The Doctor Bag

I had an appointment with one of my doctors today. I arrived ten minutes early, before proceeding to sit in the waiting room for two hours. I was then told that I would have to reschedule for another day, and that they apologised for the wait I had to endure.

Whilst seated in a deceptively cushioned chair, which after the first half hour begins to feel as padded as a seat carved out of solid marble, your mind begins to wander down the many diverging pathways of your thoughts and memories. You begin to take a closer look at your surroundings, you begin to imagine things, and you allow your thoughts to be free.

As I looked around the room, I took in the clothing of the others seated in the room. I noted the elderly gentleman in the left corner, leisurely reading Great Expectations in his white cotton shirt, with a grey silk scarf tied in a French twist, green corduroy trousers and brown brogue shoes. Aside him sat the young lady in black skinny jeans, with a purple ruffled blouse and grey cardigan, shuffling her red high heeled clad feet underneath her in time to an invisible beat.

As the people came and went, I got to wondering when and why they had purchased each item of their clothing. I wanted to know what they had felt when they had seen each piece, and the story behind each purchase. How did it make them feel now and how had that changed since they first bought it? What did they have to go through to get it, and what meaning did it hold?

I tried to imagine the day when the elderly lady wrapped in the faded pashmina across from me, clasping her battered brown leather doctor's bag, had walked into the store and seen that shiny bag for the first time. What thoughts had been running through her head as she decided to hand over her money for it? How old had she been, and how had her dreams and aspirations changed since she had bought it? What journeys had the bag been through, and what difficulties had it seen?

I imagined a young female doctor, having ducked into a small leather goods shop during her lunch break. Her current satchel had served her since the first day she had attended university, but now it was time for her to change. She would go from that nervous girl who had sat at the front of the lecture hall, to a strong and confident woman who was in charge of her own life. The bag was more than just a bag, it was the symbol of her new self.

She had visited the leather shop every week for the past six months, just to take that bag in her hands and look at herself with it in front of the mirror. Every week she would allow herself that luxurious pleasure of imagining that bag beside her, the shiny new leather home for her belongings. It would transform her life, and indeed she would transform it, giving the bag a meaning and a life of its own.

She had been saving her money carefully for those six months. She would put a little aside every week, and had decided not to buy any other clothes until she had that bag. She would silently pray that nobody else would purchase the bag before her, and that maybe, just maybe, the shopkeeper had noticed her and placed it on reserve. She had pictured how the shiny new addition would look next to her woolen trousers, or how it would play off her new pashmina. She had been planning all of her future outfits around that bag, and today was the day it would finally be hers.

As she entered the shop, the feeling inside of her was electric. She was no longer here simply to browse and lust after that beautiful bag, rather she was now here to buy it. She walked across hesitantly and picked up the bag nonchalantly, as if she had not imagined that moment every day for as long as she could remember. She furtively checked the tag, making sure the price which was now etched deep into her memory, had not changed unexpectedly over night. As she looked at her satchel for what she hoped was the last time, she dove in and withdrew a tight little purse, before walking over to the friendly gentleman at the counter. Hesistating just a little in that final second, she carefully handed over the money, and held the bag, knowing it is finally hers. Emotion flooded her every pore, and she knew in that moment that the bag did not only signal the start of her new life, it would see her into it with style.

I thought to myself how that bag had lived with her, and how the deep coloured leather had wrinkled elegantly as she had. I wondered what that bag meant to her, and now in its battered state, what fascinating stories it could tell.

For my own part, I remember how I felt when, and the moment, I bought each and every piece of clothing in my wardrobe. I remember the store I went into, I remember the price it cost me, I remember the feeling it gave me as I tried it on or carefully inspected it in my hands. Yet all of those things are just a memory - of a me that no longer exists. For it was that person at that time, who allowed me to become the person I am now. Similarly, the pieces that existed then, do not exist any more, they have changed, they have developed. I give the clothing a new meaning, a new emotion and indeed a new life each and every time I wear them. They live as I live, and are unique to only me. Just like that small elderly woman and her bag, my clothing have a story to tell. Maybe not as exciting as hers, but then again for the most parts, my story has just begun.

Currently playing: Your Smile ft. Lil Wayne - Bobby Valentino

xxxx