All That I Am

      The man awoke in a solitary room, finding his feet he looked about him. Right in front of him, in the middle of the room, was a table with a large open suitcase upon it, a single bright light bulb shining above, and around him, lining the walls of the white box he found himself in, were a myriad of shelves full of various items. The items seemed to have little to no correlation or relation to each other, randomly scattered about on the small space, and while many of them seemed rather insignificant, they otherwise tugged some loose thread within the man’s mind, as if beckoning him to memory; a storm just passed, the fumbling pitch of a child’s song, tracing the tender lines along the hands of a loved one. Yet all these thoughts seemed to steal away from his mind like smoke wafting through a vent. Scratching his head in a strange confusion, he turned around, to find the fourth wall of the room possessing a singular door in it’s frame. Trying the knob, he found the door would not budge, not even in the slightest. So little did the door react to his weight against it that it made no sound, and seemed more like a strange decoration on the wall than an actual slab on hinges. Defeated by the only visible exit, he turned around again, facing the suitcase. He had a strange feeling, there was no true memory within his head, only the faintest of echoes, yet he thought, or perhaps the thought was made for him, that he should peruse the items around, and lay them within the suitcase. The man slowly paced around the room, carefully looking over several of the items, hearing muffled voices, sounds and thoughts as he pondered each, until eventually he found a strange teddy bear.

           The teddy bear was ragged, disheveled and small, completely covered in dirt and missing an eye, a small patch sewn over its chest. The man reached out to this bear but paused, noticing his hands. Withered as they seemed to be, the skin hanging loosely upon his flesh and bone, he did not feel the aching weakness one would expect from such aged, experienced hands. He could not help but marvel at this, but only for a moment, as the teddy bear seemed to call for him. He wrapped his decrepit hands around the tiny bear, and cradled it with a strange familiarity, bringing it slowly towards the suitcase. As he placed the bear within, suddenly the muffling upon the voices lifted, and two voices met his ears. “Momma! Momma! Teddy caught on the fencing while we were playing, he scratched his eye and his heart is open!” The first voice, clearly that of a child, rang and echoed within his mind, followed shortly thereafter by a heavenly tone, the feminine voice of his mother cooing back, “aww, it’s ok sweetie, don’t you worry.” As the man put the bear down within the case, it felt more like it was gently grabbed from him than him setting it down, “momma will fix him right up, good as new!” The voices faded away, leaving him back within his muffled world, alone. Smiling, he wondered at what other joyous things might await him should he continue packing! More excitedly now, he returned to the shelf, grabbing and packing all sorts of trinkets and toys, each one flooding his mind with love and joy, showing his mother a stick he found, sharing some hot cocoa by the fire, waking up Christmas morning and seeing the tree, humble as it was, with presents beneath it! So fervently he packed these childish joys until he found something that brought him pause.

           The room about him had shifted, it’s blank white walls now sky blue and crowned with sunny skies, but as his hand hovered above a small, simple bracelet, the muffled voices around him grew more silent and weary. Despite this he felt heavily drawn to the item, and carefully picked it up. It was a mostly white band, featuring a list of information, a small code, and what stuck out to him the most: a name reading Claire James. Carefully, ever so tenderly, he grabbed the bracelet and placed it with reverence within the suitcase, awaiting what would spring back to him with bated breath. What met him first was a tired voice, full of love still even as it was beaten down, “hey there sweetie… Grandma told me you drew something for me?” A slow rhythmic beep could be heard behind her once heavenly voice, her breathing now dry and raspy. A quiet voice spoke up, older than he was before but still so young, “y-yeah… I made you this little rabbit… she’s got a rose crown on her head.” The young boy sounded unsure of himself as he shuffled closer, handing her the drawing. The voices began fading again, but not before the man heard her voice, brighter now, “aww that’s so sweet! Thank you so much love…” Even as the voices faded, her raspy breathing stuck around, the beeping resonating within the mans mind as tears streamed down his face. The light bulb flickered, casting the room in shadows for just a moment, and when it illuminated once more, the room seemed duller than it did before, no longer bright and shiny, even the clouds in the sky seemed gray and thin. The man simply sat there, upon his knees, weeping next to the suitcase. He thought for a moment to grab the bracelet, trying to thrust it away from the case, as if to cast this memory to oblivion, but his hands simply passed through the bracelet, as though it could not be touched anymore. A truly unknowable amount of time passed as the man wept, but eventually the tears stopped flowing, partly as he felt there were no more tears left. He didn’t even look for the next item, instead he reached out and grabbed a wooden frame. Pulling the frame close, he gently caressed the glass covering the photo within. Rising shakily to his feet, he placed the picture frame within the case, and the sound of rain met his ears, pattering against umbrellas and grass alike. The entire funeral played around him, yet the voices almost seemed just as muffled as before; the sound of shuffling feet, the smell of wet grass, the warmth of his grandmother’s hand on his shoulder, the only real sensations he had. He could only stare, silently, upon his mother’s shining casket, the world fading out around him as he struggled for meaning. He hardly even noticed when this memory faded, the funeral ending and the rain stopped it’s deluge. Yet the man had little else to do within this room, so he sullenly grabbed more random items. Report cards with struggling grades, a loose tooth, detention slips, they brought about more and more memories, but he cared little for the voices within, the voices of his teachers, counselors, his own grandmother. The voices were just as muffled in memory as they were before he remembered them, but yet again he found an item that gave him pause.

