The Worst Valentine's Day

The Worst Valentine's Day



By luminous1



My eyes glared at the aisles of red and pink, wishing the perfect gift would float into my hand. It was Valentine's Day and I wasn't going to screw up. I stared at the heart-shaped boxes until my eyes hurt, and the boxes formed into faces, laughing and hooting at me because I was too stupid to make a simple decision. My hand didn't know which direction to go.

Reaching out, I inadvertently brushed my fingers over the box of dark chocolates and then touched the stuffed unicorns in the next row. My hands moved to and fro among the items, dallying here, lingering there.

Frozen between the chocolates and the stuffed unicorns, I stared and stared, watching the flurry of decisive people fly through the aisles and out into the torrential downpour in the parking lot.

Eight hours earlier, I googled the perfect Valentine's gifts, coming up with unhelpful, outlandish ideas like a balloon with my girlfriend's face on it, a romantic poem about our love, and a throw-up inducing t-shirt with matching pictures, but I didn't have the money or the time. They reminded me why I hated romantic comedies.

Choosing a gift had always been a chore, but for my girl Tori, I wasn't going to screw it up. I wanted her day to be perfect.

At home, I'm the self-proclaimed king of monumental gift screw ups. My prior gifts were embraced with glares, stares, and a crying afterwards. For my mom, I bought her a Cirrus vacuum. I had accidentally broken hers two years earlier, and I figured it was about time she got a new one. Apparently, she already had a vacuum, and it was the new Eureka 4879GZ, which was shinier. It sucked up the dirt like nobody's business. While I was at school the following day, my mom threw the Cirrus vacuum away, she despised the brand Cirrus. It had a tendency to die within a month of purchase.

For my ex's birthday, I bought her the Sims. It was a bad choice. She hated video games and threw it into the trash. About an hour later, she broke up with me, claiming I wasn't a “thoughtful enough boyfriend.” She said, “I deserve better than your half-assed attempt at consideration.”

I knew my Tori was nothing like my ex, but I wasn't going to let anyone else be disappointed by my un-original gift-giving. Besides, I actually liked my girlfriend compared to that bitch, Karen. I not only liked Tori, I was pretty sure I loved her.

She is so beautiful. She has russet hair in a disheveled bun that fires out in every direction. She has sparks in her eyes that light up everyone around her. She could get the shiest person in the room to talk to her. I remembered one time she got Tracy, who was notorious for tripping over her feet, breaking her foot, or falling down the stairs, to do the La-koo-ka-ra-cha.

I grinned, thinking of her dancing, despite the hearts glaring at me like I had developed “the idiot” syndrome.

My girl, Tori, she is unique on a number of levels. We had been going out for a month. But the day I knew I loved her was when she played Call of Duty with me for eight hours and became so obsessed with it, a week later, she was kicking my ass.

I also loved her for the crazy shit we did together. Sometimes we would stand out in the rain and run around pretending we were flying or lie in the mud and make angels. We would get soaking wet and ruin our clothes, but she didn't care and I didn't care. That is the reason I love her. She is crazy just like me.

I didn't want to screw up our special day. I was worried about what she would think; I didn't buy anything in advance. I waited. I waited until it was one hour before I had to pick her up.

A man bumped into me in the aisle, his face bore a confident expression. The heart-shaped boxes of chocolates were not making it easy to choose. What would Tori like?

I knew she liked Call of Duty, sleeping in late, running in the rain, going to the store at midnight, and most of all, her long-haired Tabby, Munchkins. However, none of that helped me if I bought her chocolates. She wasn't going to play the chocolates or run with them or snuggle with them—it was all pointless.

Did she even like chocolate? I couldn't remember us eating it together.

I glanced furtively outside. It was an awful day. As I mentioned, there was a torrential downpour outside and the fields were so mushy that brown footprints were tracking throughout the typically spick and span white Wal-Mart floors.

I glared at my drenched feet. I should have worn boots, but I wore Nikes. I wore Nikes, and there was a damn monsoon. At least, I didn't forget my umbrella.

I stared again at the choices before me.

I wondered if I should have gone somewhere else besides Wal-Mart. They always had such typical choices. Their were heart-shaped chocolates, chocolates with caramel, walnuts, white chocolates, strawberry, cherry chocolate—there were too many options and nothing screamed out Tori.

