She Had a Purple Suitcase

She had a purple suitcase.

A blue and white boatshoe was propped up on the upright case, so I could see the unworn rubber sole.  Dark blue jeans, rolled 6 inches up to expose her amber tanned ankles.  An overhead fan occasionally ruffled her deep brown hair, tied in a high ponytail, so it grazed the shoulders of her salmon sleeveless shirt.  Designer eyeglasses perched on her subtle nose, as she reads a French magazine, the title of which I cannot translate.

She glances in my direction, then kneads the strap on her nautically striped purse sitting on the chair to her left.  A quick peek down to a shiny pink mother-of-pearl sportswatch, to inquire if she has waited long enough to be able to check in for her flight.  Discouraged, she places her foot on the floor, and leans forward gently to rest her head for a moment on her luggage, exposing a glimpse of her niddick.

She sits alone, but exudes an air of confidence that cannot be ignored.  A gentle squint at the Departures screen, then a dip of Tahitian spring water from a bottle out of her purse.  She rests the bottle on the Samsonite case in front of her, holding it with a finger and thumb, as the fingers of her other hand rest beneath her chin for a moment.

Boredom sets in, she slowly tucks the bottle into her purse, the green cap vanishes into the stripes, and she retrieves a charcoal tinged camera.  She shuffles the wheeled case to her right, crosses her legs daintily, and flips through photos of her journey on the camera with one hand, as the other twirls her ponytail around a finger.  Reflective pearls graced her ears, reflecting the electric smiles she emitted as she reflects on the images of her vacation. After a few minutes, she checks her watch again, and slowly rises.  The striped purse is slung in the crook of her elbow, and she casually wheeled away, giving me another fleeting glance.

She had a purple suitcase.