Taped

I travel with Tanya everywhere from business trips to date nights to grocery shopping. It feels as if I am a part of her — noticing everything she does — the way she smiles, her boldness, her madness, the way she mumbles in her dreams, and the way she fears saying them out loud.

I feel connected to her, or at least I used to before she finally decided to take my voice away. Yes, I am taped. I sit muted inside her purse watching the world interact with her.

Being in a handbag might sound lonely, but I've got plenty of company here, thanks to all the other things that Tanya hides inside. There's the energetic Hamleys keychain that tells me stories of its days as the star of the store display, a bunch of dreamy tulips that Tanya picks from the florist down the street every day, the mischievous chocolate bars and stacks of amusement park tickets that she always collects but trades in for a bar night each Saturday.

Ever since I was placed in this bag, I wanted to be out of it. It is not that I dislike being here — I just long to experience the world outside again. Although it scares me sometimes, anything that comes out of this bag isn't usually well received. For instance, the last time Tanya took out her collection of amusement park tickets at dinner, her date laughed and dismissed them. "Why are you laughing?" one ticket asked, with its gilded edge crinkling in sorrow. "We thought we meant something to you," added another, its holographic print fading with disappointment. Having waited eternities for their chance to shine, the tickets were reduced to tears that evening.

I have come to the conclusion that adults do not visit amusement parks, nor do they giggle on dates, being goofy is a big no-no, flowers are after all so overrated, and who keeps a fluffy keychain in their bag?

So I am scared, as much as I want to be out, I am scared to embarrass or trouble the person I love the most.

I don't have a problem holding back while sitting inside this purse but it gets crowded with each passing day. It suffocates me each time she shoves down a joke in her purse, hides tulips in her bag instead of placing them on her desk, and each time she pretends to not know the band she shower dances to. The more things she keeps putting in the bag, the heavier it gets. And, my, my, my — in the end, she blames me for acting juvenile.

I hope one day she will come to understand that everybody who she hides me from also has someone taped inside their bag, just like me. I could see Ghibli's enamel pins adorning her boss's bag, I saw her date wearing Batman socks and her client munching on candies while he waited outside her office. Tanya could obviously never notice this.

I cannot make her realize this since I am taped. Would you do me a favor? Just in case you come across Tanya someday, would you mind opening your bag in front of her?

I owe you one,

Tanya's inner child.