Finally, I closed my eyes, let my hand wander around the aisle, and I grabbed a random heart-shaped box. I told myself, if she didn't like it, well, too bad for her. At least, I had shown my heart was in the right place, I think?

The box was dark chocolate with strawberries and Tori loved strawberries—maybe she would like it after-all. I shook my head; no, I didn't care. She should be happy with it—I hope.

I grabbed a dozen red roses and a card with Valentines romantic-ness. Well, I thought it looked romantic with a cool flowery design and a bow on the front. Inside, I wrote a personal note about the first day we met in our culinary arts class sophomore year. I burned the cake, and she helped me to re-bake another one. I knew she would love it.

Then, I tried to leave.

But I didn't leave. Instead, I spent, approximately, 20 precious minutes in line, watching the same idiot argue with the cashier, regarding the increased price in flowers. Apparently, flowers cost way too much or something. When the idiot left, I rang up, grabbed the bag with the chocolate and card, and ran out of the store for my truck.

My 1985 Camero used to be a piece of shit. The yellow color over the passage of years morphed into a puke greenish-brown color. It looked like the cars they used in movies to show redneck characters in poverty. My family isn't actually poor; they just found the thing in a junkyard and told me there was a family rule that my first car had to suck. They handed me the keys, patted me on the shoulder, and left with a smirk.

I spent several thousands of my savings, painting the car a bright yellow, replacing the interior with a sleek black two-seater, buying a stereo system and radio and new tires. To an outside observer, the car looked brand new, but I knew the puke green was underneath just dying to come out.

Cranking up the engine, the car kicked, grumbled, spat, and died. I still had 40 minutes until I was supposed to be at her house—plenty of time to get there. Plenty.

I stepped into the downpour and kicked the side of the car. I kicked again and tried the ignition. The piece of junk wouldn't budge. I paused, glared at the car, stepped back, and threw myself at the car with a winded slam. The car's engine sprang to life. I groaned and shut the car door—sometimes, I hated my car. Either the damn thing was great because it worked, or I hated it because I was stranded on a dirt road in the middle of a cornfield.

I reminded myself that I really really needed to buy a new engine, but engine's cost a fortune.

I was about to pull out when I stopped. I checked the bag, the passenger seat, the back seats, and even underneath my car. The roses had disappeared.

In my haste, I had left them in the damn store. Glancing at the clock, I knew I had 30 minutes left. I stepped out of the car and ran through the cascading rain. I didn't bother locking the door or bringing my umbrella. When I reached the cashier, the roses were not on the counter.

“Have you seen my roses?” I tried to sound polite, but it sounded more like a grunt.

The cashier had a red streak in her hair, bored eyes, and a line of customers reaching behind the women's clothing section. “Honey, we're all out of roses,” she said.

“No, I mean, my roses!”

“We're sold out.”

I held my breath and released. Her name-tag read Patricia with a smiley face in the upper right corner. I wondered if maybe she was a nice person when she wasn't a Wal-Mart employee. “Patricia, I am looking for my roses. I bought them several minutes ago. I just left them.”

Patricia checked her desk, but it was more like a half-assed attempt. She glanced from the left to the right and looked down. “I don't see them, sorry hon. We are sold outta flowers.”

“No, I was just here. They've got to be here somewhere.” It wasn't like flowers got up and walked away. In the eyes of a desperate young guy on Valentine's day, roses were worth stealing.

“I got customers.” She said in a monotone voice.

I glared at her. “Thanks for nothin,'” I mumbled and ran out.

I had no time. Tori would have to live without flowers. Turning the ignition, I drove toward Tori's house on the busy flooded roads.

The roads were a nightmare. There were accidents, cop-cars, rain that blurred my windshield, and lines upon lines of cars stuck on the side of the road.

The rustle of the wind roared and screeched. The wind was so strong it felt like an invisible force was pushing the car to the side of the road. The weather hated me. I could barely keep my shit car straight without it pulling me to the left and then to the right. It was like I was on a roller coaster ride without the coaster to keep me on course.

