Lady. Lady, let go.”
Huh? I am in a total travel fog, the kind that feels as though your head has been stuffed with cotton. I slowly turn to face a waiflike woman dressed in Annie Hall-ish trousers, suspenders, and hat. “Huh?” I repeat aloud.
“That’s my bag. Your hand is on my bag.”
My luggage was given to me by my parents as a graduation present. They said they were just about to buy the sleek black-with-gray-trim set I had requested, but then they saw the vibrant fuchsia cases. “Nobody else will have these. You’ll love that.” They were wrong. I look down at the suitcase that has my hand attached to it. It’s nearly identical to mine, except now I see a “Save Tibet” sticker on the side.
I release my hold but not before Annie beckons a nearby security officer to mediate.
“We’re fine,” I assure the man, who resembles Bill Murray. For a minute I think it must be him researching for a part. He asks Annie if we really are fine. She nods harshly, releasing him back to his post by the exit doors and the Washington Post dispensers.
I spot my bag coming around the luggage racetrack one more time. A young Frenchman reaches for it when I fail to drag it off the belt. “Merci pour l’aide,” I say, making a mental note that I will have to tell Sophie that I used one of our few phrases…and with a very cute French boy, no less.
I check my watch one more time. Dad said he would be here at eleven. It is a quarter till noon. My parents are reliable but never punctual. The brass key clicks against my watch, and I am reminded of the letter from Tess. Glancing around for a place to sit, my eyes settle on a long empty bench by a magazine shop.
Unfolding the delicate linen sheet, I welcome Tess’ handwriting with a smile. How she knew that she would be leaving me still requires too much thought and faith on my part. She writes as if in the middle of an ongoing conversation.
To my girl,
I told you. It is between me and God. Don’t try to figure it all out. You have enough going on in your life to worry about how the end of life works. Mari, you are the one I hate to leave the most. I am thankful I was here to see you blossom…and see you dance with your love. I cannot wait to watch you move into the next stage of your life. Things need to settle down a bit…but then you will know exactly where you are going.
I digress. The key you have of course opens the bureau at Golden Horizons. But it also opens several other bureaus. My true love had the set made for me as a wedding gift. As you know, Gisele is my most trusted friend…so before I made the move to Golden Horizons, I entrusted her with these handcrafted pieces and their contents. But now, as I make another move, a bigger move, it is you, Mari, who will watch over, distribute, or use these items as you see fit. My faith tells me you will find a purpose for them very soon in your journey. But if not…think of them as good luck charms, never as burdens. Nobody needs extra baggage in their life, and in the end these are just things. Beautiful, yes. But still just things. You and I both know there is much more to life. Go live it, Mari. Live fully. Until we meet again, I will celebrate you and your joys to come from the Pearly Gates…the real deal this time.
Godspeed, Tess
After I spend a few days with Mom and Dad, I will fly to New York to help Gisele arrange for the shipment of these good luck charms. I’m more curious about this grand dame of New York than I am about my inheritance.
Inheritance. I have an inheritance from someone I met only five years ago. It’s a miracle Tess could trust me so much in such a short time. Yet, in my childhood God showed me that the stranger I meet at breakfast is considered family before dinner. How many brothers and sisters had I welcomed into our home over eighteen years? I take a quick survey of my memory and figure more than a hundred. Could this be possible? A truth that used to bother me now makes me smile. In some ways it would be good to see…
“Marcus!” Front and center in my field of vision is the one I am not prepared to see. A stranger-turned-brother yes. But also my first love.
“Mari?” His dark eyes look me over and he speaks my name slowly. We are both amazed by the expanse of time that has passed. “You look wonderful! Up. Stand. I get a hug at least. I drove through lunch hour traffic to come fetch you. Ted got caught up with one of the food vendors donating to the big Thanksgiving feast.”
I am amused and flattered that he is as nervous as I am. I figured that over time his good looks and quick wit would make him a bit jaded in the presence of women.
We embrace until I am uncomfortable. I swat the bill of his Cubs cap and point to my bag. He obliges after first bowing to me. We laugh and keep looking at each other as we make our way through the crowd, into the shuttle, and finally to the parking lot.
When I booked this ticket to D.C., I mentally prepared to face a lot of difficult memories, recycled emotions, former roles, and flashbacks of the childhood I still run from. My logic…the more I visualized what would take place during my three-day visit, the more I could troubleshoot the emotional pitfalls, the gaps between memory and reality, and the lapses in sanity that send my head spinning.
But in all that careful planning, plotting, and second-guessing, I had forgotten to consider exactly what I would do if my past love stood waiting for me in baggage claim.
As it turns out, I would sweat, vacillate between crimson red and ecru, and laugh uncontrollably and intermittently. Oh yeah, and I would ask to have the car pulled over to the side of a busy freeway so I could be sick.
As I’m doubled over in front of lunchtime commuters in this nation’s fine capital, I can only pray that this is not a preview of things to come.