An Odd Shade of Periwinkle
I was standing four feet tall in a nest of wanna-be Americans when my luggage rolled onto the carousel, its top half torn to shreds. The bag was an odd shade of periwinkle and smelled somewhat like asphalt after a storm. It had been gifted to me by my Mutti because she thought we ought to travel in style.
But there was nothing stylish about it now.
The airport was small and muggy and I was starting to get claustrophobic when Mutti signaled for the nearest employee. Her long, brown ponytail bobbed as she waved a hand. I doubted her outstretched arm would be seen from the clump we stood in, but Mutti stood on her tippy toes and gave a shout.
“Mama, let’s just go,” I said. From the sliver of moonlight that peered through the windows on our left, I knew it was late. Papa would be waiting for us at the house.
“We just bought your bag, Mila,” Mutti said. “Now it’s ruined.” “But I’m tired and hungry.”
Mutti sighed, taking my sweaty palms in hers. “Your father will not be pleased if we come home like this.”
I parted my lips to say otherwise, but Mutti held up a finger. Conversation over.
Her heels made an eerie clicking noise as she walked across the tiles, headed straight for a young lady standing behind a podium-like desk. The lady offered Mutti a smile, revealing a thick gap between her front teeth. I kept my own mouth closed.
“Excuse me, ma’am, our luggage has been carelessly handled and is ruined,” Mutti said. The lady’s smile faded. She drummed two fingers against her podium as if in thought. “Form of identification?” the lady said.
Mutti nodded, reaching into her bright blue purse for a wad of papers. She handed the lady our passports along with a thicker stack of letters that I had never seen.
“Business in the United States?” the lady asked.
I watched Mutti swallow her impatience and straighten her back before speaking again. I didn’t know why my heart began racing and my eyes were starting to water. If only Papa was here to see this. Surely he’d agree the bag wasn’t worth it.
But Mutti did not stand down. “We’ve just moved here.” “This is a temporary visa,” the lady said.
“Yes, we are in the process of getting a business visa with my husband’s work.” “This–” the lady held up the stack of papers. “Is not a business visa.”
“I know, but–”
“I’ll have to call for backup, ma’am.”
I didn’t know what that meant, and I would not wait to find out. “Let’s go, Mama,” I said.
The lady mumbled something into a walkie talkie as Mutti swatted my hand away. I glanced over to my luggage still on the ground and sighed. All this for a periwinkle bag. It wasn’t that I didn’t love it, but I could get another.
I wasn’t sure we could get another visa if those papers didn’t find their way back to Mutti’s purse.
The airport began to empty as more and more families swept through the large set of doors. When they opened, a breeze rushed inside, brustling my lilac skirt. Even my fair skin was starting to turn a ruby-red from the winter air. I was now tired, hungry, and a little bit cold. And my luggage was not avenged!
“Ma’am, we will have to confiscate that bag,” the lady said after a set of muffled voices spoke through her walkie talkie.
“Excuse me?” Mutti replied.
“We can’t verify when the damages occurred so we’ll have to take it in for inspection.” “The damages happened during our thirteen hour flight!”
It was never a good sign when Mutti raised her voice. She rarely did, so I wasn’t sure why she was now.
“Mama?” I tugged on her blouse.
“We can’t verify that,” the lady said. She ignored me and my protests and came from behind her podium to take my bag.
“Wait, my clothes are in there!” I said. It made me sick to my stomach when even Mutti was silent, her shoulders drooped in defeat.
“You’re going to take my daughters luggage and clothes, why?” Mutti said. Her voice was soft and gentle, but I just wanted to cry. “Is it my accent?”
The lady ignored her and I watched with wide eyes as my luggage disappeared. I couldn’t
decide which was worse: the shredded top half, or its vanishing entirely. But then I realized that with it, I had lost all my clothes, and I almost missed the bag’s odd shade of periwinkle.
“Why are you doing this?” Mutti pressed.
But it was useless. The lady glanced at us like we were nothing but the muggy carpet beneath our boots. Before we could say anything else, she left. And I never saw my luggage again.
Mutti grabbed my hand and turned for the doors. “This is ridiculous.” “Mama?”
“Yes, Mila?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I was sorry the bag got ruined. I was sorry I had let the lady take it away. I was sorry we wasted the money on it in the first place.
“When we get to the house, don’t say anything about this to your father.”
Mutti clutched my hand as she rolled her own luggage behind her, stopping short of the red curb to wait for a taxi. I could see my breath in the air and wished for a clock. But even my watch was in that luggage. Even–
“I left my stuffed Hundchen in my luggage,” I said. I didn’t bother looking up at Mutti.
As I blinked, the cold air seemed to dry up any tears that welled in my eyes.
“We will find you another,” Mutti said. She squeezed my hand as a bright yellow car pulled up in front of us.
“To Hollywood,” Mutti said to the driver while we climbed in the backseat. It sounded fantastical and I was sure we would have to turn around soon. No way were we going to Hollywood. But the taxi kept driving, and eventually, we pulled up to a small house on the side of a hill.
There was no view of the city or the beach I had read about. There was only a row of cars stacked bumper to bumper, and blue and green bins by the driveways. We stepped out of the taxi to a peculiar buzz of music.
I hoped that was the sound of other kid’s playing in the streets, riding bikes or jump
roping.
But the streets were vacant. Aside from the idle hum of our taxi as Mutti pulled her
luggage from the trunk, there was no one here.
“I hope they won’t have parties every night,” Mutti said as she looked to our neighboring
house. It was much bigger, and maybe a little less worn down. But I liked the look of ours much better.
We thanked our driver and made our way to a double set of bright orange doors. A beat later, they swung open and Papa came running out.
He wrapped me in his arms, laughing or weeping, I couldn’t tell. “Welcome home, Mila.” My heart was racing again, but this time it felt different.
Sure, this didn’t look like home. There was no sound of rain hitting the windows, or bells to tell the hour. Children didn’t ride their bikes past sundown; there were no children at all. Our house didn’t come with a spiral staircase that led to my very own playroom; there was just one room for us all. I didn’t see grandma or grandpa, or any of my friends from school.
I didn’t see a lot of things I had just thirteen hours ago. We were exhausted, and I even missed my luggage and its’ odd shade of periwinkle.
But there was my family, and Papa had made Mutti’s soup for us. There was my family, and they felt like home.
THE END
Author Bio: Leilani Dewindt is a current student pursuing a BA in Literature and Writing at the University of California, San Diego. She was born in Belgium, Europe and moved to San Diego when she was seven years old. In her spare time, she enjoys curling up by the fire with a good book, cuddling her little chihuahua, or watching Stranger Things.