It was a terrible ugly pea-soup green, thick fabric with orange and yellow flowers placed not so delicately across the surface. I loved that suitcase. Squeezing clothes into the limited space was my favorite thing to do. I carried it with me to sleepovers and it was a staple for camp. The smell of Off soaked into the threads and would greet me when I brought it out of storage. No matter how carefully I had unpacked it the trip before, I always found a sock, an address I had captured with the intent to keep in touch with a new best friend I had met, or a wrapper from candy I purchased at the Camp Emmaus Canteen.
Janet mentioned suitcases in my session a week ago. As soon as she said the word I repeated it. It felt as if I had found the suitcase in the crow's nest of our lake home and unzipped it again eager to fill it up for an adventure.
"We carry them with us to each relationship, don't we?" She mused.
"Clunk!" said the ugly green orange and yellow flowered bag.
I have a weird snore pattern that sometimes even wakes me up out of dead sleep. I rarely cook. I have a tendency to make impulse purchases. I stress eat. In bed. Sometimes I have food on my face. I can smother. I hold grudges. I pout when I don't get my way. I have horrible breath in the mornings. I have far too much nail polish and I rarely paint my nails. I can be downright lazy. I withhold information when I am scared. I remember every negative thing every Ex ever told me about myself and agree with most of them. I have bad judgment. I get lost easily.
In the side pockets of my suitcase, there's room for even more stuff I carry from lovers past. At the end of every trip, I try to unpack it all. But there's that familiar scent, and the few wrappers tucked into corners and a sock or two that never make it out. There's the slip of paper -- with a name on it that I made promises to -- because for that short but intense time at camp I really thought it would last forever.