The Suitcase

I boarded the flight on Friday morning. When my parents dropped me off, the airport was bustling. People were milling about, checking their luggage, flights were taking off and flight attendants were calling the numbers for departures. Mom and Dad and I went outside to get my luggage checked. The guy checking the luggage was a tall white guy with glasses and a buzzcut hairstyle. He placed my large 100-pound suitcase on the weight machine and frowned. “This will cost you an extra $50.” I looked upset. “Why?” “Because it’s too heavy.” I panicked. I only had fifteen minutes to make it through to my gate. My body gave off a fight-or-flight response and my heart started racing. Adrenaline pumped through my body. I begrudgingly took the suitcase and rolled it back to the parking lot, which was about ten minutes away walking distance. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “It’s okay, sweetie,” Dad said, tousling my chestnut-colored curly hair. “We can find another flight for you.” I sulked.

“I feel so disappointed in myself,” I muttered.

“Don’t be. It is what it is,” my mom said with a stony expression. She had put up with my whining and complaining long enough.

So I went over to the car when we reached it and one by one took all my belongings out of my suitcase. About fifty pairs of clothes: twenty pairs of pants, ten T-shirts, ten bras in different colors and ten pairs of high heels. Oh, and a pair of walking shoes. My mom, Kendra, and my dad, Alex, looked at me aghast.

“What the fuck, Lily?” my mom snapped.

Alex turned sharply to her. “Hey, don’t swear in front of our daughter.”

“I can swear any damn time I please,” she huffed.

I hurriedly took out stuff.

“You are only going for a week, dear, not a whole year. This is not study abroad.” “I know, I know.”

In fact, 28 year old me is writing this and wondering, Yo, like why the fuck would you bring that much shit with you? You are only going for seven fucking days, Lily. Are you going abroad? No.

I begrudgingly took out all the stuff from my suitcase and chose which ones I wanted to bring on the trip.

“Same goes for books,” my mom said as they just looked at me.

I rolled my eyes. Parents. They say the right stuff but at the same time it’s annoying how right they are sometimes. I had in fact packed a shit-ton of books. In fact, that’s why I got made fun of so much while in school because I was reading so much. It didn’t matter where I was. Café, cafeteria, library, hallway, even my classes. I was always reading. One day I was reading while Ms. Bruce was giving one of her super boring lectures. Bridget was doodling, Andrew was making disgusting spitballs and I, well, I was reading.

“Lily, what are you doing?”

I looked up, aghast. Why did she call on me and not on the other dumb kids in the class who fuck around and act goofy? Why me? I haven’t done anything wrong in Ms. Bruce’s class.

She motioned her hands to signal for me to give her the book. I begrudgingly gave her the book and she put it in her desk. The other kids started snickering. I scowled. You guys are no better than me, with your doodling, your gross spitballs. We’re all just immature seventh graders whose brains are not fully developed yet.

So yeah, I had about ten books I was going to pack. Most of them were Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events.

“Just think, you are going to be talking with other kids on the trip,” my mom said.

I took the one book. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. That should occupy me for the entire trip. Then I put a few shirts in the suitcase and a couple of pairs of pants. A pair of faded Gap jeans and a pair of nice black slack pants. A few T-shirts from Gap as well. Funny enough, I saw my math teacher the other day and she works at Gap now. Her name was Mrs. Doyle and she had wavy blonde hair and glasses.

“Ok, that should do it,” Dad said. “I am so proud of you, hon. That must have been a pain in the butt, but I am glad you did it.”

He gave me a hug. Mom impatiently looked at her watch.

“Well you missed your flight, kiddo,” she tapped her high-heeled foot impatiently.

“It’s okay, honey, we can find another flight…”

“Well, then let’s get a move-on. We don’t have all morning.”

We walked speedily through the traffic parked outside the airport, the cacophony of honking car horns and people alternately saying “I love you” and “Get out of the way” echoing through my ears. We hurried past the 38-year old woman carting two suitcases and a stroller with a four year old in it and revisited the buzzcut hairstyle guy again.

“Okay, we took stuff out.”

“Can I see your driver’s license?” he said, indifferent to our obvious plight.

Dad fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and shows Buzzcut Man his driver’s license. Buzzcut Man looks at it hurriedly and tells me I am all set to go.

“Have a nice day,” he says.

“You too,” Dad smiles, and we make our way to the terminal. But first we have to stop at the customer service desk because I missed my flight.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anymore flights going out to Washington, D.C.,” the customer service agent says, not looking up from her computer.

“But I have to leave today, otherwise I am going to miss the orientation!” I squeal.

“Can we get another flight for her? Please?” my mom begs the agent.

The agent looks at us with a sharp glance, but then she sighs and says, “I will see what I can do. But it will take thirty minutes, I have other customers to attend to.”

“That’s fine; we can wait,” Dad said.

“Now let’s go get you a chocolate cream donut from Dunkin Donuts to celebrate you being so brave about unpacking that big heavy suitcase,” Mom giggles and we head over to Dunkin Donuts.