Photo by Carla Quario on Unsplash
Jordy sits down at the food court, slamming down a tray of Five Guys. The clink is masked by the mass of people crowding around. The wafts of different cuisines and sandwiches flow outward into the seated area. Wanton cashiers and chefs in their teens and early twenties scramble in and out and all around. A French fry topples off Jordy’s stack and lands on a Chick-fil-A wrapper of a stranger. Her name is Iris, and she has a Venus flytrap next to her, its two bulbous, grapefruit-colored mouths agape and facing upward.
“Oh, my bad,” Jordy says, snatching the fry and eating it. His fitted hat shadows his face from the light.
Iris scoffs. “Personal space much?” she says, rolling her eyes.
Jordy doesn’t respond, affixes to the plant.
“Whoa, cool plant. Never seen it do the thing.”
Iris takes a bite out of a juicy chicken sandwich. A piece of pickle tumbles off her lips, sticks to the wrapper.
“Like eating a fly?”
“Yeah, when it shuts on it.”
Iris scoffs again, a tight dimple formed near her curled lips.
“I’ve been bringing it with me for two weeks. Has yet to snatch a fly.”
“Damn,” Jordy says. He unwraps his burger and takes a diagonal bite, the top half of the bun tapered to a tip.
“I water it, so it doesn’t die. It’s my support plant.”
Jordy bites his sandwich again, making a grunt of affirmation. The mall crowd was building on the September Friday night. Groups of teenagers strut in wide lines. Couples with strollers come in, too, with wayward children darting off towards the cooked food. A man handing out samples from the China Wok, which are scooped up quickly. Late workers, still dressed in their office attire, weave around them all, snagging takeout. Nothing is going awry, thanks to masterful public relations and cool-headed politicians. The public doesn’t want another Y2K or the 2012 Mayan Prophecy frenzy. They are above that. Normal, average autumn days. All the while, Jordy side-eyes the plant, occasionally at Iris eating. A silver lip ring flicks in the light with every sip of the straw. She’s deep in her phone, thumb flicking up.
“We may not be around much longer,” Iris says, sipping her drink to a hiss.
“I know, right? People seem pretty chill about it all,” Jordy says. He scoops some fries on his tray like a shovel, puts them in his mouth.
“People are goofy like that, though. Probably not even that big of a deal,” Iris says. “The chances are like, what, a hundred thousand to 5?”
Jordy shrugs. “Beats me. I’ll just go with whatever they say.”
“Yeah, same.” She crumples her wrappers together. “So, like, wanna go for a walk? Or are you still eating?”
Jordy looks up. “Yeah, sure, can you give me like two minutes?”
Iris stands, her back arching through a black muscle shirt. She turns around to look for a trashcan.
“Oh, shit. You have a Venus flytrap tattoo,” Jordy says with some food in his mouth. It’s a scale image of the plant, full of color, on her shoulder blade. A small black fly is hovering above it.
Iris laughs. “Guess which one I got first?”
“The ink.”
Iris nods heads to the trash can. Her strawberry blonde hair bobs off her shoulders with every step.
“Yeah, if not now, when?” she says, letting the trash roll in. Jordy takes his tray and follows. He’s a foot taller than her as he leans around to drop the tray off. Her eyes look up at him.
“Hey, still need some space, bud.”
“Oh, my bad,” he says standing arm’s length away now.
They walk down the wing of the mall with the designer retailers. The sparsely lined hallways give them some privacy as they pass Gucci and Hermes. A man in a suit stands between them, eyes looking at everyone and everything in passing. He locks in on Jordy.
“Man, I ain’t going in, chill,” Jordy says.
His voice pushes forward like a stiff arm about to fight. The security man rolls his eyes and doesn’t flinch, averting to a louder group of teens coming the other way. The setting sun turns the sky pink through the skylights. The thin stalks of Iris’s plant sway with every step. She holds it by her stomach, a UPC from Home Depot sticking outward.
“The tattoo looks fresh,” Jordy says, admiring the sharp lines. Every sway of Iris’s arm makes it flex.
“Thanks, always wanted one.”
“I got one, too.”
“Cool, what is it?”
He points to his Supreme shirt. “It’s the logo, but on my chest.”
Iris’s eyes widen. “No fucking way, dude.”
Jordy smirks, his thin mustache arches upward. “Yeah, for real. It’s all black and grey though.”
“That’s wild, but I dig it. How long have you had it?”
“Got it when I graduated high school, so two years ago.”
“Oh, you’re so young,” Iris says, tilting her head up to laugh.
“Lemme guess, you’re 25?”
She shakes her head. “29, boy.”
Jordy raises his arm to rub his neck, bicep enlarging. “Dang, you look way younger.”
“Are you hitting on me now?” she says. The dimple returns.
