The Briefcase

   
                                   



                                                                                    THE BRIEFCASE



    I first started writing when I was 14 years old on an old typewriter that today seems like the dark ages. Then again I might be from that time period. Nonetheless I stored things at first in a little folder. Had I known I would develop back trouble from lugging them around all this time; I would have devised a better way.

  It was Mr. Alperts fault after all; my tenth grade English teacher , who put that notion in my head that I was a good writer. Hence, I never got rid of one scrap of paper that I scribbled on. Now make no mistake about this, I would have preferred to time travel rather then lug it around all this time. Broke back and all, it went everywhere I went. For instance we went to Florida twice with it secured between my legs on that cramped flight. Not that there was something important, sacred or even valuable in that case. I clutched it as if it held the only copy of the Constitution in it. Now I was pretty scared to say the least because being my first flight the briefcase seemed nonexistent compared to my fears of flying. Yet where ever I ended up, that case was going with me. I mused that if they couldn't identify my body at least someone would recognize the case and it's contents had that flight crashed. Trouble was; I never let anyone into that private part of my life.

  Now lugging around such an object may seem absurd to some. After all, I never published a lick and no one ever saw my things with the exception of my first short story of 68 pages hand typed on that stupid typewriter. Not to bore anyone, but mom did find it. And after such a mighty task, it was confiscated and destroyed promptly because of it's contents. A fourteen year old should not write about such things. So much for The French Creek Expedition.

  After two trips to Florida and back, the case and I traveled to new home after new home. It saw the birth of my children and my wife come and go. It saw and was added to with the heartaches and sorrows of years gone by. I lost the combination once also and had to pry the thing open to finger through it's contents. Many times I would open it and smile as I read this and that; or cried as I forced those tear filled papers back into their hiding place.

  It saw my accomplishments and failures; all which contained a new item until it would hold no more. And once after a bad breakup, I made the mistake of giving them to a friend for safe keeping. I lost perhaps a hundred or so very good items when I retrieved it back. But each entry was where I had been and who I was. Where I was going and what I loved and hated. Who I did wrong and who did me wrong. Lost love and lost times all trailed off into it's hold.

  But still it stayed with me no matter where I went. Each mile brought on new memories. And like a good friend, it contained every trip, every mile and every moment in time that I lived. It became my traveling companion. It went to court with me when I got divorced and went to God awful places I should have never been. And at times I began to feel as if I could not open it up. It contained things I had written yet did not want to be reminded of. It was as if my conscience dwelled within.

  At times it contained photos also but as time went on they went in and out too many times until they found their own resting place. But always we traveled. We went to Las Vegas and California together. There were times I enjoyed adding to it's contents. But when cancer arose my pen fell silent, my briefcase became very still. My travels ended and without fanfare my prized possession and traveling companion were not so important any more. Nor were my memories that it contained.

  It sat in a quiet corner for a long 4 years until one day I decided to relive my travels, my memories and adventures. My successes and failures, my lost loves or those new found. They all were a reminder once more of who I was, where I had been and where I was now heading.

  The briefcase was so tattered and frail as much as myself by now. We had traveled a long road together; my friend and I. Yet a day not too long ago, I decided to say one more thing. There had to be one more destination to go to with one more addition into my travel kit.

  There was just one more thing I had to do and see. It was something I had promised an old friend long before I would do when that day came. So I loaded up my van and filled it with gas; briefcase across  the other seat. The trip was relatively short but meaningful to me and seemed like hours. Finally along a river  and railroad tracks, I pulled it to a stop and we both got out. The Spring air filled my nostrils as fresh tears ran down my face. I knew this would be that final day when neither I nor my friend would travel no more. Years ago my dad had took me here and his spirit seemed to reside there. We spent many days fishing when I was young and it became a place where I would come to see him over the years

  I really only wanted one thing in life, and that was all wrapped up inside my briefcase. The journey was finally over.

  Atop the briefcase was a few words, and few demands if someone found it and if need be where to put my companion when I departed finally. The last entry simply said goodbye. Please find this combination for the contents inside. Then I placed the letter from the cancer center informing me that cancer had raised it's ugly head and there was no hope; just a few more weeks.

  The radio seemed like such a cruel thing that day as the song, "Spirit in the Sky" blared out into my head. It had been some three hours since coming here now and my pen was about run out. My cell phone rang and I didn't want to answer it. It was the Cancer Center calling me. But instead I thought that I would bid them farewell and answered.

  "Mr. Johnson, we are terribly sorry to call you but there had been a mistake! Your last tests were mixed up with another man, but  you are fine. Where are you?"

  "Oh , I'm on the road traveling." I replied.

  I packed the tattered briefcase back into the front seat and headed back home. Smiled and looked over. " Where you want to go next my friend?"

S A Gibbins 2014  wc 1195