My mother, a woman of otherwise commendable patience and underrated sarcasm, and I have been fighting. Words were exchanged and long stares cast. A dry air moves between us now that reminds me of Marrakesh in summertime. Supper is unbearable and practiced with the civility of strangers forced into small quarters. And when she tucks me in at night, warm under goose down and 800 thread count Egyptian cotton, what happened, I wonder, to all the Stevie Nicks cover songs she would sing me soft to sleep with?

The splinter under our skins: what to pack for my move.

In a perfect world, I would without chagrin transfer the bulk of my movable estate to my future residence, the coveted wine region of southeastern Austria. Naturally, the Tiffany flatware would arrive in time for a proper meal of l'ortolan and lobster confit. My autumn wardrobe, a mixed bag of bespoke Savile Row suits, would lie waiting, boxed in leather and smelling of the better parts of London. A listing of my current requirements, however, would prove rather long. I need not go further into details save only to say that a glass of my finest Scotch will be waiting to greet me—after landing my airship in the middle of an old Hapsburg hunting ground—in the only way a gentleman should want: at least twenty years old and dressed in heavy crystal.

But as it stands, such is not the case. Luggage is a limited commodity on the various commercial airline carriers operating in the United States. Apparently everyone, regardless of social rank, is granted the same amount of space. My mother and I, therefore, were forced into this situation, into this stalemate, by an airline racket functioning under the twin distresses of capitalist and egalitarian irrationalities. So here we are with competing philosophies. My sense of unapologetic entitlement versus her "feet on the dirty earth that everyone gets to spit on" practicality.

The war of words and stares continues, unsettled in this house where dinner is served warm and a little boy is put to sleep nightly. What to bring? What to bring? In a perfect world, I would bring my mom.