Yellow Bag

I had been working at the firm for two months. My routine involved a nice lunch at the corner cafe. But each day on the return to the office I glanced into the alley to see a familiar figure.  She’s obviously bonkers. She is always holding her bright yellow bag as her body sways to the music in her head.

Poor Thing is disheveled and worn. But she has a bright red bow in her hair. She usually has a smile which overtakes her wrinkled skin. Her eyes seem to be watching some delightful scene. Maybe she is dancing with Fred Astaire? Ginger Rogers she is not. 

I can only imagine her past- or her future. What brought her to this? Where does she sleep at night? Where will she go? Maybe there’s no need to know. Maybe she only lives in the present. 

A few hundred people pass this alley every lunch hour. They probably barely notice her. If they do, it’s with a feeling of discomfort and slight fear. What if she speaks some gibberish to them? Worse still, what if she cries or screams? Will she pull us all into her story?

I spoke to a coworker about her. He said she’s been there for years. They call her “Annie” probably after the old cartoon- “Little Orphan Annie”. He’s seen her bruised and bandaged a couple of times- “probably mugged and raped by some drug addicts”.

I avoided the alley for the next few days- afraid of what I might see and afraid of my helplessness. On the fourth day, I wandered back to the alley after lunch. I carried a small bag with a sweet roll I had purchased to go. 

Annie sat in the alley, leaning back against a brick wall decorated with profanity, clutching her yellow bag and staring forward perhaps watching her favorite film on the opposite wall. A small tear emerged and rolled leisurely down her right cheek as she got to the sad part. 

I knelt beside her and placed the small bag in her right hand. Her nails were jagged and her fingers were dirty with unknown substances. Her left arm and hand pressed the yellow bag against her chest. 

After a minute or so, perhaps during the movie’s intermission, she glanced at the bag in her right hand. She then placed the yellow bag to her left as she opened the take-out bag. She smiled broadly. Her eyes pierced my soul with a laser beam intensity. She was here- all in. She nodded slightly and reached for her yellow bag, handing it to me.

Annie motioned to me to open the bag. I was torn by curiosity, guilt, fear and joy. What would she be sharing with me? I glanced into the bag and a calmness swept over me. Everything was alright. Everything was answered. After a minute of reflection, I closed the yellow bag and returned it to her.

I will not avoid the alley tomorrow. 

Inspired by Gwenneth Herbert, English jazz/folk singer, song entitled “Yellow Bag”

The refrain:

Oh, Annie where’d you sleep last night

Oh, Annie hold your head up high

Oh, Annie won’t you hold on tight

To your yellow bag, your yellow bag