Click! I stumble into my apartment, trudging over heaps of clothing like an obstacle course, to scavenge my fragile fridge that’s set to collapse at any moment. Inside the vulnerable, thing, is a loaf of bread (on the brink of expiration), a bottle of beer, and ketchup. I forgot how scarce my resources are, but at least I’m grateful to get through tonight.

I could just go buy more ingredients to make myself a pleasant meal; be sensible. But I’m a man of great ideas, I relish the unordinary and the frugality. I wrap my sleeves up to my elbows, take my pants off, leave them by the bed, and begin honing my special meal using improv techniques.

First, I take a pan—shoot—I forgot to clean it last week, some sort of moldy civilization seems to be running a gala. How regrettable, to kill off such festivities is repulsive. But my stomach speaks louder than words!

“My apologies.” I let out.

With an insignificant remorse, I madly scrub the pan, obliterating the filth into bubbles. Then I place my pan on the stove, raise the heat to five, and plop the slice of bread on to fry. All that’s left to do is wait. Let it toast to the most desirable state.

While I wait, I lean on my chair right next to the small window provided by this apartment. A dull night and a starry city outside. On the window’s edge lays my succulent plant, “Susie”, a souvenir brought by my elder sister.

“Ah right, Easton, here’s a souvenir from my trip to Africa.” she said as she gave me a budding plant. Her hazel, brown, hair fluttered as she handed me her “gift”.

“Uhm, why a plant?” I asked with disbelief.

“It’s a jade plant, cute right? When I laid eyes on it, I thought of you.” She teased, “It’s low maintenance, so you don’t have to worry too much about keeping it alive. Just make sure when I visit you, it IS alive.” Her smirk brought out repressed memories, ones I never needed to remember again.

“Unbelievable...” I let out a sigh.

People tell us we look and act alike, aside from gender, but clearly, they’re blind. She’s the incarnate of recklessness. I can’t forget the time she left me in a toy store when I was eight only because she got distracted and decided to follow a clown, AKA the balloon bender, to receive a measly rubber shaped bunny filled with air. That was enough to ditch me. Now she’s gone on a travel binge, lurking through foreign countries in Africa and visiting other places such as Japan, Spain, and even Russia. When I asked her why the sudden decision, she responded,

“My heart soars; my mind follows; my life weaves in uncertainty.”

At that point I just didn’t bother asking any more, it was enough for me to understand that what she meant was that she’s impulsive.

“By the way, how did you even get a plant, from Africa, to cross over here?” I questioned in hope that she was joking.

After a few seconds of eerie silence that left me concerned,

“Oh, you know, I have connections if you know what I mean.” She winked.

In other words, she either gave me an illegal souvenir or (I hope) she lied about this plant being from Africa and she, hopefully, bought it in a store nearby.

Regardless, I became Susie’s caretaker. Honestly, she’s the most docile thing I could afford alive in this cluster of disarray. Her round leaves make her seem abundant with a tint of red at the tips reflecting the color of her pot. With a bit of water and small shades of sunlight, she’s shines brighter than today’s meal. Truly impeccable. I’ve come to cherish every detail she reveals from time to time.

I may be envious of Susie’s lifestyle, but I take pride in my own accomplishment of keeping her alive. She lives through my dedication! My pride and joy!

“My lovely Susie, I care for you just as much as you care to bloom.” I babble on, “I learned you can live for a long time. But don’t worry, when I become prosperous, I’ll place you by the most extravagant window where you’ll exclusively feast on the purest water. You’ll stay by my side when I get married. I’ll make my children pay their respects to you every morning. Then when we grow old together, you, my wife, and I will sit on a bench as we watch the sun sets.”

I could already picture myself siting on a bench as I hear the trees whistle into a soft melody. Where the various shades of orange and red blend to a speechless color in the sky.

An ideal life.

Behind that ideal life is money, an immense amount of money. To do so, I work and work from morning until evening. In an environment full of pressure from both peers and superiors. I go through it every single day.

The whiff of a toasty bread brings me to my feet. With a hop I make my way back to the kitchen.

In a few more months, they’ll give me a raise. I flip the toast from my pan to the plate. In a couple of years, I’ll have enough money to leave this apartment and have a nicer home. I grab the ketchup and squirt a swirl of sauce onto the toast. Maybe then I’d be able to pursue my culinary career. I’ll open new taste horizons with my impeccable expertise. Afterall being original is part of my quirk as an upcoming chef.

Crunch! Dry, with a sour taste left behind, this ketchup sandwich feels cheap to my taste buds. My face scrunches, unwillingly, as I shake my head at the taste.

Alright, it’s decided.

Looks like this won’t work for a breakfast menu. Tomorrow, I’ll buy ingredients. With a chug, I finish my beer in one go, I toss the sandwich to the garbage bin and call it a night.

“Goodnight, Susie.” I murmur as I turn the lights off.