Suzee's Final Plan
Suzee's Final Plan
Let’s begin with our antihero - Suzee. No surname given here; Suzee doesn’t need you looking her up online and sending unsolicited face cream ads or sleazy photos of wiggly things. Suzee is in her late twenties, between jobs, and still lives with her parents. She has, she feels, missed the boat careerwise. Suzee has light brown hair and big, beautiful, dark brown eyes. People used to comment on the beauty of her eyes, which she had previously found annoying, but doesn’t anymore since those kinds of comments have diminished in both frequency and truthfulness. But I think her big, brown eyes are still beautiful and would dive head first into them but then I would need a life ring to get out.
Then there’s Carter. He lives in a house on one side of Suzee. His last name is not important - he doesn't need you sending him ridiculous ads for boner enhancement pills or disgusting photos of jiggly bits. He repairs Saabs and Volvos. He also repairs Volkswagens but doesn’t tell anybody this fact; that’s just embarrassing. But Carter doesn't work on VW transmissions. Those things are more complicated than Suzee. Carter likes Suzee and Suzee “sorta” likes Carter.
Suzee and Carter are not “boyfriend/girlfriend” or “going out” or “seeing each other” or “friends with benefits” or anything along those tenuous lines. They do, however, “make out and such” from time to time whenever the mood strikes Suzee. Carter’s age starts with a 3 so it’s not inappropriate or vile or scandalous that they do what they do.
History of Suzee, Part 1:
Carter has never heard Suzee laugh. His self-proclaimed mission in life is to make her laugh, or at least hear her laugh. He’s tried jokes and funny stories but would only get a crooked smile in response. One day, Carter asked her to go see a movie with him, a comedy. There was a matinee on Saturday. Matinees are cheap - $2, but you had to buy a large popcorn and they added so much salt that you ended up getting a large Pepsi and then you ended up spending $20 for a $2 show. They sat in the theater and he positioned himself kind of cockeyed so he could keep an eye on Suzee during the funny parts. She smiled her Margot Robbie smile fourteen times - she doesn’t look like Margot Robbie, which is a good thing because she wouldn't be sitting with Carter in a matinee on a Saturday. She squeezed his hand three times - they were at the point where they held hands sometimes. And she mildly snorted three times - not the loud, piglike kind, just the quick exhalation of breath kind. No laughter. Maybe it wasn’t a very funny movie.
Now, I’ll introduce Justin. Justin is weird, not going to mince words here. He likes to believe that he is something he is not. For example: attractive, intelligent, talented, witty. (This list could get extensive, so I’ll just stop there.) Justin lives in his mother’s basement in a room that can justifiably be described as chaotic. Justin is a slacker. He benefits from others for food and lodging (his mother) and mental stimulation (Suzee). As far as physical stimulation goes, he’s left to his own devices.
Justin lives on the other side of Suzee from Carter in the suburbs of a large metropolitan area, and has done so since he and Suzee were small children, and Justin’s parents weren’t divorced, and Suzee’s mother had far fewer little, orange, plastic vials in her medicine cabinet. The city and state where Justin, Suzee, and Carter reside are unimportant, but let’s just say it wouldn’t be very difficult for anyone to find a place that serves biscuits and gravy.
Mrs. Gonzales lives on the other side of Carter. She has a very successful daughter, I’ll call her Madeleine because no one in the neighborhood can remember her name but there’s a good possibility that it starts with an M, and besides, Madeleine is a very pretty name. Anyway, Madeleine hardly visits Mrs. Gonzales because she moved quite a distance away and she has a place of her own and she’s very successful. Remember? Finance or something like that. So Mrs. Gonzales lives quietly with her cat, Mr. Beau Jangles. It’s not a very original name, I didn’t come up with it, she did. Doesn’t matter. Maybe Mr. Gonzales did and that’s the reason he’s no longer in the picture. I never asked.
