Red Handbag

A lovely red handbag sitting on the rack at Goodwill.
I wonder about its journey thus far. How did it get there?
Well, this is my version of the story.

Jolie and Pierre had it all. Or so it seemed. Pierre was the director of a huge cruise line that had been established by his grandfather many years ago. His family originated from Nice where he'd had a happy childhood. He later moved to Norway with his mother and stepfather when he was eleven. He was there to finish high school and college, after which he returned to France for the first time since his parents' divorce. His father had remarried and his new family lived in Lyon. Anyway, Pierre Sr. never forgot his son and granted him a part of the family business. It took about nine months for Pierre Jr. to fully understand the workings of the company and then he was ready for his first real position. At the university he had studied Hotel Management and was an excellent chef. He loved to work on the boats, in the kitchens whenever he could. Years later, having had to rise through the ranks like everyone else, he made it to director. This was a large business with many directors and he was one of the junior directors. Grandfather had retired few years back but remained on the board. His father headed the main office in Paris. Young Pierre now lived in Morocco after falling in love with the people on his first cruise to the Mediterranean. That's where he'd met Jolie. They had spent a perfect week together and then he'd gone home to Oslo and she to Senegal. They'd kept in touch faithfully via telephone and internet, and snail mail too. She'd visited him twice during the six months that followed. He'd also met up with her in Dakar that Christmas and that's when they'd discussed marriage. It was obvious that Pierre was not your conventional type of guy but she loved him and wanted to be married to him.

Jolie was the last daughter of a wealthy farmer. Her six older siblings were established in their marital homes and careers all over Africa. Only one lived in Dakar; the others were scattered in Cote D'Ivoire, Guinee and Mozambique. She'd excelled in her graduate studies and her father's best friend, who happened to be her godfather, bought her a week-long cruise to the Mediterranean. It was the best time of her life and on top of that she'd met Pierre. Their's was a rocky marriage from the start. No church wedding. No honeymoon. No romance. But she loved him so much ... if only he knew. Well, God knew and that's all that mattered to her. He, God, was always there for her. She was prepared to suffer for love. Many people married for compatibility and made common sense decisions. In the past, she'd almost done that too - marry someone who was good and right for her - but then figured she'd wait and marry for love. Now that she had, a colleague asked her recently whether he should marry for love or for common sense. In an impulsive moment of truth, she blurted out: always think with your head and never your heart!

It was February 14th and Pierre had surprised her with a weekend trip to Paris. He'd bought her a gorgeous red leather handbag from an uptown boutique; it had cost a fortune. The bag was lovely. They had a great time and pleasant memories of ... the villa, the restaurants, the pier, the awesome elderly Italian couple they'd met and so much else. A month later, Jolie and Pierre had had a huge row and Jolie was fed up. She had left her home, her job, and her life to join Pierre. She wanted to be with him. He promised to take care of her and she believed him. She thought he loved her. Early on she was sure he did. Now she was not sure. No church wedding. No honeymoon. No romance. She had her doubts. While waiting to get a job, she tried to be the dutiful wife. All her efforts were in vain because Pierre always found fault in what she said, or thought or did. He had promised to give her a regular allowance to take care of her needs, and she had believed that too. Her friends had always called her gullible. For the first time, she agreed with them that she was. When she went anywhere with friends, she knew she stuck out and they knew something was wrong but Jolie wasn't talking. They could get nothing out of her except I'm fine; No, I don't need anything. I don't have any money on me. You all go ahead and buy- I'll get my stuff some other time. Well, after the row he still refused to live up to his promises. He had his own worldview on life and tried to be a dutiful husband in his own way, she supposed, but that did not change her reality. She packed a box of her most treasured or expensive possessions and sent it to Maurice who needed items for a thrift store. She wasn't looking for compensation because her daddy would always look after her. Only the other day, he'd asked if she needed some money for groceries and bills. Pride had made her decline and she'd said she would be alright.

Last night as she lay awake on the bed, Pierre snoring gently by her side, she remembered the red bag. It was amongst the items she'd given Maurice. Suddenly memories of the weekend in Paris flooded her consciousness. Slowly she began to cry. Her heart ached and the tears gushed forth as if a damn had been broken. She couldn't stop herself and tasted the salted tears on her lips. She cried for her life; for who she had been; for her dreams and her future; she cried for Pierre who was in his own unconventional world. She cried as she thought of everyone who had advised her and prayed with her before she made the commitment. She cried because she had believed God. An hour later her breathing became even and the gnawing in her heart became a dull ache. Her eyes grew dry and she crawled out of bed. She went to the living room and knelt down in prayer. Her knees had barely touched the floor when the phone rang. She rushed to answer it lest it wake Pierre. It was his mother. She heard the surprise in Jolie's voice and apologised for calling so late. I'll be in Morocco Thursday night and would like to spend time with you. I'd like to tell you a bit about Pierre's childhood, and to return the red handbag- I knew it was yours the moment I saw it on a rack at Goodwill.