“I guess,” Jordy says, dragging out the ‘s’. “Yo, let’s go to FYE.”
They reach the intersection and go into the crowd down the main strip. Waves of people nearly shoulder to shoulder, bags dangling and bumping into jean-covered legs. They reach FYE and there’s a circle. Voices chiming high and low, a couple of security guards are on the ground. A boy, too, with his hands behind his back. Expensive action figures are strewn about, still in their boxes. He’s grunting and cursing as a guard has a knee in his back. Another is ringing the police, fumbling for handcuffs. Jordy sees it all over the crowd while Iris stands on tiptoes.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Some kid got caught stealing,” Jordy says. “Looks familiar.”
“Sucks you know a thief,” she says, catching a glimpse of the guard and kid now upright. “Didn’t know that mall cops had actual handcuffs.”
“I mean, not know him know him, but he looks like he was the freshman on the basketball team,” Jordy says. “Dude’s gotten a foot taller, I swear.”
“Do you need to go in there? This crowd bores me I was gonna go out and smoke.” Iris says. She fiddles the pack of cigarettes in her back pocket.
“Yeah, look, I know what I wanna grab. It’ll be five minutes,” Jordy says.
He motions toward the entrance and Iris grips the plant tighter. The bright store has a display with the large figurines that the kid snagged. Some are toppled over; one is on the ground. The cashier is on her cellphone, frantically talking to someone, most likely her boss. There are a couple of other customers looking at movies, talking loud about the upcoming movie they were going to see at the attached AMC theater. Jordy goes to the back, past the other people, and lifts a drone from the shelf.
“Fuck yeah,” he exclaims.
Iris isn’t far behind him. She sets the plant on a box holding a lava lamp.
“Oh wow, that’s a big purchase,” she says, arms on her waist.
“Trying to buy it for me?” Jordy jokes.
“As if, bud. Working at a gallery doesn’t pay the bills.”
He picks it up and holds it against his rib with one arm. “Like an art gallery?”
Iris blushes. “Yeah, something like that. My friend owns it. Maybe I’ll finish my degree, who knows. Community college will always be there.”
“You definitely struck me as an artsy person. Or goth, whatever.”
She places her hands on her hips, pouts. “Some stereotype!”
“You need anything here?” Jordy says, motioning to the open aisles.
“Well, maybe there’s something. Hold on.”
She walks to the CDs and scours the rock section. She gasps as she fingers a particular one and pulls it out. Jordy sees a cover of a band he’s never heard before.
“Damn, who’s that? Looks kinda scary,” he says, brow furrowing
“This is Slipknot, dummy. I can’t believe they have their first album.” Iris says, nearly jumping up and down in place. The used sticker says $4.99.
“They rap, too?”
“Somewhat, yeah. This is their early shit, Mate.Feed.Kill.Repeat. Last one I needed. I have all their others.”
“Word,” he says raising his hand toward her, waiting for a high five.
“What are you doing?” Iris says.
“Giving you a high five?” Jordy chuckles.
She slaps his hand so hard that it rings out into the store. The few other customers look up and then back down again. Iris soon takes off, powerwalking to the cashier. Jordy grabs the plant she leaves behind.
“Aye, don’t forget your plant.”
Iris slaps a $10 on the counter.
“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to find this,” Iris says to the cashier. She nods, still frazzled with bloodshot eyes. She gets her change and Jordy slides the drone box onto the counter, moving pamphlets for credit cards and National Guard back toward the cashier.
“You left your baby on the shelf,” Jordy says to Iris. “Some parent.”
Iris’s eyes widen, snatching it from Jordy’s other hand. “Shit, man. Thanks.”
“Why do you have a plant?” the cashier drones.
Iris rests the plant on the bagged CD, like a table. “Reasons.”
“Guess it’s fine to have weird reasons, given what may happen,” the cashier says, ringing out Jordy’s order.
The circle of people they had to circumvent are now gone so they walk further apart, Jordy’s drone in a large bag between them. At the end of the hall is a water fountain. It intersects all the wings of the mall in the center. It’s ten feet tall with a large bubbling chalice in the middle. The water cascades off the edges into smaller cups about four feet high. Large sums of change are pooled below. Children beg their parents for change, stomp over to the fountain. The plopping of coins makes them giggle.
“You can probably get your money back if you just scoop one out,” Jordy says, sitting on a flat bench with no back. He hunches over, reading his receipt.
“Buyer’s remorse?” Iris says, trying to peek at the total. Jordy’s long fingers cover the numbers.
“Nah, looking for a return policy. I need this just for a project.”
Iris scoots closer, leaving her plant and CD to her right. “Oh, for what?”
“I’m making a rap video for my Soundcloud debut. Need the drone to record from above.”