History of Suzee, Part 2:
After high school graduation Suzee bought a second-hand guitar from an old guy in the next town over. His name was Travis and he was the lead singer/songwriter for a band called The Travis and Cooter Band. They had a song a while back that made the Billboard Country Top 100 (No. 97 qualifies). It was called “If You Don’t Stop Calling I’m Gonna Shoot My Phone”. The song was played on the radio, mostly in places where it isn’t too difficult to find a place that serves biscuits and gravy. Anyhoo, Suzee didn’t play guitar, she just hung it on the wall in her room and used it to hide her little, colorful bags of weed in the guitar’s soundhole. Her parents weren’t musical and Suzee knew they wouldn’t find her stash. After a couple of years, Suzee began just putting the baggies in her sock drawer, like any normal person.
Back to the current Suzee. Suzee had plans: Plans for her occupational future, plans to leave her parents’ house, plans to get in better shape physically (although she is perfectly fine in that department), and plans to one day create a family with a man or woman who would love her for her intellect and not be put off by a slight bodily imperfection that nags at her. Suzee has one boob that is slightly larger than the other. This is completely unnoticeable when she is wearing any type of clothing on top. But in a certain light, at a certain angle, at a certain time of the month, with a certain manipulation of her breasts, you might be able to discern a minute variation. If you squint. Or tilt your head in an unnatural way. However, Suzee would see this chesticular variance as clear as crystal every morning in the bathroom mirror and was obsessed over it. One time, at a party, after a couple of Mudslides (her drink of choice), she revealed this fun fact about her anatomy to the rest of the partygoers by exposing her breasts for examination. This was a shoot-first tactic that she thought might alleviate any embarrassment down the road should someone discover this small physical anomaly on their own in a, let’s say, intimate moment. The innocent bystanders muttered "oh" and continued with their conversation about the latest school shooting or the president's pee-stained trousers, which were actually photoshopped, but no one cared about that fact because it was funny in a non-partisan way.
But her most recent plans revolved around the need for the immediate acquisition of legal tender. Justin wasn’t her first choice in helping her carry out these plans, or even on the list at all, but he was the only one with the willingness to do so, and there was always butterscotch pudding in his mother’s fridge. Besides, he was easy to manipulate, even if he was a dunderhead.
History of Suzee, Part 3:
Suzee looks good in her polyester/Spandex bicycle shorts - she has great calves. And shoulders. Never underestimate the importance of nice calves and shoulders. One Saturday, Carter wanted to make out with Suzee because he happened to notice Suzee wearing her bicycle shorts and was feeling a bit “lonely.” (For the adults reading this, you will understand the use of quotes around that word. For you children, go ask an adult.) But it had to be Suzee’s idea. She was repairing her upended bike on her parents’ front lawn. She had grease on her hands from the bike chain and a little smear of it on her forehead, which looked kind of cute. This is how it transpired: Carter went over and said, "Hey, do you want to make out later?” Suzee said, “Um, maybe.” Then, Carter immediately said, “Do you need some help with that?” Suzee rolled her eyes and emphatically said “No” with a little “ah" at the end. It sounded like this - “Nooo-ah”, a bit biblical but it got the point across. But this had made her forget about the making out part and so she went over to Carter’s house later (sans grease) and proposed her idea of making out. Carter wasn’t so bad at carrying out a successful plan.
Suzee’s current plan required the collection of small, furry animals. Suzee chose cats because (1) she liked cats, sort of, and (2) she disliked any other small, furry animal. We could add a number three to this equation, which would look like this: (3) Suzee hadn’t fully hammered out the details of her scheme. What Suzee planned to do with the cats is something not shared with anyone outside of Suzee’s head. Suzee would dream up her plans while doing yoga and after an epiphanic moment, she would begin putting steps one, two, and three in motion before conceiving of steps eight, nine, and ten. Which goes against the definition of a plan somewhat, but let’s not quibble over semantics.
