My essay, “The Valise,” is featured in the current issue of American Literay Review. Find it in better bookstores, read it, if you have the inclination and time. This is the opening:
It was a dusty, brown suitcase, the handle broken, the hems
unraveled, the edges dented. With its modest exterior and
relatively small size, it could be shoved anywhere and used for
a variety of purposes. At first, it sat on top of the big bookshelf
opposite my father’s drafting desk and was the container of old
maps of the Middle East as well as manuscripts in Armenian,
the language of our home. My parents had brought the maps
and manuscripts with them from Palestine when they had
left. Then, it was deposited in the big walnut cupboard in my
parents’ bedroom and stuffed with Balkan embroidery pieces,
fabrics and sewing implements. In its twilight days, the poor
thing was under my bed. There it stayed during most of my
adolescent years, at the bottom of the hierarchy of suitcases that
had over the years found their way into our home.
~~~
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