What was carried away.

It was snapped quickly, not a great picture, but enough to document what I already knew.

I can tell you what is in the bags on the left, under his right arm. The blue bag is a relic from long ago, a case to hold our first Macintosh computer. My dear sister and brother-in-law have been storing it for years, the "why" long forgotten. Now it holds sheets, towels and a new mattress pad stuffed into huge zip bags.  Hangers, both shirt and pant, are flat on two faces.  His dress shoes and galoshes are on top. His Brony messenger bag, folded in two, added to the narrow front pocket just that morning, because there was no place else.

The big rolling bag is my sport trunk, used only once on the trip last summer when we visited the college in Switzerland for the first time. His dress shirts in a packing envelop and the blanket are packed deep. The everyday clothes had been set aside in the last few weeks, snagged as they came out of the laundry. The pants are laid flat, the T-shirts rolled around the outside.  On top, in the zipper divider and lid, are the socks and underwear and pajamas. The last could be added added only after he awoke that morning. His freshly cased pillow in a zip bag, nestled in its cranny, fit only after the last air was pushed out.

The other two bags were under his more intimate packing care. His rolling bag held what he hopes will be the beginning of the Franklin Board Game Club, some newly chosen, some well loved. I think his backpack made it into that bag. 

Everything else, from his toothbrush to his new laptop, must be in the red bag. 

Anything else didn't matter. 

This was what was carried away.