Suitcases

The man stood behind the counter, a sign-up sheet in front of him. He handed me a pen.

“It will change your life” he promised.

I nodded. I needed a new life. I took the pen he offered and added my name to the list. 

We had a few planning meetings; we learned what to pack and what to expect. I didn’t feel any differently after they were over, but I went to each of them, anyway, always on the lookout for signs of a change in me.

I took the list and carefully packed my suitcase – seven outfits, work shoes, towels, bedding, bug spray - and I got all of my shots, and my small containers for liquids, and my inflatable pillow. We were instructed to pack things we wouldn’t mind losing, and to think about leaving things behind when we left. I followed the instructions, of course. I’m like that.

But, a week before I was to leave, I lost you. I sat looking at my suitcase, carefully packed, running my hands over my clothes, thinking how very much our minds are like suitcases.

I’ve stored our memories in my mind. There’s the time I first saw you dancing all alone at a party and I thought you were crazy, and the weekend we got chased out of the house by Snowman and his chainsaw. There’s the week we drove to the beach and 'came upon a road'. And the many nights we spent fixing my makeup, and days we spent fixing your head, always singing Joni Mitchell at the top of our lungs.

My trip was fun. I met lots of new people. We laughed, and we cried. I told them all about your big fur coat twice the size of you we called "Bear'.  They told me about a mythical creature called "Chupacabra". I rummaged around my mind, refolding my thoughts, and making room for new memories. 

My suitcase was full when I got home.  I left my clothes behind - for those less fortunate - but I brought home the suitcase of memories of you I couldn’t leave.

The man was right, my life did change. I'm lost without you.