The Van Pact

30: Stevie

My bedroom was filled with things that reminded me of Valerie. I resolved to strip it- and myself- of those memories. So on a Saturday afternoon, instead of doing my homework, or mowing the lawn, or binge watching Netflix documentaries, I dragged two large cardboard boxes into my room. One I marked "Toss" and the other I marked "Return." I put my favorite Jimmy Eat World song on repeat. And then I got to work.

            Ticket stubs from movies and music festivals?

Toss.

            A fluffy hoodie she has consistently forgotten to pick up since last March?

            Return.

            A One Direction poster, on which she had forged the signatures of Harry Styles, Niall Horan, and Zayn. She had given it to me as a gift five years ago, on April Fool's Day?

            Toss.

            Her curling wand, from the night she did my hair in preparation of Jesse's concert?

            Return.

            A stack of friendship bracelets she wove out of pink and green string?

            Toss.

            Her mom's blazer?

            Return.

            A senior year bucket list we wrote last summer?

            Toss.

            "Hey Stevie," my dad popped his head into my room. "Do think this is appropriate for a first date?" He was wearing a polo shirt. What was this, two-thousand and five? He must have seen my cringe, because then he said:

            "Well I don't know, last time I wore work clothes. I'm supposed to be 'opening up' to people. And work clothes are for work?" he winced.

            "That sounds like some therapist mumbo jumbo," I dumped a desk drawer full of origami SpongeBobs into my Toss box.

            "I'm trying," my dad sat down on the foot of my bed. "I talked to Father Connell about the annulment process yesterday. I've got this on," he rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a nicotine patch stuck on his upper arm. "I got to start somewhere, right?"

            I wanted to tell him not to bother. That any attempt at some small happiness would be met with rejection, humiliation, and pain. That good things didn't happen for people like us. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw a spark of something I hadn't seen before.

            I kept my mouth shut.

            "What's going on here?" My dad noticed my cardboard boxes and the same emo song playing on loops on my laptop. He clicked the pause button on my Spotify and picked up an origami SpongeBob. "It looks like you and Valerie broke up."

***

            When I finished sorting my things, I decided to waste no time in getting them out of my space. I duct-taped the Toss box, and put it in the garage by our garbage can. From there, I peeked out across the street. The DiPaolo's garage door was open. I could see Gus parked inside. Valerie was home.

            Well, then was about as good of a time as any. I took the Return box from my room, and headed for the DiPaolo's driveway.

***

            Before I could ring the doorbell, before I could even get to the front step, Mr. DiPaolo emerged from the garage.

            "Stevie!" he waved, "Valerie's out, took the jeep for a joy ride." He eyed the box in my hands. "Is there something I could help you with?"