We can now join Justin and Suzee midway through step one of the current plan, the collection of the cats. Actually, that was step two. Step one was getting Justin on board as Cat Collector. It went something like this:
Suzee - “I need you to get a bunch of cats.” Justin - “Okay.”
Carter was finishing his tuna sandwich on the day this latest plan of Suzee’s experienced a massive hemorrhage and was euthanized. It was lunchtime and he occasionally would come home for lunch since the auto repair shop at which he is employed is just a ten minute bike ride away. Since you asked, no, Carter does not look as good as Suzee in polyester/Spandex bicycle shorts so he wears polyester/cotton technical pants to work, and also while riding his bike. Carter heard someone yelling something so he looked out of his front window and saw Justin. Running. With a cat under his arm. He recognized the cat as belonging to his neighbor, Mrs. Gonzalez, who has a very charming and successful daughter, Madeleine or something. The cat did not appear to be a happy cat at that moment.
“I got the cat! I got the cat!” Justin screamed into his phone as he carried the noisy tabby under one arm. He was sure Mrs. Gonzales wouldn’t mind if Mr. Beau Jangles went missing for a few days. Or a few weeks. A month or two tops. That wasn’t important right now. What was important is that he got the cat home with the other three. They needed six cats, Jangles was number four.
“Did she see you?” Suzee yelled on her phone. Well, she yelled at it. Her phone was in the cup holder of her treadmill and she always treadmilled when she was anxious. Or depressed. Or afraid that Justin would fuck up another one of her plans. Treadmilling was to Suzee what taking a nap is to most people - a relaxing way to leave the planet.
“No, she didn’t see me, you dimwit,” Justin croaked, panting as he ran. “I just gotta make sure my mom doesn’t see me when I get home. I don't need her asking a lot of questions about why I got a cat.” Unlike Suzee, Justin wasn’t used to exercise and the demands on his body associated with it. He wasn’t fat, he was just unSuzeelike, even though they were the same age.
History of Suzee, Part 4:
Suzee doesn’t like fish. What I mean to say is, Suzee doesn’t like fish as an animal or a being. She likes the taste of fish just fine. She’s very happy with a Chilean sea bass served with roasted mushrooms, or a cedar plank salmon with a nice vodka sauce. She just can’t stand looking at or (cringe) touching a living, breathing, or even a recently deceased, fish. She doesn’t even like the word “fish.” It just sounds weird, she would say. Go ahead, say it a few times to yourself. I’ll wait. See? She’s got a point. Anyhow, this whole fish thing obviously began when Suzee was six years old and her father took Suzee and her mother on a fishing excursion to the big lake in their state. Her father plopped them on the shore, her mother read magazines in a collapsible chair (it was uncollapsed when she was sitting in it), and Suzee played in the sand. Her father caught a fish, a white crappie it happened to be, and as he was removing the hook, it sprang out of his hands, hit Suzee in the face, and somehow managed to slip inside her oversized sweatshirt where it flipped and flopped against Suzee’s body and her oversized sweatshirt until it managed to escape out of the bottom and floundered in her lap. Suzee was mortified and screamed a six-year-old’s high-pitched scream. Her father laughed as fathers do, especially during a daughter’s embarrassing situation. Her mother said, “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a fish.” They all had McDonald’s for dinner.
Justin did make it home without his mother seeing him because what she was seeing was Dr. Phil giving the what for to a teenage mom on the boob tube. Dr. Phil always knows how to handle teenage moms, thought Mrs. Hankey as she placed her empty Bud Lite can on the nightstand. Mrs. Hankey didn’t exercise either, just like her only child Justin. Dr. Phil would have a few choice words to say about Justin, thought Mrs. Hankey. What a handsome man.
Justin successfully transported Mr. Beau Jangles down into his bedroom in the basement. The other three cats were whining again so he ran upstairs to fetch some milk. He made damn sure to close the basement door this time. I hope Suzee knows what she’s doing, Justin thought, probably for the fifth time that day. Her plans never work out. If this latest one didn’t pay off he would have to get a job at Vinnie’s. And he hated the smell of tomato sauce.
