Insurmountable Differences

By Dawn DeBraal

Casey signed, leaning against the door. She’d met her soulmate. Mark was perfect. He had a flawless smile and olive skin and was mannerly, charismatic, and considerate. She’d run out of positive adjectives to describe Mark to her parents and friends. He was husband material, and she thought of him that way for the first time since meeting him. Politically and emotionally, they were mirrors of one another. Whenever she introduced Mark, her friends and family, they adored him. 

“Oh, Casey, this one’s a keeper,” they’d tell her. It made her smile, and she imagined Mark popping the question and daydreaming when a particular date came up, like her birthday or Valentine’s Day; she wondered if this would be the day he would ask her. 

They were comfortable with each other; Mark often spent the night at her house, but last night was the first time going to Mark’s place. It was neat, orderly, and comfortable. Casey couldn’t help thinking they could save money by moving in with one another. 

“How about I treat you to a big breakfast at Wally’s?” Mark said, kissing her nose. 

“I’d love that. Let me take a shower and get dressed.” Casey jumped out of bed and took a shower, spying an empty toilet paper roll in the garbage can. What she saw horrified her to the core. Mark was not her soulmate; what she saw, she couldn’t forget or forgive. There was no way they could live under the same roof. Mark had changed the toilet paper roll, but the paper went under and not over.

Dawn DeBraal has published over 600 pieces of short stories, drabbles and poems in online ezines and anthologies.