“A jet. I think I want a jet.” Brandon’s green eyes glazed over as he looked upwards, imagining a jet—his jet—soaring through the sky above him. “A Gulfstream. A G5.”
He was sitting with Sarah—a good friend, but nothing more—at a rickety lawn table built for four. She was wearing the thick, grey jacket he’d bought her several months prior, but still looked cold against her snowy backdrop.
She finished chewing, then asked, “what?”
“A jet,” Brandon repeated. “You asked what I would have if I could have anything—”
“A couple days ago. I didn’t have an answer, but—I think I want a jet.”
Taking a sip and making eye contact, Sarah worriedly said, “Brandon, you need to slow down. You look terrible. Did you sleep last night?”
“No, but listen. I’ve been talking to this guy—Gary introduced me—who pretty much decided while he was still in high school that he wanted a jet. Everything he did was to get closer to his jet. It’s a huge goal, you know? But it takes balls, and I have those. So if I could have anything in the world right now, it’d be my jet. I’m gonna buy one someday; I know it. I’ll get one.”
Sarah reached across the table and took her friend’s hands in her own.
“Brandon,” she said, pausing for emphasis. “Please—please promise me you’ll sleep tonight. You need to take some time for yourself every once in a while. Even if it’s just a couple hours or a nap tomorrow, I want you to promise me.”
She squeezed his hands, waiting for his promise.
Brandon grimaced, but eventually complied. “I’ll— I have a lot to do tonight. I’ll sleep tomorrow, okay?”
Another uncertain pause. Then: “I promise.”