Carry On

My star is rising; I can feel it. There was a buzz in the air when I entered the lobby of Pinnacle Agency’s offices this morning. Something big is coming and I’m going to make sure that I’m the one that receives it.

It’s been six months since I landed a role here—the top marketing agency in the city—and I am thriving. My razor-sharp focus, relentless drive, and unyielding confidence love organizing the chaos, juggling a dozen campaigns at once with ruthless efficiency.

Almost as if cued, my boss arrives at my office door just as I drop my laptop bag onto my desk. Sarah’s signature tight bun already has stray pieces escaping the tie. Her cheeks are flushed red and she is ripping at the cuticles of her manicured fingers with her teeth. She is a fantastic people manager, but struggles with the fast-paced, cut throat environment that is basically required at an agency as prestigious as Pinnacle. As much as I like her as a person, I know she will be gone soon; caving to the pressure and burnout. When that happens, I will be ready to replace her.

“Hi, Lydia. Thank God you’re here. The Bunker account is on fire right now, and I need you to take on a campaign for Lindenberg. You’re the only one on the team I trust can handle it.”

It takes effort to keep my lips from breaking into a beaming smile. Lindenberg is the biggest account at Pinnacle, running over half a billion dollars a year in marketing campaigns for their various business holdings. Leading this project will leave no doubts about my ability to manage a team in the near future.

I harness my excitement and keep my reply casual. “Absolutely, Sarah. Just send me the details, and I’ll get right on it.”

“Phew!” She lets out a dramatic sigh, wiping her hand across her brow as if she’s sweating bullets. “Thank you so much, Lydia. It’s for their big Mother’s Day jewelry sales next month.” I freeze while opening my laptop, but Sarah is too exasperated to notice. “It’s a short timeline, but I know you’ll crush it.”

She gives me a thumbs up and sweeps out of my office. I brace my hands against my desk and close my eyes, breathing in for four counts and out for four. My heart races as images of my mother screaming at me flash through my mind. I push the memory away, focusing on my breath counts so that I can shut out that compartment of my mind the same way she slammed the door closed on me.

Keep moving forward, Lydia. No time for the past.

Within two minutes, I’ve recomposed myself, sliding back into the relentless, unyielding, and ruthless mindset that has brought me my success.

It’s nearly midnight when I walk up the steps to my apartment building. The historical high-rise with ornate architectural flourishes, popular in the early 1900s, is stunning. A few years ago, the owner renovated it to be the sleek, modernistic perfection of today’s luxury apartments. When I toured it after getting the job offer at Pinnacle, I knew I couldn’t live anywhere else.

After handling some action items for my other campaigns, I spent the rest of the day taking in Lindenberg’s Mother’s Day brief and getting the creative team started on some concepts. My shoulders and back ache from the time bent over my computer researching. Swiping my key fob at the apartment entry, I rush to check the mailboxes and then to the elevator, eager for a long, hot shower to ease the tense muscles.

When the doors open on my floor, I see the corners of a boxy item sticking out of the trash chute, jamming it. I sigh and move to clear the obstruction. It annoys me that people don’t care about the place they live in. One day, I’ll own my own home and won’t have to see other people's messes.

Reaching for the box, I feel its supple leather and catch the glint of two gold buckles across the front. It’s a suitcase—a vintage one from the looks of it. My exhaustion takes a back seat as my curiosity peaks. I love visiting thrift stores to find antiques; picking through items that hold the past within them.

My fingers wrap around the handle and I jerk the suitcase from side to side as carefully as I can to release it from the chute. It breaks free suddenly; the force pushing me back a few steps. Twisting my wrist, I turn the suitcase, inspecting the leather for damage. There’s just a few scuffs on one corner from being stuffed into the chute. Otherwise, it looks like a perfectly suitable travel bag, no larger than the worn carry on stuffed in the back of my closet.

Once I make it into my apartment, I set the suitcase on my breakfast table and then look through the mail stack, throwing most of it away. A thick envelope with a familiar scratchy script is at the bottom. There’s never a return address—she knows I won’t ever write back—but the handwriting alone fills me with a toxic mixture of anger and despair. The emotions threaten to bubble up from the dark well I keep them locked in.

As I stand in my pristine kitchen, fighting back the ugly tears gathering in my eyes, I feel a warm, comforting energy pulsing from behind me. I turn to the suitcase, the overwhelming anguish receding back into the depths with each step I take towards it. By some sort of hypnotic compulsion, I unlatch the two buckles and push open the lid to place my mother’s letter inside, then shut the suitcase again.