           He picked up a small resin block, mostly clear save for a red petal encased within, and a carving in the corner which read: 12/27/68. It was so small and seemed so insignificant, yet it brought such a tender warmness into his heart as he cradled it. Placing it within the suitcase a memory surfaced, and again that heavenly voice spoke, not a trace of despair within it, “do you know why roses are momma’s favorite flower?” The young boy did not speak, but shrugged his shoulders in response, “roses are incredibly resilient! They can be stubborn to grow at times, but some of the best things in life are worth fighting for. And when you put in all that time, and effort, eventually,” she plucked a single rose from the bush, “you’re rewarded with one of the most stunning flowers on planet Earth! Did you know one of the oldest living roses is over one thousand years old? That plant has experienced some of the worst things humanity is capable of… and still thrived!” His mother faded away again, but this time the man smiled! Bittersweet though it was he smiled, and the light seemed to shine brightly once more as he resumed searching the room. He had decided not to be burdened down with pain, but to live on with joy in her memory, and as the suitcase gradually filled up he recalled more and more of his life. Growing up with his grandmother, playing with his cousins, finding a job, stressful as it was at times he was still able to find joy in his life. He refused to let anyone, or anything take away the joy in his life, joy was his decision to make. As he had become familiar with by now, yet another item granted him some pause as he reached for it.

           A small ring, too small even for his withered fingers, made of a gold band and a shining diamond atop it. The ring made him nervous, but not a bad nervous like the bracelet, this was an almost… tingly and giddy type of nervous! He cleared his throat and wiped his sweating hands upon his pants before grabbing it, and placing it almost clumsily within the suitcase. The first voice was deep and smooth, but shaky as well, “M-Monique… we’ve uh… we’ve been together for some time now and… I,” the words he had planned out flew away from his brain and what came out his mouth instead, as he rushed to his knees, nearly dropping the ring, “will you marry me?” The man could hardly help but laugh as the memory faded, thinking back on it now it was just so silly, of course she loved him too. The man continued packing items, the room around him now had beige walls and various framed pictures hanging from them. Looking at the photos he recognized himself as a younger man with a stunning woman next to him, wrapped in his arms as they smiled. He smirked and stroked his stubbly chin, tilting his head as he admired the clean-shaven vision before him, and could not help but sigh gently at the woman, long curly black hair falling down behind her. He turned back around, noticing how empty the room seemed to be, as the suitcase filled more and more. He resumed steadily filling the case with items, smiling and laughing with Monique as they built their lives together, savoring the sweet, tender moments and relishing the playful times, snowball fights, tickle fights, even accidents around the house. He jumped for joy when he found, next to a tiny pair of shoes, a small white plastic stick with a plus sign on it’s screen. As he packed them he heard faint voices and the cries of a baby, flooding his heart with even more joy and love for this new life. As he continued packing however, he noticed something, so many significant moments were no longer items tied to him or Monique, he had found himself once more collecting various children’s toys, storybooks, movies, even a discarded pair of training wheels. He smiled and cheered as he recalled the first time his daughter rode her bike without them! They truly grow up so fast and before long she was a young woman, and he recalled how beautiful she looked, and the stern speech he gave her boyfriend, on Prom night. He hugged the bow of her dress to his heart before placing it in the suitcase. He noticed now how his withered body began to ache so, his bones creaking beneath his skin as he struggled to grab more items. He placed a car key into the case and hugged his daughter before she drove off to her new home, leaving their old one feeling so empty. A phone brought countless memories of calls and chats with Mary, his daughter had grown up to be so strong, and he couldn’t be more proud of her. The man labored around the room now, his bones aching like never before as he struggled to find significance in certain items, their memories discarded, the few he found filled with a weary joy as he spoke with his grandchildren.

Eventually, he found the suitcase was nearly full, and as he gazed about the room, could not think of any more importance within the items surrounding him. Placing his hands upon the case, he readied to close it, when he noticed the most peculiar thing. He was quite certain it was not there before, but upon his wrist was a bracelet. It was a mostly white band, featuring a list of information, a small code, and what stuck out to him the most: a name reading Quincy James. Removing the band from his wrist he placed it atop the other various items in the suitcase, taking a deep breath as he did so. Once more he heard beeping and rasped breaths, only from much closer now. A young, melodic voice reached him as he lay there, “why don’t you show grandpa what you drew for him?” He turned in his bed to look at the young boy, shuffling there, and smiled. The young boy sounded unsure of himself as he shuffled closer, handing him the drawing, “it’s nothing much, I knew you liked roses and foxes… I drew this fox with a rose crown on it’s head.” The man reached out for the drawing and smoothed it out within a place of reverence in the suitcase. Sighing deeply and shakily, he closed the suitcase and spoke aloud, his voice low and raspy, “This is all that I am.” As he zipped the suitcase, he heard a sudden click behind him, so he turned to face the door. The door, which had been as unmoving as any other wall, has swung ajar, and from within shone a brilliant light. The old man lifted the suitcase off of the table, patting the sides and taking a deep breath, remembering everything once more. “I choose joy.” He grabbed the handle, rolling the suitcase along behind him, and stepped through the door and into the light.