The Plan
A Short Story
A Short Story
Tick. Tick. Tick. Jasper waited. He was used to waiting as he was always on time. And this time was not surprising in the least. Leisel was always late. Luckily, he was at a bar. Unfortunately, it was empty. He sipped his beer and started destroying the moist paper coaster with his index fingernail. This was addictive. Not exactly fun, but at least he looked busy. Just sitting there, waiting makes me look silly, he thought. Fingernail to the coaster, rip, rip, rip. He could smell the moist paper. And feel it under his fingernail.
The TV was tuned to a news channel. He didn’t care what was happening in the world around him. He thought of Leisel. She was the one. He knew it for sure. At first, he wasn’t as convinced. But the more time he spent with her, the more he knew he couldn’t have done any better. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, no matter what she did, she was perfect. At least to him. Thank God, I met her, he thought to himself.
Speed. Hookers. Cars. Coke. Sniff. Meth. Exhale. Chaos. Brawls. Pubs. Accidents. Bruises. Overdose. Hospitals. Jail. Coke. Needles. Exhale. Speed. Strippers. Busted. Scram. Laughs. Fight. KO. Robbed. His life was a train wreck before Leisel came into his life. She was the one who dropped him home in her old mustard yellow Honda Civic. She had recognized him. They went to school together. They never spoke. He was too cool then. He was a loser now. She was a geek then. She was his angel now.
Thanks to Leisel, he had changed. He had a decent job. They shared an apartment. She was like a bright ray of sunshine in his dimly lit life. He was going to ask her if she would like to grow old together. She knew he was going to ask her. She had seen the receipt for the ring. She was smiling ear to ear during breakfast this morning, but she didn’t bring it up. She wanted it to roll out just the way he wanted it to happen. He almost popped the question during breakfast itself, but for some reason he didn’t. Don’t wing it, stick to the plan. So, he waited. And she didn’t bring it up either. She happily agreed to meet him at the bar. It was their favourite spot. It was opened just for them.
That’s when he saw the old yellow Honda Civic.
On the news. On the TV.
Banged, busted, bloody.
The TV wasn’t clear anymore. The screen was warping.
His eyes squinted.
And welled.
Why did she drive a mustard yellow car, he thought? Why? And why in heavens did he stick to the plan.
The End.
