what is a plot?

She might have been any one of approximately half of the human race but as soon as I saw her, the quantum field resolved with a faint plop. At least, that’s what I thought the sound was. Turns out that the noxious smell that permeated the bus for the rest of the journey pointed to a simpler explanation – Paula had let one go.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry!” said Joan – perhaps worried that her fellow travellers would think that she had soiled herself.

“It’s Paula.” she explained as she pointed, rather redundantly to the trembling Pekinese inside her handbag, “I’m taking her to the vet.”

“Shame about your bag,” said the burly man sat on the seat across from Joan as he fanned his face with a newspaper, “Versace is it?”

“Yes,” said Joan with more than a hint of sadness in her voice, “it was a gift.”

Their words hung in the air, competing gently with the smell. One by one windows were popped open along the length of the bus.

“Your dog has a nice bow,” said the man finally. “It matches your jumper.”

“Yes – another gift.” said Joan, her voice almost a whisper, then after a pause added, “the sweater I mean.”

“Ah – the jumper,” the man said as he reached up and pressed the button to stop the bus. “Well, this is my stop. Good luck with the dog.” he said as he hauled himself to his feet and smiled down at Joan. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

Joan smiled faintly up at the man, her year at Institut Villa Pierrefeu suddenly visible on her face, “Oh I do hope not.”

The man swallowed his smile, nodded curtly and disappeared down the stairwell.

I watched his departing back then turned my attention to the Pekinese who by now had started to squirm uncomfortably in the confines of the bag. A thought suddenly came to me and I hastily scanned the title of this section of the writing course.

Spelling the letters out carefully as they had taught me to do in the lessons designed to combat my chronic dyslexia, I read: “P, L, O, T.” A flush spread over my face, “T gosh darn it – I was sure that was a P!”