The Suitcase

It was the annual community yard sale here a few days ago so I decided to go out and see if I could find any treasures. It wasn't until the last one I visited that I found "it". Hiding under the table was a beautiful hard case suitcase, marked at only one dollar. It was perfect for an art project I had in mind. I walked up to the table to pay and there was an elderly man sitting there. I pulled out my crinkled dollar bill, and handed it to him. He smiled and said, "This suitcase has been witness to many moments in my life, most happy but a few sad." I asked him if he wouldn't mind sharing some with me.

He got the suitcase when he was just 20 years old in 1953. It was a gift to him when he joined the Navy, from his parents. It had been to many countries and almost every state. Unfortunately, another yard seller interrupted us so I didn't get to hear as much as I had hoped. But I did ask him why, after all this time, he has decided to sell it? Teary eyed, he told me that it was difficult for him to let go of the suitcase, but his life will not go on forever and he thought it was time for the suitcase to live on in new hands. With my heart feeling guilty, (as though I was "stealing" a piece of his life) I thanked him and walked back to my car.

When I got home I inspected my "new" item. It has been immaculately taken care of. As I grazed my hand across the leather, I wished to myself that there was a way I could see all that this suitcase had seen. Tears started to form in my eyes now, as it became a reminder to me of how we are all on borrowed time, and someday our story, our memories will fade away. I thought about all the people who have died never getting to tell their stories, or those with diseases, such as Alzheimers and Dementia. Each day another piece of their life slips away from their mind. The suitcase also reminded me of an old feeling I've carried for a long time: it is that everyone is part of a long chain of humanity and I feel like I am somehow responsible for extending people into the future...maybe through writing or some other documentation...but I am not exactly sure. I've always been interested in the life history of others, but the most intriquing thing about this is there is no real, fixed history. Memories are our perception of things and at times they can be decieving...but in that they are also the only truth we know. Memories show who people are, once were and what has shaped them.

I've decided I can not, in good conscious, deconstruct the suitcase in the name of art, but I think it can inspire me....and if I am fortunate enough, maybe it will be witness to many happy  moments in my life too.