The drive-thru line is lengthy, but you've made it this far

The Venus Flytrap story revisited

Photo by Andi Superkern on Unsplash

Remember malls? I’d be so happy if you were at a mall food court reading this. Even if you’re not, you should go to one right now and do it! It’s like method acting, I guess.

I should preface this with the fact the story has already been published through Drunk Monkeys over a year ago. However, some crucial edits I requested never made it to the publication. It’s been the black sheep of my writing catalog, but fear not! The finished version is here on BD/WD. It’s a proper short story of about 2,400 words.

A casual night at the local mall brings two strangers, Jordy and Iris, together by chance. Unpresumptuous and with clashing cultural personas, watch genuine romantic chemistry unfold as they walk the packed halls…with a special plant.

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Jordy sits down at the food court, slamming down a tray of Five Guys. The wafts of different cuisines and sandwiches flow into the seated area. Lines are long and the occasional complaint echoes around the space. Wan, teenage cashiers long to be out of their uniforms. Manic chefs in their early twenties scramble behind the counters. As Jordy digs into his meal, a fry topples and lands on a Chick-fil-A wrapper of a stranger. Her name is Iris, and she has a Venus flytrap next to her tray. Its two bulbous, grapefruit-colored mouths are 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.

“What’re you staring at?” she chides.

“Whoa, cool plant. Never seen it do the thing.”

Iris mimics him with her chicken sandwich. A sliced pickle tumbles off her lips, sticks to the wrapper.

“Like eating a fly?”

“Yeah, when it shuts on it.”

Iris tries to repress it, but smiles. A dimple forms 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 emotional support plant.”

Jordy bites again, making a grunt of affirmation

The mall crowd builds on the September Friday night. Groups of carefree teenagers stroll in wide lines. Couples with strollers come in, their wayward children darting off towards the cooked food. A man is handing out samples from the China Wok. Late workers, still dressed in their office attire, weave around them all, snagging takeout. Nothing is going awry, thanks to expert public relations and cool-headed politicians. The public doesn’t want another Y2K or the 2012 Mayan Prophecy frenzy. They are above that. Just tepid autumn days to bridge their summer and holiday season. All the while, Jordy and Iris remain.

Iris eats half her sandwich and goes for a drink. 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,” she says. Her drink ends with a hiss.

“I know, right? People seem chill about it all,” he says. He scoops some fries on his tray like a shovel, puts them in his mouth.

“People are silly 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.”

Iris squishes the remains into the wrapper. “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, arches her back 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 an oversaturated, cartoony depiction of the plant. It contrasts with the pale skin of her shoulder blade. A small black fly compliments the artwork.

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.

“If not now, when?” she says, letting the trash roll in.

Jordy takes his tray and follows. He’s a foot taller than her. His lumbering body gets close to hers, leans around to drop the tray off. Iris makes eye contact.

“Hey, still need some space, bud.”

“Oh, my bad,” he says, backing off some.

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. Jordy pauses, locks eyes with the guard.

“Man, chill. I ain’t got that bread.”

His voice pushes forward like a stiff arm about to fight. The guard rolls his eyes and doesn’t flinch, averting to a louder group of teens behind them. 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 sticks outward from the plastic vase. Jordy jogs to catch up.

“The tattoo looks fresh,” Jordy says from behind.

Iris flexes her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“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, like, two years ago.”

“Oh, you sweet child,” Iris says, tilting her head up to laugh.

“Lemme guess, you’re 24?”

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’. He spots a familiar store in the distance. “Yo, let’s go to FYE.”

They reach the intersection and blend into the mainstream. Waves of people 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 is pinned down by knees, hands behind his back. Expensive action figures strewn about, still in their boxes. He’s grunting and demanding his innocence. Jordy gazes at the tussle while Iris stands on tiptoes.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Some kid got caught stealing,” Jordy says. “He looks familiar.”

“Sucks you know a thief,” she says.

One of the security guards picks the boy up, now handcuffed with zip ties. “Nothing to see here anymore,” another shouts.

“I mean, not know him know him, but he was that freshman forward on the basketball team,” Jordy says. “Dude’s gotten a foot taller, I swear.”

“Do you need to go in there? Kinda craving a cig,” Iris says. She fiddles a pack of cigarettes.

“Yeah, listen,” Jordy blurts. “I know what I wanna grab. Gimme five minutes.”

 He motions toward the entrance. Iris sighs, follows suit through the dispersing crowd. The bright store has a display with the large figurines that the kid snagged. The cashier is on her cellphone, frantically talking to someone. There are a couple of other customers looking at movies, talking loud about the upcoming movie they were going to see at the AMC theater. Jordy goes to the back and lifts a drone from the shelf.

“Bet,” Jordy exclaims.

Iris sets the plant on a lava lamp box. “Oh wow, that’s a big purchase,” she says.

“Trying to buy it for me?” he jokes.

“As if, bud. Working a gallery doesn’t cut it.”

Jordy holds the box against his rib with one arm. “Like an art gallery?”

Iris blushes. “Yeah, something like that. My friend owns it. Does tattoos when we close. Maybe I’ll finish my degree, who knows. Community college will always be there.”

“You strike me as a goth person. Or nerdy, whatever.”

Iris jabs her fists on her hips, pouts. “Some stereotype!”

“You need anything here?” Jordy says, motioning to the open aisles.

