She Lives in Michigan

I hate packing. It doesn’t matter if it’s loading up a whole house for a move, or filling a small suitcase for a fun trip, I always leave it for the last minute. I’m not a very organized person, and packing requires me to admit to the chaos of my life.

This time, I was going to travel over the holidays. That adds a whole new level of stress to an already messy existence. Needless to say, I, as usual, had nothing prepared. I was booked on a plane that was scheduled to take off in just over three hours, and I had nothing packed. I needed to hurry.

I grabbed a duffel bag out of my closet and began to throw a bunch of clothes inside. Pants, hoodies, t-shirts, socks, and undies were all shoved in together. I zipped the bag and immediately second guessed my choice of luggage. The duffel could fit more clothing, but a carry-on suitcase would be easier to transport through the airport. 

I pulled the suitcase out of my closet and transferred the clothing from the duffel bag into both of its compartments. I quickly realized that I would need to be more intentional about where I put each article of clothing in the smaller piece of luggage, so I took things out, folded them, and put them back in, several times.

When the suitcase was sorted, I pulled my backpack out from under my desk and filled it with a ziploc of toiletries, a handful of pens, a couple of notebooks, and the three chapter books I was in the middle of reading. I hoped to be too busy while I was away to actually do much reading, but I wanted them for waiting at the airport.

I added a pack of gum, a handful of cough drops, and a hairbrush to one of the smaller backpack pockets. I slipped a gift bag containing four picture books, a small blank notebook, a pack of pens, and unicorn chapstick into the biggest pocket. I slid my empty water bottle into the side mesh pocket. I was almost ready to go.

I moved a stack of towels from my bed to the top of my dresser, revealing a chapter book that had been hiding beneath. I would have been sad to forget that! I picked the book off my bed and studied the cover. A man in a yellow hat was tacking a poster of a missing pig up on a post. There was a little girl standing in front of him, cupping her hands around her mouth as though she was shouting. 

I’d had the book for a couple of weeks, but I hadn’t read it yet. I was waiting to share it with my niece, and I wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be new for both of us. Reading together was one of the things I missed most since she moved nine hours away. 

I opened the book and paged through, starting at the back and working my way through to the front. I stopped when I got to the page that the author had autographed. My cheeks burned as I remembered that night.

“This is for my niece. She lives in Michigan,” I’d sputtered, immediately wishing I was better at making conversation.

It wasn’t the worst thing I could have said, but it wasn’t the most meaningful or intelligent, either. I’d been so worried about getting to the bookstore within the two hour window that the author would be signing books, and hadn’t used my drive time to figure out what I wanted to say. I guess I was expecting a longer line of people waiting to meet her, and assumed I’d have more time to think about my words. I arrived towards the end of the event, and while the bookstore was packed with people shopping, the line was short. 

I’d blurted the part about my niece living in Michigan as an explanation for why I hadn’t brought her with to the signing, because I definitely would have, if she still lived in Minnesota.

“How old is she?” the author asked.

“Five and a half,” I answered.

“That’s a good age for those books,” the author said.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

She handed me the signed book and I moved away from the line. I wove my way through the maze of people milling about inside the bookstore, and when I finally stepped out the door, into the cool, crisp air, it was over. A moment I’d been so excited for was over in a flash. A moment the author probably wouldn’t remember kept replaying in my mind.

There was so much more to say about my niece than just, “She lives in Michigan,” but pouring my heart out to a stranger would have made me look weird. My niece is my whole world. I love her more than words can say. Books were one of our things. Her bookshelf is stuffed full of picture books given to her by me, and her collection of chapter books is beginning to grow. I used to read to her many nights before bed, when I lived with her.

I closed the book and placed it in the gift bag inside the backpack. The author wouldn’t remember my awkwardness at our meeting, and it was okay for me to let it go, too. I closed the zipper, grabbed my jacket, and then my bags. I carried everything up the stairs and set it by the front door.

My dog looked down at me from the top of the other set of stairs with worried eyes. He doesn’t like to see luggage by the door, because he knows it means that someone is leaving. I climbed the steps and sat next to him at the top. I patted him on his head.

“It’s okay, Buddy. I’ll be back in ten days,” I assured him. 

He wagged his tail, but I could tell he was still suspicious. All of the sudden, my dog was barking wildly.

“My ride is here. I’ll see you when I get back. Be good!” I told him.

I put on my jacket, collected my bags, and left out the front door.