A Very Long Trip with No End in Sight
by Abigail Davis
Phyllis Grand rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily, her head lolling back toward the bookshelf on the wall. She was always tired, Phyllis was. She was known to leave parties early, singing an “It was lovely to see you. Regards to the family! I’m simply exhausted. Goodnight!” on her way out the door of the venue of the evening. If pressed for a further excuse, or guilted by the ladies who were oh-so-good at making the early-escaping guests squirm, Phyllis would always forge some variation of the same story: another function the next day, far too many things to do and people to call for a single woman like herself, but that’s how it goes, isn’t it? Oh, a shame. If only she had some help, but alas, and so she’s so sorry but must be going now. She can’t keep up like she used to, oh how she’s aging! And she’ll bid the other guests a good night as she shrugs on her coat, and gives an elegant wave as she walks out of the heavy doors to hail a cab.
Phyllis was not generally a stickler for routine. She was by no means an adaptable woman; no, she certainly had her ways, but she tended to wake up at her leisure. Some days she would eat breakfast, some days just her coffee, and still others none at all. If she was in the mood, she might go for a walk or get lunch with a friend. She might read or practice the piano. The most routine thing Phyllis made sure of every day was a nap. Whenever she felt like it, but always a short sleep. “To break up the day,” Phyllis would explain to her friends. “Plus, I enjoy sleeping.”
A few found Phyllis’ love of sleep to be strange. Those who dwelled on it at all were merely a bit concerned, and at an event, after she left, they might briefly gossip about it. “I hope she’s not depressed,” one woman might say. “Sleep isn’t typically something one enjoys; we all just have to do it!” A less invested friend would brush it off with an “It’s really none of our business.” The group might quiet for a moment, but before it became awkward, a new round of chatter was aroused by a fallen display or a distasteful outfit choice.
Phyllis was not unlike her friends, at least no one outside of their inner circle would think so. She carried out her days like just about any of them, and her considerable wealth made her elusively similar to those unaware of her world’s intimate culture. But her friends were made vaguely uncomfortable by her; they were confused by her distance and a bit wary of her mystery. Phyllis paid no mind. She didn’t consider herself to be particularly mysterious, just a bit uninterested in the constant maintenance of self and circle that always preoccupied the other ladies.
She was a fairly neutral person, with few strong opinions on anything. Phyllis typically dismissed drama. “How juvenile,” she would say. “We’re not in grade school any longer. I’m not in the business of reliving my teenage years in my… Well, a lady doesn’t say her age, but I’m quite obviously too old for that type of thing. Idle gossip is so silly at our age. I do think we all ought to occupy ourselves with something more wholesome.” This set her apart from the majority of the women she was associated with. They were quite removed from themselves, from their own personalities. They required a sustenance of hushed exchanges, dramatized by theatrical tsk tsks.
Then one sunny late June afternoon, when Phyllis woke up from her nap, she had a sudden urge to go somewhere. It was a strange feeling for her, an infrequent swell of wanderlust. So up she went, out of bed and over to the closet that was tucked around a corner of her light-filled bedroom. Phyllis stood on her toes, craning her neck upward as she reached to the highest shelf. Her fingertips didn’t quite meet it. She sighed for a moment and made her way down the deep walnut staircase that wrapped through the center of the house. She went to the kitchen and picked up the green wooden step stool that stood in front of the sink and tucked it under her arm to make the journey back upstairs.
Phyllis’ suitcase nearly hit her in the face, given that she was a fairly small woman and it was a fairly large suitcase. She heaved it onto the bed and stood in front of it with her hands on her hips. “Hmm,” Phyllis said. “What will I even need?”
She began opening the heavy drawers of the massive dresser that anchored the room, pulling sweaters and scarves out haphazardly in a fashion that was quite uncharacteristic of Phyllis. The clothes that were worn more scarcely were folded neatly into flattened squares with the buttons or zippers exactly centered down the middle. Even these were strewn about, and only a few were selected to go into the suitcase.
