Food for the Heart

A Little Spice

Years late, but I'm finally here.

A gust of warm-salty air welcomes me as I exit the plane. It strikes me that this is what my grandmother smelled, and she's seen the same dry fields with rocky outcrops, spreading under the same royal skies. When my feet touch the tarmac, I'm sure I'm grinning like a fool. I'm finally on Greek soil. My mother was born here, my Grandmother spent most of her life here, and this is where my last living relative is.

I head over to the luggage collection cart that's propped up by wooden blocks under the wing. Two stewardesses struggle to unload my suitcase from the plane. When they see the large yellow words, "Size Does Matter," airbrushed on the front, their eyes widen.

I linger at the back, embarrassed to collect my bag, and trying not to lock eyes with anyone. For some reason, Ryan took my nice, normal, black suitcase and left me his. I've always hated this bag. Ryan thought it was hilarious, but all I could think about was how it perfectly resembled our lives. He wanted bigger, better, than me.

Even half way around the world Ryan has the ability to make me feel unwanted—just like I felt in our half empty apartment. The blue Dream Journal is proof of that. I bought it and never had anything to fill it with. Until now.

"Miss?" Someone with a British accent says.

I turn to find the Stewardesses struggling to lift my suitcase.

"Is this your bag?" one of them asks, her brows furrowed.

The other passengers are already making their way to the small white terminal. She knows it's my bag.

"Ah, well it's not mine, I'm using it—"

They plop it in front of me with a look that makes me think I insulted them personally. The irony that Ryan's bag is my baggage doesn't elude me. Even when we're not together I feel his presence. But this trip is about freeing myself from him and finding who I am now. I'm not going to let him hold me back any longer.

I start toward the terminal and am jarred backward by the bag. "You got to be kidding me." I try again and the bag doesn't budge.

On closer inspection I find one of the wheels is broken. I manage to prop it on the good one, though it takes all my strength. It moves, slowly. Normally I check over my bags before I travel, not to mention they're packed weeks in advance. But my time was too limited to research Greece's conditions. So, I brought everything I imagined needing—from an umbrella to swimming flippers. My suitcase is heavy, which makes the broken wheel a near-catastrophe.

I'm as stuck as they come.

I slide my phone out and dial Emily. If anyone can make me feel better it's her.

"Mia! You're there?"

"Hey Em."

"What's wrong?"

Trust her to know from my voice that I'm upset. My lip starts to shake. "Ryan took my suitcase and left me with his—"

"Size does matter?"

"Yeah, and it's broken and the wheel doesn't work, and—"

"Everything's not a metaphor, Mia. You'll have a wonderful trip. Don't let this pull you back under the covers."

I try not to be frustrated, because she's right—I read too much into things. I'm going to have a good time, if I only let myself. "Thanks," I say. "By the way, the covers comment, was a metaphor."