wear. I’m sure that it’ll be fine. Anyway, as for what is legitimately broken, I think that can be mended.” He reached into the briefcase that he had apparently dropped while rescuing me. I shudder at the cliché. 18

And he pulled out a needle and thread. He proceeded to sew the strap back to the body of the purse. Somehow, it looked better. Less like a fake-glamour purse you’d see at Limited Too or on the shoulder of a preteen wearing too much lipstick and playing grown-up. More…real, somehow. Pretty, actually. 19

“I’m in the business of mending hearts, as you can see,” he said, and winked, drawing a small chuckle from me. “I know most guys don’t carry needle and thread with them on a regular basis, but I promise I’m straight. And rather glad I happened to forget I had something else to do for dinner and head to my apartment. Though I’ll be late now, I guess.” He shrugged. “Honestly, dinner with my boss appeals to me less and less with each passing day.”20

“Well, I’m certainly grateful,” I laughed. “Wait…you live there?” I pointed at the complex. “I do as well. Third floor.” Did that sound like an attempt at suggesting…something? It wasn’t intended like that. “Nice enough place, I suppose, if a bit lonely.” Wow. I did not.21

He laughed. “Mine as well, I’m afraid. Must be an inherent characteristic of living in one of the most crowded cities in the world.” I smiled with sympathy, and a moment of understanding passed between us. It scared me in a way, this complete emotional intimacy that could occur in a split second between you and someone you had never met before, someone who wasn’t you, someone who for all you knew could suddenly become a part of your thoughts, mind, being. 22

He checked his watch. “F*ck. I’m late.” He smiled hesitantly. I could tell he was surprised by what had passed between us as well. “Well, I’ll see you around I guess?” 23

I smiled as well, more wholeheartedly than I had in months. “I certainly hope so.” 24

There was another silence, this one more thoughtful, companionable. “I’m George, by the way,” he said. “May I have the pleasure of your name?” 25

I hesitated for a second. “Elizabeth.”26

“Well, Elizabeth, I’ll see you around. And I look forward to getting to know you.”27

I smiled more widely and said, with enough sincerity to make him blink, “As do I.” 28