After nearly ramming into a tractor, I decided to pull over to the side. I called Tori to tell her I would be late, but she didn't answer her phone. Sighing, I sent a text message—definitely the most romantic form of communication—hoping she got the message soon.

For several hours, I sat in the car, staring at the damn chocolate and card. I put the card in my pocket, deciding I would play the gift trick on her. She would think I only got her chocolate and then bam! Before she could say anything, I would whip out the card. That would take care of my lack of roses. I think.

I wondered if I would ever get to see Tori. I didn't want to be stuck in the flood all night. The clock read 7:20, and I was supposed to be there at 7:00. I sighed and flipped on a random song on the radio. “Love me Tender/ Love me sweet/ Never let me go...” I flipped it off, and the pitter-patter of the rain on the windshield was more soothing than Elvis Presley.

The wind roared and cars were parked behind and in front of me. I saw an older lady with gray hair, igniting her car engine, but her blue Chrysler Neon's wheels didn't move. The car complained almost like a coughing noise put on repeat, and it turned off.

The old woman grumbled and stepped out of the car and kicked it. She was dressed with a black dress, pearls, and an expensive fur coat. She was probably going to a Valentine's Day dinner like me.

She looked disgruntled. Her face was drenched and her eyes were lowered at the car like it was the spawn of wickedness. The image of an old lady kicking the shit out of the car made me grin. I would have volunteered to help her, but she came to me first.

She walked up to my window and knocked twice with a shaky hand. Maybe she had arthritis. I rolled down the window and the rain poured into my car, getting all over my right arm and the interior.

“Hello young man,” she waved her hand, her voice reminded me of a theatrical performer. It was silky smooth like chocolate. “I was wondering if a smart young fellow like you might know something about cars. You see, I noticed you have a Camero, and I thought, well, you must know something.” Rain dripped over her face.

“I do,” I said.

“Would you be willing to take a look at my car?”

“Let me take a look at it for you.” She was stuck and I was stuck—it seemed like the right thing to do.

The old woman looked up and the irritation in her eyes shattered. She smirked, the stretch her of lips reaching up to the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, thank you. Do you know anything about getting cars started? I dunno what's wrong with it. I'm supposed to be at this party, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be late.” She laughed and reminded me of a hyena. She glanced at my car for a moment, and I saw her eyes sparkle. “You have a very nice car, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” I supposed she was a car lover, but I had never met an old lady that loved cars.

“Here, you go ahead, and do whatever you need to. You seem like a strong boy. I'll go on this side. I let you to it. Will that work?”

I stepped out of the car and walked over. She followed, and I was surprised that the old woman had such an upright posture.

I nodded and pulled open the engine, examining it, the fluid levels, the exhaust, and the battery—anything I could get to without tools.

However, it was hard to focus with the old lady asking me questions and telling me stories. Attempting to stabilize her car, the old lady told me the apparently, beautiful and romantic story of how she and her husband met. I barely listened to the story, so the most I got out of it was that he was charming, they met in a bar, and they went out to some fancy Italian restaurant. I wasn't sure how meeting at a bar was romantic, but the woman was old.

“So what are you out here for—a romantic dinner?” she asked me with a wink.

She ignited the car and the wheel still didn't turn. By this point, mud was all over my new jeans. “Oh, uh,” I said. “I'm gonna go out with my girlfriend and have dinner.”

She laughed. “Oh, how wonderful. Tell me about her.”

A smile pulled at the side of my lips. “She's wonderful. We can spend hours just hanging out together.” For the next several minutes, I told her the story of how we met in my culinary arts class. I told the old woman how Tori and I played Call of Duty together, and how she was the one of the few girls I knew that loved video games. I was so lost in her russet hair and sparkling eyes, I hardly heard the chugging sound from behind me.

I whipped my head around to see my newly painted bright yellow Camero, flying away with the damn old lady waving and laughing like a hyena. I slammed the car hood down and punched it. I wished I could throw her car into a ditch and sink it to the bottom.

I was an idiot.

I pulled open the car's door and sat in the passenger's seat, checking my pockets. At least, I had brought my phone, Tori's card, and my wallet.

