The Suitcase

When people asked me who; my  parents were, I always said “Robert and  Mary Smith.” Some people would laugh  and walk away thinking I was nuts. I didn’t  think I was, not when I was eight year old.  I remembered convincing myself that the  lead singer of “The Cure” was actually my  father. I had this old beige suitcase and in it  was my shirt, a pant, a p.j. and my  toothbrush, like any other child who had  high hopes for Santa Clause or the Fairy to  come by and help fulfill their innocence  that was taken away as the years wentby. I  thought Robert was going to come and take  me away. J waited everyday and cried at  the night time because I started to realize  he wasn’t going to come. My parent (the  one I’m living with) thought I was nuts and  sent me to the doctor. The doctor told my  parent that I was a manic depressive and  send me off with a bottle of ritalin. I guess  doctors had the solution for everything.  However, the old beige suitcase is still in  my closet collecting dust. I didn’t have the  chance to take it out because if I did, I would  have faced my innocence.

from Happy Nightmare Baby by Angela  

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