Suitcase Part 1

We would talk into the darkness, the hollow tin cup of darkness, our voices like pennies thrown into a dank tunnel. Secrets rolled, hissed and reverberated down into the hollow bowels of endless cells. San Bruno County Jail in 1989 was like an ancient catacomb. Before they made it all into one big dormitory, there were just two sides of 12 rooms, separated by a long steely hall. Iron rooms, iron halls, tiny perfect cages for secrets to be passed.

I could no longer destroy myself. A judge had stayed my hand. And my brilliant short friend, Deborah Ellstat, had also been temporarily spared. So we talked about Deborah Ellstat's uncle, David.

This is her true story about her uncle and his suitcase.