Baggage

I started packing today. I know it was late, but then again procrastination is a way of life for me. I had a maximum of three hours to pack nineteen years of my life. It was that time again, the time that has come upon my family every four years for the last fifteen years. I was only allowed one suitcase. One. How do I pack away my whole life, the important things anyway, in one suitcase?
I packed the essentials, you know things like toiletries, jeans and shirts, shoes and combs. Things I can't live without. Things that could be replaced, but are still essential to my well being. I could not decide what to leave and what to pack, so I just packed everything. I packed seven sweaters. Seven. What does one need with seven sweaters when they have limited packing space? I suppose if read into, it could be my subconscious telling me I am paranoid and afraid of discomfort. Or it could mean I get cold easily. I also packed my keepsakes, you know things like CD's, pictures, momentos, books and jewelry. I had two hundred and sixty three CD's, and I couldn't live without any one of them. I had about a thousand pairs of earrings, hats, bandanas, scarves and belts. I wouldn't live without them. I had about a million random photographs. I shouldn't have to live without them.
I packed things I n=didn't even need. I packed my old notebooks from high school. You know, just in case. I packed the little rubber doll I got from our old maid in Romania when I was a little girl. I packed old address and phonebooks filled with names I didn't even remember. I packed my old journals that went back to fifth grade that I never even read anymore. I packed purses even though I never wore them. I packed old jeans and t-shirts I had sworn never to be caught dead in again. I packed stuff that wasn't even mine. I packed my brother's jacket that I always borrowed. I packed my sister's drawings that I had always just stuffed into my desk drawer. I packed my mother's perfume, she wouldn't know until it was too late. I packed my dad's baseball cap though I never wore caps. I unpacked and repacked, rearranging and stuffing, rolling and folding to make space to fit it all in that one little suitcase. And when I was finally satisfied that it was all done, I looked at my bulging suitcase filled with things I did not need but could not bear to leave behind.
And then it hit me. I had forgotten my baby blanket. I always took that blanket everywhere I went. I took it to Romania when I was four. I took it to Germany when I was seven, to Kenya when I was nine, Washington D.C. when I was eleven. I took it to Turkey, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Zimbabwe and South Africa. That blanket had seen the world with me. And now I was off again. But this time I was off to college and I was going by myself, far, far away for a really long time. And I had forgotten to pack it. My life was threatening to burst through the seams of my suitcase and there was no space to pack my baby blanket. So I stood there and cried. I cried because I was leaving my youth behind. I cried because the things I thought could sum up my life, could not. I could not pack away nineteen years of laughter, tears anger fear, frustration, pity, joy, excitement and love in just one suitcase. I could not carry it all with me. It was too heavy, and yet leaving it behind was unthinkable.
It is now twenty minutes before my flight leaves. My bag has been checked in, goodbyes have been said, tears shed have dried and good luck has been wished. And here I sit in the window seat of the plane destined to the rest of my life. I never did reopen my suitcase, it would have fallen apart. But I am sitting here with my coke and bag of peanuts, unopened in one hand. And my baby blanket in the other. The things I packed may not have any practical uses, but I am going to carry them with me anyway. I have never mastered the art of packing lightly, so I guess I will have to carry this baggage with me.