The clock in bright green letters read 7:40. I was 40 minutes late—40 minutes. Tori wasn't going to accept my gift. All I had was a card, a damn bent card. My mother didn't like her vacuum and my ex broke up with me over Sims. Why would Tori accept a card?

As I sat, the rain droplets let up and the moon shined through the clouds, clearing the sky and showing the stars overhead. Water flooded on the sides of the roads, but the cars that were stopped moved forward and Valentine's finally began—for them.

The clock read 7:41. I decided I had to call her. I had no way of leaving with my car stolen and the immobile heap. Maybe it wasn't too late—just maybe she would forgive me. Although it probably wouldn't work, I would end up a bachelor for the rest of my life in a log cabin, secluded from the world. That way, I wouldn't have to deal with idiots like the old lady.

I picked up my phone and dialed Tori's number. It rang once and Tori picked up. “Alex, what's going on?” Her voice burst through the phone like she had been staring at the phone, waiting for me to call.

I sighed and scratched my head. “Well, it's a really long story. For one, my car is stolen.”

“What?”

“Listen, can you come and pick me up? I can't really get to your place anymore. I'm off of Lorax Lane and Round Court. I'll tell you the whole story when you get here.”

Tori paused. “Ok, see you soon. I hope everything's okay.” She hung up and after about fifteen minutes she arrived in her parents burgundy mini-van.

I walked out to meet her, keeping my eyes to the road and the bent card safely in my pocket. She met me at the midpoint between her car and the old lady's. I shuffled my feet, wondering if eye contact was the best idea.

“Alex,” she said, the tone was forceful but gentle.

“Yes?”

“What happened?”

My eyes stayed on the ground. “Well, I uh ... I ... I messed it all up.”

Tori laughed. Imagining the scene, I always watched her scream at me or throw things or even drive away in her car. But she was laughing?

“It's not funny,” I said, my eyes drifting to hers. “I really messed up. I was gonna get you flowers and chocolates, but they got stolen—”

“Alex.”

“And I lost my car and—”

“Alex.”

“Well, I do have this shitty card.” I pulled it out for her and she took it. “But it's all bent and ... and well, I wanted—”

“Alex!” She clapped her hand on my mouth and smiled. “I don't care.” she said. “Well, okay, I do care that your car was stolen, but I don't care what you do or don't have for me. Honestly, I was laughing because I don't have anything for you either. My dad wouldn't let me borrow the car until I cleaned my room. So you see; it doesn't matter.” She held out the card and hugged it to her heart. “This card is perfect.”

“Tori, you haven't even read it!”

“Okay ... okay, I'll read it first.” She took a moment and read the card. I watched her expression turn from the usual sparkle to concentration. When she was done, she looked at me with her mouth half open and her eyes wide, a mixture of happiness and surprise.

“I love it. It really is perfect.”

“Really?” I blinked. I was in a dream—did she say it was perfect? I didn't have to buy her chocolates or roses; the bent card with smudged ink was perfect.

Then, she surprised me and jumped into my arms.

“I missed you.” she said.

“Me too.” I buried my face into her russet mess; her hair smelling of lavender. For the first time, I felt completely content. The familiar feel of her body, relaxed my stressed arms. We stayed like that, taking in each others embrace for a long while.

When we released, it felt too short. We both headed for the minivan, hands clung together. “So what are we gonna do for Valentine's Day,” I asked.

Tori smirked. “I cleaned my room.”

“So?”

“So I've got the car for the rest of the night.”

“Well that's great, but our Valentine's Day is over.”

“Stop being so pessimistic. Valentine's Day just began. Get in the car mister! We are gonna make it our own.”

I grinned and Tori drove us to Wal-Mart. Together, we bought each other chocolates and a movie. Tori wanted the Darth Vader shaped heart, and she got me the Darth Maul one. Then, we bought Kill Bill, chilled at her place, and cuddled on her parent's couch. What started as a crap day, ended up being a kick-ass day. I went through some shit, and all that really mattered in the end wasn't giving her the pretty flowers, chocolates, or going out to a fancy restaurant, it was spending quality time with my girl.

Later that week, I found a 1985 Camero abandoned at a gas station parking lot and the engine wouldn't start. I grinned and got it towed to a repair shop. Tori and I were going to make the sucky car into an awesome machine.