There isn’t much that typically goes on in Madison, Connecticut. A quaint, seaside vacation spot, Madison is remarkably beautiful, with cozy shops lining a singular, brightly lit thoroughfare in the town square. A quick Google search would inform you that my town is most famous for its “coastal charm,” or, in other words, being a place where nothing out of the ordinary happens. I would have agreed with you most nights, but not on November 10, 2022.
At the time of the blue suitcase, I was 15 years old. Having recently discovered my independence, I often walked from my house to restaurants in town, going to dinner before watching a B-movie in an old-timey (yet newly renovated) theater that charges an exorbitant ticketing fee. On November 10, my best friend Joe and I trekked about a mile and a half to the only Chinese restaurant in town to enjoy a Friday night order of chicken fried rice. Having paid the bill with money that was not ours, we vacated the establishment and began the slower walk home for movie night.
As we headed back, a sloppily written sign on the otherwise perfect New England street took us both by surprise. In poorly penned Sharpie, it said:
FREE VINTAGE SUITCASE. NO FEE. TAKE IF INTERESTED.
The glaring redundancy of the first two sentences might have been a cue to keep walking for most people, but to two 15-year-olds in need of a break from the mundane, it was a mystery worth investigating. We calmly approached the suitcase, admiring the antiquity of its vibrant fabric before picking it up. As the cautious (wimpy) person that I am, I stayed a few feet away while Joe picked up the suitcase. Carefully raising it to chest level, he gave the box a few shakes before nodding to me in affirmation that there was something inside. The next step, we both agreed, was to open it. Unfortunately, the suitcase’s rusty hinges were unyielding, and we were left to speculate on what could be inside.
“Maybe it’s a bomb.”
“Could be a million dollars.”
“What if it’s another suitcase? Like one of those Russian doll things where they keep going until it's a ton of mini boxes. That would be some weird shit.”
The speculation is reminiscent of Schrödinger's Cat, a thought experiment in which a cat is placed in a box with a radioactive atom, a Geiger counter, a hammer, and a bit of poison. The atom has a 50% chance of decaying, and if it does, the hammer will destroy the flask of poison, ultimately killing the cat. Essentially, the idea is that the cat is in a superposition – existing in multiple states at the same time – while the box is closed and the result unknown, meaning it is both alive and dead. For Schrödinger, superposition demonstrated a core belief about quantum mechanics; for Joe and I, it demonstrated that a blue suitcase on the side of the road could house both a million dollars and a box of cigarettes.
The mystery crescendoed as we arrived back at my house a half hour later, the suitcase safely intact. Immediately receiving a questioning look from my stepmother, Joe and I ran upstairs to show my father. Feeling immensely proud of our conquest, I breathlessly recounted the story: dinner, the box, the potential bomb and the million dollars at stake. Brow furrowed, my dad took a beat before eventually deciding to help us solve the mystery, and the three of us worked to smash the hinges open, taking turns chipping away at the rust with a screwdriver until it eventually gave way. At long last, our labor had borne fruit. We opened the box, revealing…
six measly pinecones.
For a minute, Joe and I stood silent, staring at the box in disgust. By taking it from outside the store and into the house, we had given it life. We had given it a home. And it rewarded us with… disappointment. “They don’t even smell good,” I mumbled as we ambled downstairs, tossing the suitcase angrily in the garbage.
That night, Joe and I microwaved a trusty box of Orville Redenbacher popcorn before watching a stupid Netflix movie on the couch. We laughed about the foolishness of bringing home a suitcase on the side of the road. In its simplicity, that suitcase allowed us to reach beyond ourselves into a world where something outlandish, even magical, could happen. To experience nature in its truest, realest sense.
Bryce Leiberman is a sophomore from Madison, Conn. studying Political Science and Philosophy. His column explores questions of authenticity, purpose, and the slow work of becoming oneself.
