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If you had to pack your whole life into a suitcase–not just the practical things, like clothing, but the memories of the people you had lost and the girl you had once been–what would you take? The last photograph you had of your mother? A birthday gift from your best friend–a bookmark embroidered by her? A ticket stub from the traveling circus that had come through town two years ago, where you and your father held your breath as jeweled ladies flew through the air, and a brave man stuck his head in the mouth of a lion? Would you take them to make wherever you were going feel like home, or because you needed to remember where you had come from?
