We’ll Have Plans
by Suzanne C Martinez
Let’s make a vow that fifteen years from now, we will not be those people who only talk about aches and pains, doctors’ visits, or upcoming operations, or about people we knew who have passed on, bless their hearts. Let’s not criticize other people’s questionable clothing choices, their saggy neck wrinkles, or the crepey skin on their arms. We won’t suck our teeth mentioning the ones who’ve had ‘work done’ or dental implants. We won’t discuss anyone’s children’s divorces and job losses, or our grandchildren’s many accomplishments.
Instead, let’s get together and talk about the books we’re reading, the trips we’re planning, and the Broadway shows we have tickets for. Let’s go to the gym and swim, do yoga, and lift weights. Let’s finish writing our novels, start another one, and create new paintings in a series. Let’s go out for dinner at nice restaurants weekly, see the latest art shows, and attend book launches. Let’s live each day as if it were endless, and we have plenty of time.
But if we should die, let’s be ghosts. Let’s haunt the playground after the kids have gone and swing as high as the stars. Let’s make transparent rabbit ears behind everyone’s head on school picture day. And dance in the moonlight on roofs and parapets like fireflies. Best of all, we’ll go down into basements and up into attics, where they always say never to go.
Suzanne C Martinez’s fiction has appeared in North American Review, Wigleaf, Vestal Review, The Citron Review, and The Broadkill Review, among others, and was nominated for Pushcart Prizes (2019, 2020, 2026), The Best of the Net (2020, 2024), and Best Short Fictions (2022). She lives in Brooklyn.
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What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “We’ll Have Plans”? Every so often, a story flows effortlessly from mind to paper. “We’ll Have Plans” is one. I participated in Smokelong Quarterly’s 2026 March Micro Marathon. One day, the prompt was: Future Tense with a 250-word limit. My birthday was approaching, as well as my oldest friend’s two days later. I thought about aging, our long friendship, and hopes for our futures. Aside from a couple of word substitutes and rewriting my first sentence: Will we be alive in fifteen years? this is my first draft.
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