Yours Truly 2017 / Cascadia College / Bothell, WA 2017 YT Online Book | Page 94

Plan B
Jennifer Martinez

Clutching the pink box to my chest, I make
my way to the registers at the front and set it on
the conveyor belt. As I wait for the cashier to ring
me up I’m tapping my foot on the linoleum floor
as I’m nervously looking around the store.

“I’m sorry Miss, your card’s been
declined.”

I jerk my face in the direction of the
cashier, cheeks flaming, throat burning.

“Try it again. Please.” I reply sharply.

Pursing her lips, the cashier runs my debit
card again. “It’s been declined again.”

I clench my teeth and dig out my almost
maxed out credit card. She runs the card and
sunnily tells me to have a good day as I shove the
box under my coat. Right. Fuck you, lady.

I make my way to my car and toss my
purchase on the passenger seat.

I stare and stare and stare and stare at the
pink box until it’s all I see. There’s an ache in my
stomach and I feel my temperature rise.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” I slam my hands
against the steering wheel.

“FUCK!” My voice cracks on the word and
my breaths are coming out in uneven, staccato
bursts.
92

The steering wheel is frigid against my
forehead. I feel like glass about to crack at the
same time I want to break everything in sight to
pieces.

I want to go back to that apartment and
set it on fire. I want to go back to that apartment
and set the owner on fire. Yet more than anything
I want to set myself on fire.

This fissure in my chest is about to be
fractured wide open. But I know if I let it, a
downpour of emotions and memories of last
night will swallow me whole and I’m not sure if I
could survive that again. I’ve lost a lot of dignity
in the past 12 hours, I’m not gonna lose anymore
by losing my shit in a parking lot.

Sitting up, my shoulders lift and drop
with the weight of my breaths. I open my eyes
and look outside the window to the gray and
wet Washington weather. The clouds are thick
and dark, not letting even the smallest ray of sun
peek through.

The drive home is silent apart from the
pitter patter of rain drops, and the squeaky swish
of the windshield wiper. I make my way inside
my empty home. As I unlock the door I can’t
help but regret not going to Wisconsin with the