Payment Plan

The maintenance associate prepared the invoice and called the man over for payment. She explained the procedure the vehicle needed—extensive engine repair, decades-old wear—and told him it would be a few days, maybe a week, before it was finished.

“We’re remodeling our house,” he told her. “Anything to keep the cost down?”

She offered him a finance plan: a credit card that would be mailed to him. He could look up the APR himself. There seemed to be a card for everything these days—the dentist, the vet, the grocery stores, the box stores. Recently the dealership had gotten into the business, but a guilt gnawed at her trying to sell it.

“Let me see if I can find a coupon.”

No. 073

Showing Up

“I was up late last night working. Yes, this project is a nightmare, but that wasn’t the whole story. So one of my friends had a dog that died last night, and I went over to her apartment and spent 5 hours with her. I should’ve put up stronger boundaries with this friend—she does this kind of thing all the time. We’ve been friends since college; she doesn’t have family here. I got home after midnight and had to validate all the files until 3 in the morning. Yeah. I know. Then I was up at 7 to touch base with the team again. That's all I’ve been doing today. If I had just told my friend to deal with it herself, I wouldn’t be so tired.”

No. 071

Fern 2

Halfway through the season spring cleaning inspired the owner of the dying fern. By the time I walked past it again two days later, the plant had been removed, put in an organic waste bin. Only a single, weathered frond lay in its former place, the sole reminder of what had been. I felt to blame, a little bit, as if by voicing its observation I had written its demise.

No. 058

Fern

On a narrow balcony, a sallow fern grew out of a plastic pot. The balcony had no door; instead, it ran along the side of a building, accessible by two windows. From the outside, it looked like they opened inward and not very far. I imagined the renter, or the owner, purchasing the fern, young and verdant, placing it on the balcony to make the building inviting. I imagined, too, the accumulated weight of passing days that obscured the needs of the plant. Upon initial recognition, they would have tried watering it, bringing it back to life. Too far gone—instead, the fern was left forlorn in the shade to wilt and die. 

No. 056

Shoplifter

While inspecting a bundle of brussels sprouts, I heard a man raise his voice behind me. Whipping my head around, I saw the source: a man around my age, possibly younger, clutching at his backpack. The store security guard held onto the straps. An employee stood behind him.

“I told you, I don’t got shit in this backpack except the salad.” The security guard insisted he go through the backpack. The suspect repeated his phrase louder, so more people in the store could hear. Everyone now had their eyes on the altercation. Mine roamed to the pistol harnessed at the waist of the security guard.

The young man insisted there was nothing in his backpack, but tensions had grown too strong. To alleviate the situation, the security guard escorted him to an emergency exit. With permission, the suspect absconded with the salad. The emergency alarm kept ringing throughout the rest of the grocery store trip.

No. 053

Gossamer

Round the corner and past a pole—unseen by my eyes a thin gossamer hangs taut between a stop sign and a streetlight. Caught on my glasses, I wiped it away hurriedly, brushing the web in frantic movements. It’s one of my pet peeves, breaking them. There’s the worry I didn’t remove it all, or had a spider in my hair, and the knowledge that I alone destroyed its creation.

No. 037