Pink Minnie Mouse Backpack

Guest post by Marta A Oppenheimer

The Pink Minnie Mouse Backpack

My best friend Liz and I love thrift shopping. We get such joy when digging out a treasure buried under dusty, old castaways. Although we both enjoy found clothes and jewelry, my favorite finds are original paintings. I like This-Is-So-Ugly-It-Is-Cool works of art, anything with dogs and/or cats, and colorful creative pieces depicting fabulous and powerful-looking women. The day I rescued my adored Saint Anne from a Florida Keys thrift shop, I fell in love. I located the artist and exchanged emails with her. Now that is a treasured experience.

Curiosity About the Stories Behind Our Finds

When Liz and I discover a clunky brooch, well-read book, or shiny ring, we wonder about its origins. Our hungry ears crave its whispered secrets. Did the giant purple brooch adorn a powerful businesswoman’s suit or an elegant dress at a fancy soiree? How did the pages of the old book influence someone’s life? Did a handsome prince gift the ring to a beautiful princess as a promise of love and fidelity?
Ok. That last one is my curiosity, not Liz’s. She is not as fond of fairy tales as I am.
Every found object had an initial purpose, which has long been served. Liz and I give them a chance at a new life. I hope someday our treasures will whisper the stories of our friendship.

There are many kinds of thrift shops. Liz and I avoid the artsy, pretentious places where spending way too much for an old shirt is the trendy thing to do. These establishments tend to come with a bored, chic young woman tending the register, looking down at customers with condescension.
There is Goodwill, each store and merchandise unique to the host town.
“Green, Marta. Everything with a green tag is half price,” Liz declares, entering the store at a rapid pace.
The Color of the Week, with promises of additional discounts, causes a dizzying rush inside our heads. Like a bad case of vertigo.
Thrift shops that support non-profit animal rescue groups are packed with beautiful and affordable merchandise. The shopping experience is equivalent to locating the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian, with the advantage of being able to purchase it for $3.99. These are the stores where I genuinely want to leave my money. I find a treasure, look thrifty cool, help animals—Win. Win. Win.
And then there are the sad thrift shops, usually church-based. The strong smell of mothballs and floating dust particles make everything blurry. The darkness is not a lack of electricity, but a murkiness that hangs in the air. A cranky and tired old man, like a Stephen King character who escaped from the pages of the novel, tends the register, collecting fifty cents for chipped mugs.

A Life-Changing Moment

On a recent visit to one of these, Liz and I hit the jackpot. We found an old mannequin covered with vintage brooches—each one for a dollar. All beautiful and unique. I am giddy imagining the secrets they keep. While making my selections, I overhear a conversation between what appears to be a young mother and daughter. The little girl is about my niece Natalia’s age, maybe nine? ten? They are shopping, like us, in this grim and dark store. But unlike us, they are not searching for treasures and stories. They are shopping here out of need.
“Look, mom, this pink Minnie Mouse backpack isn’t broken.” The little girl says. “It’s only five dollars.” She goes on with hesitation. “May I have a new one for this school year?”
The mother closes her eyes before softly responding. “Sorry, sweetheart.” She lowers herself to look at the girl face-to-face. “We don’t have extra money for new backpacks this year.” The sorrow emanating from this woman floats in the air, fighting with the dust particles for space.
“I understand, mom. It’s ok. Don’t be sad.” The little girl hangs the backpack where she found it and walks away, looking back once with resigned longing. “Maybe next year,” I hear from the distance.
The moment transports me in time, in that way memories often do, to our annual back-to-school shopping spree in Plaza Las Americas. Mami would buy my sisters and I Hello Kitty or Strawberry Shortcake (I preferred Ziggy) pencils with the matching case, and erasers, and notebooks, and binders, and stickers, and colorful markers, and backpacks.
Everything new.
We never gave the price tag a glance. We never lacked. We were never denied a five-dollar used pink Minnie Mouse backpack from a dark thrift store.

I look down at my hands full of vintage pins to add to the dozens I already have at home. I am overwhelmed with shame. The darkness in my heart matching the one that engulfs the store.
How can I be so blind?
Entitled.
The stories these objects conceal might not be of fancy galas or business meetings. Some stories are of pain, of need, of longing.
I am choking from my sadness and need clean air in my lungs. I place the brooches I am holding next to the mannequin and step out of the store. Liz follows me.
“What happened, Marta?” She asks concerned. “Jack from The Shining at the register was rude to you? I’ll kick his ass.”
I, not for the first time today, wish our things will someday whisper stories of this friendship that fills my heart with a sense of safety and hope.
“No. It is not that.” I quickly explain. I do not want her to punch the thrift shop employee.
I share the story of the girl and the pink Minnie Mouse backpack.
Liz listens.

A New Perspective

My friend speaks when I am done. “Marta, I too grew up shopping at thrift stores, not for fun like I do now.” Liz pauses to remember. I can see the vulnerability in my tough-as-nails friend. She goes on, “My mother didn’t have enough money to buy us new things.”
Liz was that little girl and all I want is to be in that store with Liz’s mother and buy Liz whatever backpack she wants. A new backpack. One with a bloody prom-dressed Carrie or with Linda Blair vomiting pea soup. Whatever Little Girl Liz wants.
“I am so sorry,” I say because, unlike Marty McFly, I cannot travel back in time.

“Why be sorry?” She laughs, the momentary sadness gone from her eyes as fast as it came. “Look at The Familia now. My sisters and I are strong, independent women with careers and loving families. My brother has his own business and a lifelong partner.” She pauses. “And I have the best friend ever.”
That makes me smile.
She goes on. “My siblings and I are more today because of what we didn’t have then.”
She puts her arm around me. “Don’t feel sad for the little girl. Today her mother will buy her something that she needs, even if it’s not that pink Minnie Mouse backpack, and it’ll still be a treasure.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I wipe my tears with a crusty napkin I find buried in my jean’s pocket.
“Let’s go back inside and buy those dollar brooches so they can be witnesses to our friendship. And tell our stories.” Liz says rapidly entering the store.
I am right behind my friend.

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Marta A Oppenheimer is a twice divorced woman searching for love in Miami, the land of palm trees, hurricane warnings, and Kim Kardashian lookalikes. In between dates, Marta is a published writer, graphic artist, storyteller, spoken word performer, and a non-profit animal rescue group volunteer. Marta’s stories have appeared on publications like Chicken Soup for the Soul and Miami Living Magazine, and performed on The Moth Miami StorySlam, Miami Book Fair, Lip Service Stories: True Stories Told Out Loud, Raw Storytelling: Live True Storytelling Show, The Only in Miami Show on Jolt Radio and more. The short story, “Love in a Pumpkin,” became a short film and an Official Selection of multiple film festivals. You can read more about her romance perils at: thedatingdaysofmartao.com or can be found on Facebook and Instagram @thedatingdaysofmartao. Keep in mind that dating after 40 is for the brave.