The girl with the empty suitcase
The truth lies underneath the superficial, if you can see
Under my bed is my cardboard suitcase. It is blue and has white stitching. I don't remember when I got it. I only know that the suitcase is empty. I never play with it. A suitcase is for travelling. I have travelled so many times. Long trips. Short trips. And it's my mother who always packs the suitcases. I don't have to do anything. Except for my thingies that travel with me. I take as little as possible. I've learned to do so. So some dinkey toys and a dead doll called Charlotte. Nothing else. I don't play that much. So this will do.Â
I prefer that suitcase to be empty. I find that peaceful. Nothing in it. Empty. Because if I have nothing, I don't need anything. My mother thinks for me and tells me what to do. And whether I'm doing it right.Â
My father is not home very often. But when he's home, it's party time. Then I get to go out with him. Without the look from the back of my mother's head. He always makes jokes. I imitate him and laugh.
In my sister's room, I see her suitcase lying open. Jam-packed is the thing. With all her drawings, papers and that dead doll of hers. Its name is Sonya. I am not allowed to touch it.Â
"That's mine!" she says catty.
"Nobody touches that!"
When she comes to my room later, she wants to see my suitcase. I open it.
"There's nothing in it!?"
I say nothing. I look at her. She shakes her head.
"How sad for you. You have nothing!" She turns and walks away.
Oh, I'm not doing it right. There must be something in it. I don't know what and decide to take the suitcase everywhere. Who knows, I might come across something.Â
A real car? That won't fit, of course, and my mother thinks it's weird.
My notebooks with words? No, then everyone will read that.
Myself? Nice and snug in the suitcase. Tight. Dark. Without words. But then who carries my suitcase? Not my mother. She doesn't like that at all. That I lie in it myself.Â
Stupid suitcase.
She is seven when she stands in front of me. Thick black hair and grey-blue eyes. She has a ponytail and fringes. She is carrying a blue suitcase with white stitching.Â
"What's in your suitcase?" I ask.
"Nothing!" says the girl. "Nothing at all!"
"Then why are you carrying it with you?"
"I am going on a big trip and from everywhere I want to put something in my suitcase. But, nothing makes me happy. Don't you have something for my suitcase?"
I sit down with her on the garden wall and ask her why she wants to put something in that suitcase. She explains that her sister has a full suitcase and that it makes her very happy.
"Well, then tell me what makes you happy. Then we will look for that."
"I don't know … nothing I guess. I do get quiet sometimes in my head. But happy?
"Then what makes you calm in your head?"
"When my mother acts happy and is pleased with me and when my sister is happy."
"Doesn't that make you happy?"
"No. Just calm. Then I don't have to think for a while about what to do for them. I always have to keep an eye on that. Because I can very well see that my mother is sad and I can also very well see that my sister is just always doing her way. And she's always allowed to do that. I am not.
I'm not allowed to run faster than my sister. I'm not allowed to laugh harder. I always have to stand behind her and help her."
"What would you most like to carry with you?" I ask her.Â
"Myself!" she says firmly.
I have to laugh. Who wouldn't want that.Â
"And where do you start? You can't put yourself in that suitcase. Then you have to be carried and then you are not yours again." She laughs.
"You could put that smile of yours in there. That one is your own."
The girl looks at me somewhat puzzled.
"But it's inside me. Very deep. So how does it get into the suitcase?"
"Just by using it, it automatically gets into your suitcase. That's handy. Because every time you have no peace in your mind, you open your suitcase and hear your laughter. It's always there."
We sit in silence. I feel her gaze. I turn my head towards her. It is as if she is looking right through me. She registers with a serious face. Nothing escapes her.
"Your eyes? Why don't you put your eyes in the case?"Â
“With the smile?"
"Yes, with the smile."
"Why?"
""Because you can see everything. Even what you can't touch. I notice that. You look into people and what you see are great concerns for you.Â
It was only many years later - I was already a grandmother - that I was able to keep my eyes in all day and take my smile out of the suitcase for good. I now know that what I see is not mine. It belongs to the other person.
And the suitcase?
That is and will remain empty because travelling is no longer necessary since I know that the only true happiness is inside me and cannot be found anywhere else.