Like waking from a dream, I snap back into the present. The tension in my back and shoulders has released and I feel weightless; more relaxed than I’ve been in my entire life.

When morning comes, I sing and twirl about the apartment while I get ready for work. I grab my purse and keys, then step out the door. A single foot gets across the threshold when I am doubled over by the same rush of emotion brought on by my mother’s letter last night, though it feels amplified to an unbearable degree. I stumble back, clutching my abdomen and gasping for air. A pulse of energy from the breakfast table lashes me with a wave of malice, dropping me to my knees.

And then it stops.

I get to my feet, moving carefully while nausea roils my stomach, my body unsettled by the vicious emotional attack. Stumbling to the suitcase, I grab it and head back to the door. A contented vibration fills my hand; like the purr of a cat who’s caught its mouse.

Suitcase in hand, I head out to work.

The week flies by, and though I receive many questioning looks from my coworkers, the suitcase is with me for every moment. The Lindenberg Mother’s Day campaign moves along quickly; my initial discomfort taking on a project celebrating a person I never had in my life fades away.

Anytime those horrible memories try to invade my mind in meetings with the client, I stroke the leather, letting those emotions bleed away into nothing. An incredible state of euphoria fills me with a sense of safety and love I’ve never experienced before.

On Friday afternoon, I am at my desk, adjusting the work-back schedule for the Lindenberg commercial shoot when Carrie, the office manager at Pinnacle, walks into my office with a vase of white roses and a big grin on her face.

“These just came for you, Lydia. Look how beautiful!”

She thrusts the crystal vessel towards me while I stare at the flowers in confusion. When I don’t take them, Carrie places the roses on the corner of my desk, stroking a bud in admiration. “Secret admirer, Lydia?”

My vision zeroes in on the card, and I snatch it up with trepidation. Only one person has ever sent me white roses….

“Thanks, Carrie. Could you close the door on the way out?”

Carrie’s grin falls, but she keeps her disappointment to herself. When the door latch clicks shut, I rip the stationery from the envelope. My fingers tremble as I read the note.

Lydia,

I tried to call, but I know you’re busy. I just wanted to let you know that I’m getting married in December and I would love to have you there. Please call me.

Much love,

Jeremy

A bitter rage boils up my throat. I release a strangled growl, trying to bottle it all back up while I’m still at work. How dare he?!

Dark energy pulses from the suitcase stored underneath my desk. Instinct takes over and I smash it onto my desk, ripping the buckles open. Shredding the card, I toss the pieces into the suitcase, then swipe the vase—crystal, flowers, and water together—in after. The glass crunches as I slam the lid shut.

I can barely hear my labored breaths over the piercing ringing sound in my ears.

After a few moments, the suitcase begins its purring vibrations, emitting the calming zen aura I’ve come to rely on. It feels stronger now, blanketing me in its warmth. Feeling centered again, I sit back down in my chair and slide the suitcase back underneath my desk. This time, it sticks out, my leg bumping against it when I pull myself back towards my work.

Sarah stands in my doorway. The skin under her eyes is dark and her nail beds are red from several ripped hangnails. She looks even more worn down than the last time I saw her a month ago, but the worry etched onto her face seems to be for me.

“I just wanted to check on you. You haven’t posted any pictures since Pinnacle let you go, and everyone was worried about you with that suitcase….” She trails off, unsure what to say.

I’m not sure why she’s making such a fuss. The past month has been the best month of my life. No work, no stress—just enjoying the little slice of nirvana I’ve created in my apartment with my suitcase.

Looking over my shoulder at the massive trunk taking up my entire living room, I smile. Anything that bothers me, the trunk has taken off my shoulders, letting me bask in a bubble of peace without having to be overwhelmed by emotion.

“I’m doing just fine, Sarah. Being fired by Pinnacle has been freeing. I’m not tied down by expectations anymore.”

She chews her lip, hesitant to believe who I am now is better than the type-A corporate climber I was.

“You have an eviction notice taped to your door, Lydia. Please, let me help you.”

The bright red letters leave my door as I take the paper down and crumple it into my hand.

“See? No worries.” Giving Sarah another beaming grin, I begin to shut the door. “Thanks for stopping by. It was great seeing you.”

Strolling over to the vibrating trunk, I toss the eviction notice into its waiting jaws. It ripples as the leather stretches a few more centimeters, brushing against the kitchen counter. The massive traveling case looks ready.

I take a last look around my apartment, then swing both feet into an eternity of serene heaven, closing the lid behind me.