Day 222 - Suitcase Story

Suitcase Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Maurice packed his suitcase. He had big big plans. Maurice had always wanted to travel. He had always wanted to see the world. He had wanted to get away and be someone else and experience a different life, a different world, a different existence, even if just for a moment. Maurice packed his suitcase.

Maurice would go to the train station. Or the airport. Or the docks. He would look at the boats, the planes and the trains. He would sit on a bench and watch and dream. He had big big dreams. He would imagine all the places he was going to go, all the people he would meet and all the things he would do. He would sit with his suitcase on the bench and he would dream.

Maurice never bought a ticket. Maurice was a good and honest man and worked hard at his job, but it wasn’t the sort of life where he made much money or had anything left over to waste on frivolous pursuits. And so instead of traveling, he packed a suitcase, went to the stations and imagined all the things he could do if he could actually do them. It wasn’t much. Sometimes it was enough. But it certainly wasn’t ever very much.

Maurice would sit on his days off and watch and think and study other people. He made up stories about who they were and where they were going and what they might be doing. At the end of the day Sunday, he would go home, unpack his suitcase, go to bed, and the next day he would go to work. Then, when the next weekend would roll around he would go through the motions again of packing his suitcase and heading to some station of travel departure. It wasn’t the greatest way to spend a weekend, but it certainly passed the time.

Maurice didn’t have a lot of close relationships in his life. Maurice’s coworkers had no idea how he spent his time. He always had stories of other cities and other countries. Many of them just assumed that Maurice did indeed take lots and lots of two-day trips. The people at the stations saw him a lot and many of them wondered about him at first, but after enough time had gone by they either befriended him or failed to notice him at all. A busy station on a busy day and Maurice could fade away into the background pretty easily. A few regular business travelers coexisted with Maurice, but most of them never took the time to notice him.

One Sunday evening Maurice came home with his suitcase in tow. He was unusually tired so he went to bed without unpacking his suitcase. The next day he went to work and everything went pretty much as it normally did. When he got home he saw his suitcase and remembered he had forgotten to unpack it. He considered leaving it and not worrying about it until the next weekend had come around. But he was a man of routine and the idea of not unpacking seemed to be a violation of some sort and it seemed as if it was going to nag at him and be a source of great distress. And so he resolved to unpack it, even it if was a day late.

Maurice set the suitcase on his bed. He opened it. And then his heart skipped a beat.

It was a bit unsettling.

The contents of the suitcase were not his own. Inside the suitcase were the clothes of a woman.

Had he accidentally taken someone else’s suitcase? He didn’t want to dig through her clothes, but he saw no other choice. He felt uncomfortable violating another person’s privacy, especially a woman’s. But he made himself do it. There was no owner’s ID to be found.

It had to be some sort of mistake. Maurice couldn’t think of any other explanation. Suitcases weren’t that unique and he must have made a mistake.

There were no reports filed at the lost and found at the bus station. There was no note of his suitcase being turned in or left behind. That didn’t mean he hadn’t switched with someone, it just meant that she hadn’t noticed yet. Or she was off in some other city and couldn’t contact him or return his suitcase yet.

Maurice thought about leaving the suitcase, but instead he took it home with him. It was an impulsive move, but for some reason he selfishly wanted the woman to have to contact him to get her suitcase back instead of obtaining it through the faceless lost and found system. Maurice wanted to meet her.

The week passed and Maurice never heard from whomever it was that lost her suitcase. So he put her suitcase in the back corner of the closet and went about his business. If she someday came looking for her clothes, he would have them. He told himself he was doing the right thing, and that he was being a stand-up guy.

And so the next weekend came and Maurice returned to his routine. He packed an alternate suitcase with alternate clothes and he went to the train station instead of the bus station. He stayed there all day Saturday and came back Sunday. And when he went home on Sunday he remembered to unpack his suitcase this time. And yet, his return to routine did not matter. Inside, the clothes were not his. Once again they were the clothes of some stranger-woman.

Maurice was particularly vexed. He knew he had not lost sight of his suitcase. He knew this was not possible that this would happen to him two weekends in a row. Part of him thought someone must be playing a practical joke on him, but he couldn’t figure out who or why. Part of him wanted to believe in some sort of magic, but he was not the sort of man to believe in some sort of magic.

Still he had no answer.

The events seemed to repeat themselves. Searching for ID. Searching for answers at the lost and found. Adding the suitcase to his collection in the back of his hall closet.

And then the next weekend, it happened again. And a week later again. Something strange and magical was definitely going on and he was definitely running out of space in his closet.

Six weekends went by. Six weekends of mystery and anticipation. Six weekends of lost clothes. Maurice never got to travel, but it sure seemed like his clothes were having a real good time without him.

Maurice considered ending his ritual and never going out again. His dwindling wardrobe would certainly thank him. But this new mystery was proving to be too captivating. It was much more exciting than sitting around dreaming about what he could do. Something was definitely going on and that was all he had ever really wanted.

So he continued.

At the end of Sunday night, he went home; once again with a suitcase that he was pretty sure would not contain his possessions upon reaching his home.

He was right.

But this time there was a small new twist. There was a note.

The note read: “Am I ever going to get my clothes back? Please provide correspondence or contact of some sort next weekend. Hopefully this strange ordeal has been at least some small inconvenience for you as well.”

At least she had a sense of humor. And there was now a way to contact her, whoever she may be. Maurice could hardly wait to find out what would happen next.