“That’s dope,” she says. “I’m not into rap.” She combs her hair over her forehead. “But I respect the art.”
Jordy finds the return policy, runs an index finger under it as he reads. “Yeah, I work at a studio part-time.” He smirks. “Guess we’re pretty similar.”
“How will they know you didn’t use it?”
“They won’t, trust me,” Jordy says, smirking again.
“Unless you crash it into a tree,” Iris jokes.
Jordy nods and looks out to the fountain. “You got a penny from earlier?”
Iris digs for it and pulls it out. “Want to make the wish?”
He closes his eyes, lips move to some intangible thought, and chucks it. The penny glistens as it plops into the top cup. A group of children go ooh as the couple stands to leave.
“So, like, about that cigarette,” Iris says, sliding a pack of American Spirits out of her pocket. “I wish for nicotine.”
They make it outside from a secondary entrance. A maintenance worker is outside with a mop and bucket, a patch of puke outside the entrance with a single orange cone near the bucket. Jordy coughs, says it smelled like cheap beer. The worker grimaces and sprinkles a powder on top as they sit on a bench far enough away for Iris to light up. She offers one to Jordy, he says “Need one after all that.” Some teenagers file out, playing some rap music through their iPhones. The lyrics mesh into white noise but the beat is synchronized among them. Jordy nods his head as the beat dissipates into the night. They sit in silence while the sky above blackens like a bruise.
“You know, if you wanted the plant to find a fly, we should’ve gone back to the food court,” Jordy says with a plume of smoke in his lungs, exhales. “Damn, girl these are hard to smoke.”
Iris chuckles. “Puts hair on your balls, or whatever my Dad used to say.”
She stares off into the parking lot. The ballet of car lights turning on and off and swinging around the lot entertains her sight.
“You’re right, I guess. Guess you’re going to miss it after all,” Iris says. She smiles fully this time, revealing both dimples under the halide light on the building.
“Damn, guess I’ll go to Lowe’s or something,” Jordy says, holding the cigarette between his index finger and thumb. He pulls out his phone, scrolls through Google to the first article about Venus flytraps.
“I’m Jordy, by the way. Can I get your number?”
Iris giggles. “Sure, Jordy. I’m Iris.”
“Guess you’re getting a Slipknot tattoo?” he says, handing her his phone to input the numbers. She sees the article, goes “Aw”.
“What if I told you I already have one?” Iris says, smirking.
“Maybe you can show me some time,” Jordy says.
He removes his hat to reveal lush blond hair. Iris looks at it, eyes wide.
“Can I see your tattoo before I go?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jordy says curling his shirt from the bottom-up, revealing a six-pack and defined pecs branded with the egregious adjective in all black.
‘So, what made you get yours?” Iris says, eyes bobbing back to dessert-worthy abs.
“Ah, for whatever. I got some other plans once I make a little money.”
A breeze whirls around him, flapping the shirt as the gust builds. There’s not a cloud in the sky, but the mauve sky transforms into a chestnut, then marigold. A roar pierces the air. They lose their cigarette butts and Jordy’s hat. A fiery comet streaks across the sky. Its gigantic white body leaves a cloud of bubbly smoke behind it. The worker drops his broom. People sprint outside the mall, mouths slack and hollow. The cosmic being chases the sun beyond the western horizon.
Iris grips Jordy’s hand, clenches tighter as a sonic boom explodes in the air. Windows shatter, car alarms sing out in a chorus. The Venus flytrap is blown off the bench and the pot shatters. The crowd snaps out of their stupor and the chaos begins. Waves of bodies clamor, darting to cars, hugging weeping family members. Fresh blood spatter on the ground and walls. Children wail. Expensive purchases are thrown all over like trash. A pileup forms at the door. One of the bulbs is split in half, the other clenched around a humming, engorged fly.
“What did you wish for again?” Iris wails. Her brow is wrinkled upward.
Jordy grimaces as he watches the second sunset. “Love.”
“A bit too late for that, bud,” Iris says.
“What about you?”
She blushes, her hand still interlaced with Jordy’s. He snatches the flower bulb with the fly off the ground, shows Iris. Their eyes aflame and affixed to each other.
“It did it,” he said.
Iris smiles, the last time she shows both dimples before the flash.
“Yes, yes it did.”
Josh Dale is a soon-to-be Master's graduate from Saint Joseph's University. His work has been published in Drunk Monkeys, Breadcrumbs Mag, Maudlin House, Rejection Letters, The Daily Drunk, and a book, Duality Lies Beneath (Thirty West Publishing, 2016). He blogs occasionally at joshdale.co and can be found on Twitter & Instagram @jdalewrites. If you see him hiking in Pennsylvania, approach as you would any small woodland creature and offer some trail mix. If you gain his trust and wish to adopt, he does well with cats.