Ronnie MacKenzie’s gangly body tripped across his bedroom giddily. When he reached the closet, he flung open the door and grabbed hold of his old suitcase that Grandpa Angus had brought over from the old country. The black color was terribly faded now, and the metal pieces were showing rust, but in the end, how it looked wasn’t what was important about the case.

Laying it on his bed, Ronnie unzipped the lid and pulled up a chair to wait. Almost a minute passed before he saw a weak flutter, then there was a cough spewing out a cloud of ancient dust. Suddenly the flap flew back.

“Holy crap!” the suitcase wheezed. “I didn’t think you were ever going to get me out of the closet.”

“Sorry,” Ronnie said. “I haven’t been able to travel in a while.”

“So, now you’re ready to see the world?

“Absolutely.”

“And I’m just supposed to perform like some trained chimp in the circus!”

“What? No, it’s . . .”

“I see nothing but the inside of your festering closet for five years and now I’m to lead you to paradise, no questions asked.”

“It’s not like that . . . wait a minute. Yes, that’s what you do. For sixty years you’ve done that for my family.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m tired and feeling unappreciated.”

“I’m sorry, really. This is the first time in years I have money to go on a trip. I want everything to be perfect.”

“I understand.” The case rested for a few minutes, its flap rising and falling softly. Ronnie waited, peering at his old friend expectantly.

“So,” he finally started, “what ideas do you have for me?”

The suitcase’s lid shot open.

“Ok,” it voiced boisterously. “How about Poughkeepsie, Peoria or Pittsburgh?”

“Uh . . .”

“Or Ypsilanti, Yonkers or Yoe.”

“That’s not exactly . . . ”

“Maybe Wilmington, Worcester or Walla Walla.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’re looking for something out of the ordinary. How about scenic Baffin Island, Kiev, or Inner Mongolia?”

“I was thinking of somewhere exotic. You know, sun, sand, blue water, girls in bikinis.”

“That’s not going to work for me. How about the Mall of America? 400 stores, an amusement park and mini-golf. Or maybe a tour of the Amish country? They don’t use electricity and they churn their own butter.”

“What’s the matter with you?

“I’m just trying to help.”

“But these are terrible vacation ideas!”

“Boy, your grandfather never argued with me. Not after that trip to Detroit he insisted on taking. €˜I want to see the Ford assembly plant’. La dee da. Did he also want his wallet, eye glasses and belt stolen? Did he really want to spend the night in a homeless shelter holding up his pants and talking to a vending machine because he couldn’t see and thought it was one of the volunteers?”

“I’m sorry, but these aren’t places I want to go.”

“I’ve given you a dozen locations.”

“I want to go somewhere warm with a beach.”

“I know we’ve partied at the beach before, but it takes a toll on me. Do you know what the heat does to my fabric? Not to mention the effect humidity has on my zipper.”

“I’ve always followed your advice . . .”

“So did your dad. A good time was had by all.”

“I know, but . . . . Pittsburgh?”

“I’m told it’s a lovely town.”

“For a vacation? You must have lost your mind sitting in the closet all this time.”

“Nice. I work my magic once again and get repaid with insults.”

“Look, suitcase, regardless of our past together, my mind’s made up. I’m not spending my vacation by going to some frozen, northern, industrial town. We’re going somewhere tropical.”

“Over my dead shoe compartment!”

Ronnie stood up. “I’m going to a beach somewhere in the world to drink piña coladas, get a tan, and watch girls in tiny, tiny swim suits!”

“Oh yeah?” The case shouted back. “Well you’re doing it without me!” The suitcase lid slammed down, and it zipped shut tight.

***

The flight had been hell-in-air. Ronnie had never felt so much turbulence. The flight attendants were handing out vomit bags like they were candy at Halloween. Then the line to get through customs had only one agent on duty as the others had contracted food poisoning from eating bad zucchini salad. By the time Ronnie got to his hotel, via a taxi that simultaneously doubled as a hearse, he was exhausted, his skin felt greasy, and his clothes clung to parts of his body in uncomfortable ways. He paid his cab driver and his respects to the family of the deceased, then tripped up the hotel steps into the lobby.

Ronnie was leaning against the front desk, trying to stay awake. He kept reminding himself that it would get better. He was taking his credit card back from the desk clerk when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a smiling bellman.

“May I take your bags, sir?” he asked in accented English.

“Yes, please,” Ronnie replied. “I’m in 1402.” Reaching to the floor, he lifted his 27 plastic shopping bags from ‘Mort’s Organic Market and Fertilizer Emporium’ and dropped them into the confused bellman’s arms.

————

Christopher says, “Born in a fish hatchery in 1937 to a small-mouth bass with bionic fins, I grew up writing haiku on the scales of carp. I like to make candles out of bacon grease, selling them to children for their lunch money and have never met an Eskimo named Larry. Of course, I have never been published in a finer publication than whatever the name of this one is.”