Phyllis piled a couple of everything into the suitcase. As she packed her clothing in, she said to herself, “I haven’t any idea of how long I’ll be gone. Might as well stay on the safe side.” She sighed and slipped into the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and began poring over her collection of vintage perfumes that sat on the marble counter. She fingered each one delicately before choosing a small pink bottle with a large bulb atomizer. She loosely wrapped the tube around the neck of the bottle and tucked it carefully into the folds of apparel. “Well, I think that’s all for now,” she said.
Phyllis had to place the weight of one of her knees on her almost-overflowing suitcase in order to zip it. It took a great deal of effort to lift it up by the leather side strap, but she was able to carry it down the stairs. It dragged behind her slightly, nearly pulling Phyllis down. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she put her hands on her hips, turned to her living room, and murmured a fond “Mmmm.” She stepped into the foyer and reached for the large gold doorknob. “Oh, I have to turn off the light,” Phyllis said. She set her suitcase down and walked into the kitchen, her sensible heels clicking on the wood. She turned off the light, picked her suitcase back up, and closed the front door loudly.
Phyllis realized she had to travel down yet another flight of stairs, as she lived in a brownstone. She looked around at the passersby and saw a medium-sized man in a forest green suit. He was nearing the curb, and Phyllis yelled out to him, “Sir! Sir, hello, yes, you. Can you help me?” As she said this, the man became startled by her request, and tripped on his loafers, just barely catching himself as he stumbled over the sidewalk’s edge.
“Oh, well,” the man said flusteredly, checking his watch. “I suppose. What is it that you need?”
“I’m going on a trip,” Phyllis answered proudly. She waited for the man to react. He didn’t; he simply tapped his foot impatiently. Phyllis stifled a disconcerted look and continued on. “I need you to take this suitcase down for me. And help me into a cab.”
“Look, lady—”
“Ms. Grand,” Phyllis said with a nod. The man feigned an affirming smile. “Ms. Grand. I’ll take your bag down, but I got places to be. I gotta go.”
“Oh, well it’ll only take a moment,” Phyllis responded with a dismissive hand. “After I’m in my cab, you can be on your way.”
“Ma’am, I’m telling you I’ll help you.” He reached for the suitcase. “Let me take it for you.” He carried the suitcase down swiftly and set it in the courtyard. Phyllis followed him, her demeanor shifting slightly, a dubious look painted across her face.
“Sir, it really will only be a moment. I see a cab, just a few blocks down! Just wait with me, won’t you? It would be such a help.”
The man already started to turn down the block. “Sorry, lady, I gotta go!”
Phyllis snorted indignantly and stood up straight. She looked up to the sky where she noticed that there were storm clouds moving in across the otherwise sunny sky, nearly obscuring the steeple of the church an avenue away. Phyllis stepped to the curb, keeping an eye on her suitcase as she held her arm out to signal the cab driver.
The cab driver pulled to the side of the crosswalk and Phyllis turned to retrieve her suitcase. She moved slowly with it, the weight once again pulling her small frame. The cab driver honked and yelled unintelligibly, gesturing to Phyllis to move more quickly. She continued dragging her luggage, struggling to move any faster. The driver rolled his eyes, tapped his hand on the steering wheel, and when Phyllis was just steps from the car door, his patience ran out and he sped off.
Phyllis stepped away from the street and backed away toward the row of townhouses. She leaned slightly against the limestone and sighed.
“Phyllis!” a voice said. Phyllis looked up and saw one of the ladies from the dinner she had gone to the previous week. She couldn’t remember her name, not for the life of her, and after her exchange with the driver and man, her composure was fragile. “Phyllis, dear, how are you?” The woman noticed her with her suitcase. “Oh, are you going on a trip?”
Phyllis faltered for a moment. “No, coming back from one, actually. I’m about to head inside and take a nap. Lovely to see you!” She picked up her suitcase confidently and strutted back up the stairs of her house. She closed the door behind her and set her bag down in the vestibule. “Maybe another time,” Phyllis said, reassuring herself. She started up the stairs and went into her bedroom.
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The woman stood outside, a bit bewildered after her interaction with Phyllis. “She really is a bit strange. She always seems to be tired. I wonder where she’s returning from.” As the woman began walking down the street, the first drops of rain hit the sidewalk. She held her hand out to feel the rain, opened her umbrella, and went on her way.