“Well, maybe there’s something. Hold on.”

Iris walks to the CDs and scours the Metal section. She gasps as she fingers a particular one and pulls it out. Jordy eyes 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 this!” she says, nearly jumping up and down in place. The used sticker says $4.99.

“They rap at all?”

“Somewhat, yeah. This is their early shit.”

“Dope,” he says raising his hand toward her, waiting for a high five.

“What are you doing?” Iris says.

“Giving you a high five?” Jordy says.

Iris slaps his hand so hard that it rings out into the store. The few other customers look up and then back down again. She soon takes off, powerwalking to the cashier. Jordy grabs the plant she leaves behind.

“Aye, don’t forget your plant!”

Iris pays and takes the CD in a bag. Jordy slugs the drone box up and hands her the plant.

“You left your baby on the shelf,” he says.

Her eyes widen. “Oops. Thanks.”

“Why do you have a plant?” the cashier drones.

“Reasons.”

“Guess we all have a reason for something,” the cashier says, ringing out Jordy’s order. “That’ll be $195.99.”

They leave with their goods like typical mall patrons. A few minutes of walking leads to the central water fountain. It’s ten feet tall with a large bubbling chalice in the middle. The water cascades off the edges into smaller cups. Large sums of change are pooled below. Children beg their parents for coins, stomp over to the fountain. The plopping sounds make them giggle.

“You can probably get your money back,” Jordy says, thumbing toward the treasures beneath the water. He sits on a flat bench to read his receipt.

“Buyer’s remorse?” Iris says, sitting down next to him.

“Nah, looking for a return policy. I need this just for a project this weekend.”

Iris scoots closer. “Oh, for what?”

“I’m making a rap video for my Soundcloud debut. Need the drone to record from above.”

“That’s cool.” She combs her hair over her forehead. “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.”

“Unless you crash it into a tree.”

Jordy looks over to the fountain. “You got a penny from earlier?”

Iris pulls out the loose bills and the coin. “Want to make the wish?”

He closes his eyes, lips move to an intangible thought, and chucks it.

“Kobe,” Jordy shouts.

The penny glistens as it plops into the top cup. A group of children go ooh as the couple stands to leave.

Iris finally slides out a pack of American Spirits. “I wish for nicotine.”

Jordy rises. “How the hell do you fit so much shit in those tight jeans?”

Iris’s dimple returns but doesn’t say anything. She carries her plant on top of the CD like it’s on a table.

Outside, a custodian is moping up a patch of vomit. A single orange cone marks the place to be avoided. The worker grimaces and sprinkles a powder on top. The couple sit on a bench by the parking lot. Once the cherry is lit, Jordy asks for one. Iris complies, hands him the lighter. They sit in silence while the sky above blackens like a bruise. Some teenagers pile into an SUV. As it drives off, boisterous rap music drones out of the cabin. The bass rattles the plant. Jordy nods his head as the beat dissipates into nothing.

Jordy exhales smoke and coughs. “Damn, this shit is strong.”

Iris chuckles. “Puts hair on your balls, or whatever my dad used to say.”

The ballet of car lights swinging around the lot entertains her sight.

“You’re right, I guess. Guess you’re going to miss it after all,” Iris says.

Jordy pulls out his phone, scrolls through Google about the Venus flytrap. “Take a look at this.”

Iris takes his phone, goes “Aww” at the article title: Ways to Keep Your Venus Flytrap Happy (Not Hungry).

“You should, uh, put your number in there too while you’re at it,” Jordy says, smirking. “I’m Jordy by the way.”

Iris giggles. “Sure, Jordy. I’m Iris.”

“Ain’t that a flower, too?”

Iris taps in her number and hands back the phone. “Can I see your tattoo now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jordy says curling his shirt from the bottom-up. He reveals a sculpted six-pack and defined pecs. Above his nipples, he’s branded with the egregious adjective in bolded blackwork.

‘So, what made you get yours?” Iris says, her eyes darting over his tempting muscles.

“Who wants that nerdy Superman ‘S’? I’d rather be supreme. Sounds more defined.”

Iris licks her lips, embodying her plant’s craving for a fly. “Clever.”

A breeze whirls around him, flapping the shirt as the gust builds. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The mauve sky transforms into chestnut, then marigold. A roar pierces the air. They lose their cigarettes and Jordy’s hat. A fiery comet streaks across the sky. Its gigantic white body leaves a cloud of bubbly smoke behind it. The custodian drops his broom. People sprint outside the mall, mouths slack and hollow. The cosmic entity 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 a chorus. The crowd snaps out of their stupor and the chaos begins. People dart to cars. Others stand and embrace each other’s last moments. Expensive purchases abandoned and strewn all over like trash. Bodies crumple and pile against the exits. Fresh blood spatter on the ground and walls from injuries. The Venus flytrap blows off the bench and the pot cracks. One of the bulbs splits in half, the other clenched around a humming, engorged fly.

“What did you wish for again?” Iris wails. Her eyebrows wrinkle upward.

Jordy watches the second sunset form. Luscious blond hair settles on his forehead. “Love.”

“I think you may’ve just found it, bud,” Iris says.

He snatches the flower bulb off the ground. Another gust carries the remnants away. Their eyes aflame and affixed to the sight.

“It did it,” he says.

Iris grins, reveals two dimples before the flash. “Yes, yes it did.”