FLASH FICTION – “Packing for Paris”
By Shortacool
Friends always told me I needed to make sacrifices for love. I never thought that meant packing myself in a bag and traveling from L.A. to Paris in the belly of a plane.
The person of my dreams is patiently waiting for me in the City of Lights, but nothing seems to be working for me in the City of Traffic. It’s the bag he sent me. It’s small. I asked if I could travel in a regular seat, but he said no. The bag was the only way.
So, I discarded clothes at the Goodwill, sold my blue hatchback, and teared up as I said goodbye to a childhood train collection. I never thought I’d get rid of those trains. The child who took them promised to cherish the railcars forever. I reasoned she would abandon them in a year.
With possessions gone, I stepped in, legs first, but that left my chest exposed. I tried curling into a fetal position, but my knees wouldn’t bend to my chest. I went in head first, but pulled a muscle and had to call out of work for a week.
Then it dawned on me. I could leave behind ambitions of becoming a writer, toss nagging feelings of doubt, and discard advice from close friends. But that still left my head poking out. Determined to fit in, I put aside my sister’s discontent, handed my best friend Kerry to another friend for safe-keeping, left my brain with a coworker, then placed my soul in a box and buried it behind a 7-11.
I’m mostly in the bag now! Damn, there isn’t enough room for my nose. Not to worry. C'est la vie, I will keep trying.
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