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Alright. Okay. Travis takes a deep breath in through his nose, holds it, and blows it all out in a wheeze through his clenched teeth. Not okay. Not alright.
Shit. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he? This should be the easy part. After all that hiding and sneaking around and working and hoping , praying no one would find him or realize what he’s doing, all he has to do now is slip the thing into the thin grates on the locker.
He stares at it from his place against the opposite wall. It’s that ugly copper color that all the lockers are, brown in the yellow school lights. It’s the most intimidating thing he’s ever seen. Well, no, that’s a lie.
Oh, the way his father can stare. Those cold grey eyes…
Still, fear eats away at his gut as the locker stares back, like acid melting the floor beneath him, leaving him adrift, falling and falling and falling. He feels weightless and so, so heavy. Breathing is more difficult than it needs to be.
Shit. Okay, he thinks, don’t psych yourself out now, Phelps. Just put the stupid fucking card in the locker.
In a boy’s locker. He feels sick, terrified by how much he wants- needs to do this. It’s just a Valentine card. It’s just a cheap red heart covered in his bad handwriting.
But it isn’t just that. This is a lifeline. He knows he needs to do this. He’s lost all hope in God, in heroes, in anything - but he has faith in this. He knows this is real. He can feel it. He’s lost all hope in life and if he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t know what’ll come next.
Fear is a hell of a drug. It keeps his feet glued to the ground, unable to step any closer to his goal, and yet led him all the way here, cutting out little hearts in red and pink construction paper and a little white circle in the shape of a mask, writing a poem that he wishes desperately he could make better and make disappear all at once, lining the heart with white lace stolen from the art room…
He’s here now. He might as well make the best of it.
Travis takes a very deep breath. In through his nose, holding, holding… and out through his mouth, slow and steady. It isn’t as calming as he wants it to be, but it does its job.
He walks towards the locker. He knows which locker it is because he watches it be opened, watches it be closed, watches the boy it belongs to as he ducks his head and laughs, eyes crinkling joyfully behind his pink-and-white prosthetic.
Travis stops before the locker and looks down at the valentine. It’s not worthy of Sal Fisher. But neither is he.
He puts the valentine into the locker.
For a moment, he stands, frozen in shock and in victory. He did it! Holy fuck, what did he just do? Shit. Shit! Yes! It’s a strange feeling, dread in his stomach and heart in the clouds, but it’s over now. He can’t get it out of the locker. The decision is made, for better or for worse.
The choice was presented to him. And he made it.
So he turns and makes his way through the halls, hoping he hasn’t left his father’s associate waiting in the car too long. The man always tattles to Father and then Father wants to know why he was dawdling.
He really doesn’t want to explain this to his father. He can hardly bear to explain it to himself.
Travis keeps his eyes on the tile as he walks, wishing, the closer he becomes to the entrance and to going home, that it would fall out from beneath him for real. At least he’s made his mind up. At least he gave Sally the valentine. Travis hopes he likes it. Already, the heavy hand around his heart feels gentler, more flesh and less stone. He wants Sal to feel something good too. He wants to make Sal happy.
“Wait!”
Travis blinks. Loud footsteps thud-thud-thud their way to him from behind, making his anxiety spike. He turns and sees him - Sally Face.
His hair is in a low, elegant bun today, his clothes almost obnoxiously themed to the holiday. It’s a baby pink dress with red hearts, almost reminiscent of Minnie Mouse - a far cry from Sal’s usual gothic attire. The red sash cinches cutely beneath his chest, however, letting the skirt tent outward in a low triangle, puffed out by what looks like lacy crinoline. His shoes are cute too, red Mary Janes, with appropriately frilly white socks just above the ankle. His legs are hairy and on one, there’s a thick band-aid.
Travis’ heart skips a beat. Sal is adorable. And brave and amazing.
That’s why he gave Sal the valentine though, isn’t it? He wants to be brave like Sal. He wants to look at every terrifying thing in his life and flip them all the bird.
“Hey, Travis,” Sal pants, his deep voice muffled behind the ceramic lips of his prosthetic. “Sorry for stopping you, but, well, I wanted to give you this.”
He holds out a tiny purple box. It’s heart-shaped. It’s a valentine.
Travis swallows hard. “I- Uh-”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to give me anything-”
“No, I- I did.” He wants to be brave like Sal. “It’s in your locker already. I hope you- I mean, it’s okay if you don’t- I just-” Frustrated, embarrassed, confused; he exhales through his teeth again. “Shit.”
Blue as the sky, Sal’s eyes don’t lose their gentleness. His hand finds Travis’ elbow, squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Travis. You don’t have to explain. Thank you for thinking of me.”
Heat takes his face. He doesn’t wish for the floor to swallow him this time. He wants to stay here, Sal’s skin on his skin. Sal’s eyes on his eyes. “Thank you. Too, I mean. For- thinking of me.”
“I always think of you.” It should sound like a confession, Travis thinks, but it’s only matter-of-fact. Like it’s easy. “There’s a note in there that I want you to read, okay? It’s important to me that you do. It’s kind of tiny, though, so it might be hard to lose. Be careful.”
“I always am, Sally.”
Only now do Sal’s eyes grow sad. “I know.” His hand slides away from Travis’ elbow to hang awkwardly at his side, his fingers twitching. His nails are red too, Travis suddenly realizes, different than his usual black. “Anyways, I have to go catch the bus. Happy Valentine’s Day, Travis.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sally Face.”
Sal smiles. And then he’s gone.
Looking down at the purple heart in his absence, the heart in Travis’ chest gallops wildly. Sweat clings to the back of his neck and he finds he can’t quite swallow fully. His ride’s going to be pissed.
-
Home. If it can be called that.
Travis stumbles up the small steps to his porch while his ride drives away, believing himself lucky this time than the man chose to brush off his lateness so easily. His father won’t be asking too many questions this time.
Good, Travis thinks. He’s not sure how his father would behave if he told him he’d received a valentine. God forbid he ever found out it was from a boy.
It takes only moments to make it to his bedroom, but those moments last a lifetime. As soon as he’s inside, he kicks his shoes off at the door, drops his backpack onto the floor, and sits like a crow on top of his undressed mattress. The purple heart stares back at him from its place in his hands. Something like fear makes his insides squirm.
“Wow,” he whispers. “Sal Fisher.”
He has prayed a thousand times, every morning, every night, every meal, but no prayer has felt as right in his mouth as Sal Fisher’s name, nor as hopeful. As reverent.
The little purple box opens with ease, revealing chocolates, as Travis suspected. And a note, folded into a tiny origami heart. It’s so perfectly folded, Travis almost feels bad as he opens it to read. Almost. Mostly he feels afraid to tear it, the piece of notebook paper already cut into such a small piece.
As the paper’s size allows, the letter is simple and short:
Dearest Valentine, The world is larger than we can fathom and it is waiting for you. You are worthy of love. Yours, Sally
It’s not as flowery or as confessional as Travis’ own note to Sal had been, but Travis finds himself crying anyways. It’s a very good cry.
There was never a choice, Travis knows now, because there was only one option, but Travis made the choice anyways. And regardless of what Sal says to his poem, to his cheap construction paper heart and badly glued lace, he knows he’ll make it. The world is big, so much bigger than this empty house and the tiny, suffocating church that stands in front of it, hiding his view of the road. The world is big and Sal’s in it.
Travis made his choice. Things are going to be okay.