Emilia

Lucky Thermos######
I consider myself one pretty lucky thermos. I’ve had many adventures. Known love. And have only had to schlep my way through heartbreak once, a long time ago, in the spring of 1994.###
My owner, Josephine, had carried me around with her for just about 3 years. We met in Seattle; she got me after trading in 20 Marlboro coupons (one in each pack!) she had collected over several weeks. It came down to me and a t-shirt; and clearly I was both the more attractive and the more practical choice than the one-size fits all, 100% pure cotton white shirt, who was, bless him, truly an unflattering starched bore.###
Indeed, it was in keeping with both aesthetics and utility that Josephine faithfully measured and balanced her way through life. To her I was the package deal: boasting the confident color-block of a Swiss flag and the truly versatile nature of an empty vessel... Conformity was not something she seemed to acknowledge existed, thus turning my everyday into some adventure or another.###
I was the quintessential American product, she was French both in name and nature, and it was love at first sight. Petite with short dark hair and a small gap between her two front teeth, visible only to those who made her laugh. She was beautiful. I so loved our strolls through Belltown; her hand tightly clasped around my handle and headphones on. And on really good days, which were far from few, she would swing me back and forth to the music. It was our very own dance. I felt so light, we hadn’t a worry in the world. And also I was rather proud as I observed the glances of the men passing us, wishing they could trade places with a plastic thermos.###
She filled me with all kinds of things. Regularly with pens, glue, paper. She filled pages and pages with words and drawings, found notes and scraps. Of course I would try to decipher these before she would close the lid and it would go dark inside. With knightly pride I carried and protected the secrets and dreams she entrusted me with. I was her lunch box, her purse and sometimes draped in a sweater in the park, her pillow. Other times I would hold the flowers she received by one lover or another. I can’t remember ever being filled with coffee though.###
Our very favorite thing was go to shows. I would carry a single beer, and a pack of Marlboro's, thus we would tour the night. Nirvana before it got crazy. And then when it got crazy. We didn’t care too much about the people or the buzz; we were there for the music. Well I was, she was also there for the drummer. He was alright I guess, but only because in the early days of our encounters he noticed me lying on some dingy couch and ran after her to return me. He didn't fool me though. I’d developed a quick read on the type of sheepish grin on his face as he handed me over. She didn’t seem to mind, so I didn’t mind, their fingers carefully brushing and glances lingering. Couldn’t complain either, she touched me everyday. Come to think of it, that was the only time she ever left me behind. That is until that spring she left me for good.###
It was all over the news. April, 1994. Some poor electrician was just doing his job and found him dead in his house, three days after he shot himself. I remember her crying and myself thinking about those three days. How wretched. And then somehow, I became collateral damage. We biked all the way to his house, which took forever. Drummer boy had suggested we go together by car, but she declined. Luckily it was one of those rare sunny days, not a single cloud in the sky. She picked flowers on the way; the few already blooming, that is. Once we got there she took me from the basket. Filled me with water. Put in one flower after another. Noooooo!!! Josephine!! What are you doing??!! Don’t leave me! Please! Never had I wished more for a voice. She looked at me and kissed me smack on my Marlboro spot. It was my happiest saddest moment and my saddest happiest moment all rolled into one. Carefully placing me next to the numerous other flower arrangements, she turned around and walked away.###
I was her gift, her gratitude and respect. And I was absolutely devastated. After the sadness and the anger, I found solace in our last pilgrimage and her sweet gesture. I knew she cherished me, which was why she gave me away. Because it meant something. Because I meant something to her. Which is all that ever really mattered to me.###
And that is how I became more than I ever was. One damn lucky thermos. Hell yeah.