This whole crazy chain of events started when I accidentally picked up the wrong suitcase at the airport.

It was a long trip, all business, no fun. Finally, it was over. I got to the airport, carrying my cabin briefcase, which is just a little fatter than most, but still fits in the cabin. I was going through customs, and an officer asked me to open my briefcase. I did, but immediately realised it was not mine, somehow either the officer had confused two near identical briefcases, or someone had substituted mine for someone else’s. I was about to tell the officer of the confusion, but something stopped me. The officer had started turning things over in the “other” briefcase: it seems to be mainly women’s underwear, some make up things and a pack of letters. The officer closed the briefcase and signalled me off. I thought I had been lucky: sometimes this situation can turn out badly, illicit content, a lot of trouble clearing the suspicions.

I boarded and started texting the airline, then stopped. I was curious, I was going to look at the case. In some ways this did not seem at the time to be an intrusion. The briefcase had not been locked, it was evidently of the same brand as mine was, just a little more battered. I picked it up and opened it. There was a light scent of woman perfume, something old fashioned, Marcel Rochas? Yes that was it: Femme. This bought back memories… I looked at the clothes, that is the underwear, all clean, somewhat worn, neutral colours part from a slip and bra set in deep red, not modern fashion, somehow. The size showed the lady was petite, perhaps a little rounded. I then turned to the letters pack, which the customer officer had ignored. They were in their envelopes, with addresses, briefmarks, and all opened. He post marks showed dates of some thirty years back. I hesitated. I thought of putting it all back in the briefcase. Again, something attracted me to these letters. In some weird way the writing on the envelopes was, not familiar, worse than that, I thought I ought to know.

It took me almost the all flight to decide that, once at home, I would open, perhaps just one letter.

Various duties took me off the thought of the alien briefcase, until the following weekend. Then on Sunday, relaxing with coffee, I fetched the case and opened it again. The letters were there. I took the first one. It was a short message, an adieu from a boy to his, past or lost girlfriend, sad and a touch dramatic. I looked at the signature: it was my name, I looked again – it dawn on me these letters were probably old letters of mine. I went to the kitchen and poured myself a steep scotch. Was this a prank? Who could have done this? How? I looked at other letters, at the name on the envelopes. Yes it was the name of my first serious girlfriend, thirty years ago.

Inspired by Fandango’s Story Starter of 9 January

Picture: Nina