Justin grabbed his mother’s carnival glass pitcher from a display shelf. He stood at the fridge and poured milk from the gallon jug into the colorful pitcher. He could’ve just taken the milk jug downstairs but his mother always came down and enjoyed a bowl of cereal after watching Dr. Phil in the afternoon. Something was wrong. Justin looked down. Milk was raining down onto his sneakers from his mother’s damn display pitcher. You know, the one with the huge crack in the bottom.
Knock knock. Who’s there? It was Suzee. “Get in here, Suzee,” Justin hissed. “I just spilled milk all over the place.” Suzee came into the kitchen and placed her bike helmet on the kitchen table. She only lived next door but insisted on following the letter of the law when it came to bicycle safety. Besides, it was a Hello Kitty bike helmet and she loved Hello Kitty.
“What the f…” Suzee was not pleased.
“Suzee? Is that you?” Mrs. Hankey called from upstairs.
“Yes, Mrs. Hankey, it’s just me.”
Justin threw a roll of paper towels at her. “Do something,” he cried, implying that she clean up the milk on the floor. “I gotta go feed the cats.” He put the dripping carnival glass pitcher in the sink, grabbed a brick of cheese and a sleeve of Ritz crackers and headed for the basement door.
“Can you bring me up a glass of water, dear?”
Justin stopped in his proverbial tracks. Correction: The tracks weren’t proverbial, they were literal, as in milk tracks. Suzee and Justin locked eyes in a moment of panic. What do I do first, Suzee said with her big, brown eyes. I don’t know, Justin said with his stupid face. He ran downstairs with his “cat food” and slammed the door behind him.
Suzee began ripping sheets off the paper towel roll and throwing them on the floor. She moved them around with the toes of her Nike running shoes that her uncle had given her that year for her twenty-eighth birthday. Her uncle owned a Run ‘n’ Gun franchise, which sold athletic shoes and firearms. The shoes had an embroidered bullet flying off of the Nike swoosh and were most likely a return. They were comfortable though.
History of Suzee, Part 5:
Okay, since you asked, here are some other gifts Suzee’s uncle has given her in the past - a baseball cap with two crossed AR-57s and the slogan Don’t Make Me Use My Boys, a boogie board with a black and white American flag printed on it with bullet holes for the stars, a polo shirt with the Run ‘n’ Gun logo on the front pocket and an illustration of a stick-figure man chasing and shooting at another stick-figure man on the back. Suffice it to say, Suzee usually tries to steer clear of her uncle whenever possible. The gifts mentioned were “donated” to the local landfill and recycling plant at which Suzee once worked. For three days. Okay, two and a half days.
“Do you want ice with that, Mrs. Hankey?” Suzee called up. Rip, rip, rip. Swab, swab, swab. She shuffled her way over to the sink, soggy paper towels underfoot, and grabbed a glass from the plastic drainer.
“No ice, sweetie,” her thirsty neighbor yelled back. “And a Bud Lite if it’s not too much trouble.”
Suzee went to the fridge and took out a Brita water pitcher. There were two things she immediately noticed about the water. It was inhabited by several goldfish, and there was lots of goldfish poop. Yuck. She opened the basement door and called down in a loud whisper, “Justin, there are goldfish in the water.”
“For the cats, dimwit,” came the reply. Suzee thought about this for a second and then sighed.
Before she could loud-whisper back a scathing retort, one two three cats scampered up the stairs and negotiated her obstacle course legs and squirreled through the doggie door in the kitchen. Justin actually had a pet dog when he was younger but it had met a surprising and painful death beneath the wheels of a 1967 canary-yellow Buick Skylark. His mother never did replace the animal or remove the miniature swinging door. Oh well, no more yapping, Suzee had thought that day.
