The Red Suitcase - Part One

The beeping of the alarm awoke me.  I scrambled to end the wretched sound.  Six A.M. already?  It seemed I had just fallen asleep.  I sat up and put my feet in my old worn slippers, stretched and yawned.  It was morning whether I liked it or not.  Another day, just like all the other mindless days.

I grabbed my robe and put it on as I walked to the bathroom.  It was the usual morning routine.  Go to the bathroom, wash my hands, brush my teeth, brush my long gray hair and put it in a bun.  Then dab on a little blush and lipstick and back to the bedroom to put on a housedress. After that it was off to the kitchen to make breakfast for my family. 

I was a good southern wife and mother.  That's what we do, just like my mother and her mother before her. It was how it had been for the past forty-four years.

Now, I say I went to cook breakfast for my family.  Let me explain.  I married Clayton Burkefield in 1947.  I was 16 years old.  We had two sons, Wayne and Eli.  They have grown, moved out, married, had kids, divorced, and moved back in again. 

Eli brought his kids with shared custody, Wayne was glad to leave his behind.  So though my husband and I should have been heading into retirement years with an empty nest, we weren't.  I did not have any say in the matter.  At least, that is how I let myself be treated.

So, in the kitchen that morning I made breakfast for my family.  Scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits, and grits were prepared diligently.  I set the table for six, complete with all the condiments and beverages to the likings of each family member.  With everything complete I yelled out, "Breakfast is ready!"

Wayne was the first to enter the kitchen.  He sat down, filled his plate, and began eating without saying a word.  Eli was the next to come in.  He too sat down without an acknowledgement to me and filled his plate.  His only words were to yell out, "You kids get outa that bed and get in here and get some breakfast!"

I raised an eyebrow at my son as my two tired looking grandchildren, Mary Ellen, who was ten, and Wesley, who was eight, came into the room.  They were still in pajamas and their hair was all tousled.  Clayton followed the kids in and the three took seats at the table.  I sat down also and began fixing my plate.

"Same ol' crap again Gramma?" Mary Ellen asked.

Eli reached around Wesley and thunked Mary Ellen on the head.  "Girl, I'm gonna tan yer hide if ya talk to yer Gramma like that again.  You apologize."

Mary Ellen rubbed the back of her head and gave her father an evil look.  "Well, it's true.  Same old crap every mornin'.  Only difference is whether the meat is sausage, ham, or bacon.  I'm so sick of it.  I hate comin' here!"

Wesley forked a sausage patty and took a bite from it, then chimed in.  "Yeah, me too.  Ya'll ain't got no cable, no video games, no nothin'.  It sucks here!"

I didn't bother to comment.  I knew it would be fruitless.  Momma always said, "Let me tell ya, Tangie, a good wife is a quiet wife.  The faster you learn that the better off you'll be."  It didn't take long in my marriage to learn what Momma meant.  I learned to keep quiet.  I learned that my voice did not matter. 

This was how it was every time the kids came to stay with their Daddy.  They were ungrateful, spoiled, and had no manners.  I had tried to teach my boys manners.   Unfortunately, they had picked up more of their father's behavior than what I taught them. 

Our breakfast was going on as normal until the phone rang.  Clayton got up to answer it.  "Hello . . .Yes, this is Clayton Burkefield . . . Well, that would of course be WRBX, the best radio station to catch all the baseball games, right?"

Everyone's attention was gained from Clayton's last statement.  Clayton was quiet for a few moments.  Then he suddenly became very excited.  "That would be Dusty Baker! Yee haw!"  He jumped up and down in total exhilaration. 

Wayne turned the kitchen radio on just in time to hear the DJ exclaim, "That's right, Clayton Burkefield.  Dusty Baker was on deck when Hank Aaron hit homerun #715 on April 8, 1974, and you are now a finalist to win the trip package for 6 to go see games 3, 4 and 5 in Atlanta, Georgia!  Come down to the station on Saturday morning at 9 for the face off with the other finalists.  Whoever knows the most Braves trivia wins!"  The commotion in the house pretty much blocked out the rest of the DJ's comments. 

The mood in the house was cheerfull as everyone readied for the day.  I was in tremendously good spirits.  Nothing was going to get me down.  Not even Clayton, when he leaned in close before leaving that morning.  One would have almost thought he was leaning in to give me a kiss.  I knew differently. 

"Here's $20," he said, as he stuffed the money in my hand.  "Go get steaks for me and the boys tonight, and some good potatoes for bakin'.  You and the kids can have hamburgers."

Just like Momma used to tell me, "The men work hard.  They deserve a good meal."  This was not unusual to me.  Still, I longed to be included, to be a part of the celebration.  I longed to be loved.  I knew I would never get it from Clayton. 

I pushed away the desperate lonliness.  I would not allow anything to get me down this morning.  I hummed softly as I watched Clayton and the boys climb in the truck and head off to the construction site.  Alone at last.  I treasured such time. 

All those years of Clayton watching baseball were now going to pay off.  In forty-four years of marriage, we had never been on a vacation.  Not even a trip to visit family.  Both of our families lived in the same town as we did.  Clayton was such a penny pincher. "We don't need to go no where," he'd say. "We can just relax at home."

Huh, relax at home.  That means Clayton took vacation days from work and I had to work harder because he was home all day long.  I was a good southern wife, so I had to be at his beck and call.  To not be could earn a back slap, a knock back, a stomach punch, or worse. 

Needless to say, I did not love my husband. But if he won this contest, we would finally have a real vacation.  I would finally take a step outside of Rowan County, North Carolina.  It was something I had dreamed about since before I ever met Clayton Burkefield.

As I went about my daily business of tidying the house, I thought about how things had gotten to where they where.  I had grown up in a traditional southern household.  My father and three brothers ran the farm.  My mother, my three sisters and me took care of the house. 

I was the oldest of the children, so each time a new baby was born, I took over my mother's duties.  I was allowed to attend the local school during the times Momma did not need me.  Often, though, when Momma had a new baby, or when the crops came in and canning needed to be done, I had to stay home.

I loved school.  I wanted to learn.  I wanted to get out of the small town of Rockwell North Carolina.  I wanted to go to college.  I wanted to travel the world.  I was going to be different.

I saved my money from working at the drugstore in town during the summer.  The part Daddy let me keep, that is.  I bought a beautiful red suitcase.  I would spend my time creating all kinds of suitcase dreams – where would I go, who would I go with, what would I see, what would I do?  I did not want to be like Momma.  Funny thing is, when I look in the mirror, I even look like Momma now. 

Please comment below then go to Part Two

"Critique Welcome"

To see other writings that I consider part of my best on Gather, visit Monica Kennedy Writing Resume.