Every day I carry a piece of Jenny with me. On our first beecation together, we violently punched each other in the face until a few teeth got knocked out. It was a bloody affair, but at least now I always get to keep a part of her body, albeit a tooth, with me always.
I’m kidding of course. Only about the teeth; the whole part about carrying a piece of her with me always is true. I do it with my blue bag.
In the early part of the summer I realized I need to start drinking a whole lot more water than I was. I used to visit the water machine several times daily at work. Then we were cut off access and told by building management if we wanted water we could go to the basement. Actually, the instructions were to go to the basement then walk down another stairwell. This is a completely true compromise the building I work at gave the staff for my company. Clearly, nobody was going to take them up on it. Water that far below sea level should not be consumed. It’s mountain springs for me or nothing.
So I began bringing water bottles to work each day to get my H2O fix. To transport it I used a blue bag Jenny gave me. It’s not a special blue bag for any other reason other than sentiment. I was even mildly teased about it by several workmates when they first saw me carrying it as the bag’s real purpose is for housewives who would prefer not to damage the environment with plastic. When they found out the meaning behind why I carried the bag, dead silence. No longer would they comment on it because they got a glimpse into just how meaningful it was.
This bag is special because it’s the one Jenny gave me to transport a blue box (yes I have the box still too) filled with notes for special and not-so special occasions. The envelopes are labeled things like “Open On Valentine’s Day” or “Open When You Hate People.” I probably opened about 5 of them at the airport in Manila waiting for my flight home. At the very least I remember opening all of the ones with food because eating is what bees do best.
When I got to Vancouver on my flight home, we were forced off the plane to allow security to check through all of our bags again. The security guard, your typical macho brute, asked me what was in the box inside of my blue bag. I told him directly that it was filled with notes from my fiancée to open until we got to see each other again. He was the first to tease me about it, saying something along the lines of “Who still writes letters?” When he saw how turned off I was by his comment (my boner had completely shrunk!) he threw out an “I’m just messing with you.”
Then he removed his fist from my anus and told me the cavity search was complete.
After some elemental damage from carrying it around for a few weeks in the open air during the 4-5 miles I walk each day during my commute, I decided to start bringing a book bag with me. At all times though, the blue bag is with me.
Each day at work when I’m feeling down I have a part of Jenny with me. I have something she gave me that I have turned into a practical usage rather than just a bag lying around my bedroom. I know she likes that most of all.
As for the notes she put in the blue box, there are only a few that remain unopened. One of them is titled “Open When You Question Your Love for Me.”
If I had a fireplace, it would have gone in there immediately.