“Shit,” Justin said from his room downstairs. Translation: I hate cleaning pizza pans.
“Shit,” Suzee said as number four passed her in a gray streak and made good his escape. Translation: I’m too old to work at Hot Topic again.
That was the moment when, once again, her plan collapsed. Suzee could have sworn that she heard an audible Splat!, which of course is the technical term for the sound of her latest plan exploding, not unlike the sound a water balloon makes when hitting the pavement from a great distance.
Justin trundled up the stairs, a little slower than the opportunistic cats had done. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Suzee sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back in her chair like a bored teenager in a class where she already knew she would receive an F. Suzee was flicking her fingernail on the plastic Hello Kitty bicycle helmet. Tick, tick, tick. That’s the sound it made, it wasn’t the kitchen clock. Justin also saw a couple of dozen paper towels on the floor in various states of wetness. He and Suzee sat at the kitchen table, dejected.
“Where we gonna get six cats by Saturday?” Justin moaned through his greasy, black hair covering his stupid face where a single tear slowly made its way down, past his acne scars, to the stubble on his jaw. Suzee was uncharacteristically quiet. Tick, tick, tick. Normally, this would be the time she started yelling at Justin about his recurrent ineptitude, maybe throwing something at a wall, possibly punching Justin in the arm for emphasis. However, it was quite possible that Suzee herself may have played a small part in the failure of her own plans and she was just now realizing this.
They were quiet for a couple of minutes, except for the tick, tick, tick of Suzee’s fingernail tapping on the bike helmet. “Ugh,” Justin croaked. “My friend, Douglas, said he can get us jobs at Mama Crab’s near the mall.” No response from Suzee. They both sat there in profound misery for another couple of minutes. “You got anything else we can try?” Tick, tick, tick.
Suzee had enough of Justin’s whining and the smell of spoiling milk so she got up and left without saying anything, leaving her pink, plastic Hello Kitty bicycle helmet on the kitchen table. She walked outside kicking the miniature doggie door on her way out. She sighed. Who puts goldfish in a Brita pitcher? she thought as she passed her bike, which was leaning on a tree in the side yard next to the house. In the refrigerator?
“Suzee?!” Mrs. Hankey called out. But Suzee was gone.
Future of Suzee, Part 1:
Back at home, after a quick phone call, Suzee sketched out her final plan in her blue, college ruled composition notebook and it was plotted out like this:
Step 1: Run ten miles on the treadmill. Shower.
Step 2: Pack.
Step 3: Retrieve all the petty cash from the Weezer lunchbox.
Step 4: Charge phone, tablet, headphones, and Kindle.
Step 5: Leave note for Mom and Dad but put it in a place where they won’t find it for a couple of days. Also, tell Carter I’m leaving.
Step 6: Buy a bus ticket.
Step 7: Buy snacks and things to read.
Step 8: Bus ride.
Step 9: Call ahead to notify of my arrival.
Step 10: Breathe in the clean air and kiss the motherfucking ground.
A day and a half later, Suzee reached her destination and after kissing the motherfucking ground she wiped her mouth with an antibacterial moist towelette. Suzee had devised this plan while sitting at Justin’s mother’s kitchen table and tapping on her pink, plastic Hello Kitty bicycle helmet. She planned the entire thing. All ten parts. All in one go. In record time. There were a few additional parts, but those required my assistance.
Suzee opened up Suzee’s Spoke and Toke, a bicycle repair shop and marijuana dispensary. I help her with the business side of things and do her books. I’m pretty good at that sort of thing. Since you asked nicely, I’ll tell you. My name is Madeliene. Suzee appears happy. She says she misses the biscuits and gravy but loves the mountains. Plus, I regularly stock our fridge with butterscotch pudding.
Tomorrow, Suzee and I are going to our local pet store to get a couple of goldfish. And a goldfish bowl. A big one. “Let’s name them Sooz and Maddy,” I suggested. Suzee laughed.