The Tiny Suitcase Project

I was slouched on the soft carpeted floor with a small suitcase and a closet bursting with possessions. A closet filled to the brink of exploding, and a tiny suitcase. A minuscule suitcase, and a closet of chaotic festivities. I looked back and forth between the empty compartment lying still on the floor and the wide-open wardrobe doors with robust colours and frivolous items dancing uncomfortably off-beat. As I gazed deep inside, I rendered this task futile. It was impossible to fit all my possessions inside the worn-out bag sitting by my knees.

“Dr. Robbins?” I muttered, waiting eagerly for the shuffling of feet towards my bedroom door and the door knob twisting to allow for my escape. The satisfying metallic click of my door being pushed and then flung open was what I truly yearned to hear, but my ears were left unsatisfied. “Dr. Robbins!” I nearly yelled, hoping for a better response after my first attempt. The shuffling of feet did not happen, but the faint voice of Dr. Robbins could be heard as he presumably sank into my plush grey sofa with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade as I succumbed to rot inside my room with a tiny suitcase and a closet full of jittery items I couldn’t possibly leave behind and simultaneously couldn’t pack away. “What did you say?” I yelled after hearing faint murmurs through the door.

“Are you done packing? That’s what I asked you, Kalila.” Dr. Robbins always maintained his composure. That was part of his job, that much I knew, but I wasn’t sure if trapping me behind closed doors with this cumbersome, loathsome bag was helpful in any fathomable way. 

“No, I’m not done.” Annoyance crept through my voice like slim spidery legs. “And I don’t want to be done. This exercise is useless. Can you please let me out?” I pleaded, in hopes he might just cave in. I longed for the restful sessions as I lay on the soft beige sofa in his far too extravagant home and poured everything onto the surface of his pristine white tiles only to refill everything again the following week. 

“Kalila, this exercise isn’t useless if you try. Now, pack your things.” Dr. Robbins sounded firmer than usual.

“But I need to talk to you,” I said with equal firmness to repel Dr. Robbins. “Sitting here in silence won’t help me.”

“Yes, it will. Kalila, give it a try.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to tell me what to do?.” I made a feeble attempt at mockery. 

“I can tell you what to do. Now, get packing,” Dr. Robbins said and I could faintly hear him take a large gulp of sweet lemonade. 

“Can I get a glass of lemonade at least?” I pleaded. “Please?” I spoke again but knew I was left here to rot until the tiny suitcase was packed with all my fiddly belongings. 

***

Dr. Robbins and I have been meeting weekly for over a year, but it almost feels like a century as the weight on my shoulders drags time at a snail's pace. Dr. Robbins sat with his legs delicately crossed at each one of our sessions and I would speak and speak and speak while lying like a log on the sofa. There was no speaking this time, and Dr. Robbins sat on my plush couch while I racked my brain and slapped my suitcase a few times from sheer frustration. My eyes licked over each item in my wardrobe until they landed on a sour pink shirt wedged between two bulky sweaters. 

It was the pink shirt I wore at a birthday brunch a few years ago. I swallowed hard. In that striking pink colour, I sat silo at the corner of the table—forgotten and invisible in a shirt that would have otherwise garnered more attention than one could handle. My body shuddered, remembering the tears that ached to stream down my cheeks at the lonely birthday brunch while the air filled with the gleeful laughter of everyone around. It was Lisa Gordon’s birthday; her golden hair paired with that sparkly smile wouldn’t say anything but she was the life of the party and I was a fallen tree in an empty forest. 

“Everything okay in there? I don’t hear much packing.” Dr. Robbins’ voice was once more the same mellow tone he always held for our weekly sessions. “You can still talk, Kalila.”

“Yes, everything is fine.” I snapped. There was silence afterward and my ears rang, waiting for a response from Dr. Robbins. When no sound travelled through the doors, I sprawled flat on my back on the carpeted floor with a thud and my head spun around and around with pools of unbridled stress as I looked at my suitcase and wide open closet filled with more things than I could handle. 

“Kalila, let’s reconvene tomorrow, I’ll see myself out. Take care.” I felt Dr. Robbins standing near the door frame. “Don’t think about it all at once. Look at things individually, piece by piece. And sometimes, it’s okay to just let some of your belongings go.” He continued to linger by the door and so I grunted, indicating I was alive, but maybe not so well. 

***

“Xavier, I’m still in here and this exercise is beyond pointless,” I said as Dr. Robbins sat outside the room with a steaming cup of mocha I made for him before taking myself to the wide-open bag and closet full of mind-debasing triviality. 

“Okay, Dr. Humphreys? Since when did you start calling me by my first name.” Dr. Robbins sounded amused. 

“Since I realised you don’t seem to know what you’re doing.” I sighed and I heard a hearty laughter through the walls. As Dr. Robbins had a jovial time, my eyes fixated back on the closet and inside I saw a pair of heels which made my heart drop down a few inches. My chest tightened and I found it hard to breathe as I remember the day I stood under an open archway, overhearing Jessie and James label me as fat and hairy over cool glasses of beer. My lower lip trembled and the words fat and hairy swam through my mind more than a few times I was called that—fat and hairy, not so smart, all alone day and night with no friends in sight. I lay down on the carpeted floor and my head swirled into an abyss. Warm water trickled into my ears and it took a few moments to realize they were tears, almost involuntarily leaking from my eyes. Fat and hairy, lonely and scared, no friends, lying on the floor, unable to do anything else. My mind was like a whirlpool in the middle of an ocean with no land in sight. 

“Everything okay in there?” Dr. Robbins’ voice was muffled as tears flowed because of those wretched heels that barely belonged to me anymore. 

“Yes, everything is fine.” My voice cracked towards the end. 

“I think we are done for today, Kalila.” I nodded behind the shut doors, and as if Dr. Robbins knew, he wished me well and left for us to start again another day.  

***

I could hear my heart beating through my ears and despite the eerie silence filling the room, the jumble of sounds in my mind made the room feel like a rave. I didn’t bother whining about my tiny suitcase and large wardrobe this time as Dr. Robbins sat outside with a glass of cool green tea straight out of a refrigerated bottle. 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed or if any time had moved along at all; the glass of cool green tea might still be filled to the brim if I stepped out to take a peak. My chaotic wardrobe sang with cacophonous sounds as I walked down memory lane in the emerald green boots I wore to the first day of university on a cloudy day. I looked at the yellow sweater which garnered more than enough stares for a lifetime. Lonely lunches in denim overalls, teardrops around moth holes on cashmere sweaters, and drops of blood on a crisp white shirt from a nervously picked hangnail. My chest seized up each second as I was riddled with indecision for the next move. There wasn’t enough space, but far too much for me to pack. I cursed Dr. Robbins and his unconventional tactics. 

“Dr. Robbins!” I yelled. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Can we please just do our normal thing? Not this absurdity you are calling therapy.” There was a catch in my voice in the middle of rage.

“I think you’ve almost got it Kalila, just a little bit longer.” The sound of Dr. Robbins’ voice was consoling, but the words were far from it. 

I squeezed my eyes shut until the blackness turned into flecks of red, gold, and green.  When my eyelashes unravelled, the shift was so sudden, that the thousand needles grazing my skin pulled out at once. My eyes fell on the empty suitcase but never lifted to eye my overflowing belongings. I simply zipped the bag and propped it up. 

“Dr. Robbins?” I said as I stood by the door. “You can let me out now.” I heard the beautiful metallic click and the hinges creaked as the door was pulled open gently and I strolled into the hallway. When Dr. Robbins held the bag, he lifted his eyebrows with amusement and satisfaction. 

“What’s inside?” Dr. Robbins asked, knowing the answer. 

“Nothing.” I shrugged. 

“Nothing?” He asked with an inquisitive look.

“Nothing at all.” I smiled as my seized-up chest expanded for the first time and the sounds which rang in my ears started to fly away.