Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

12

Sal Fisher was Travis's friend. They were friends.

The idea made Travis's head spin, made his palms sweaty and hot.

He couldn't say he knew for sure what friendship entailed. The word was a nebulous image in his head. It had been a while since he called someone that after all.

The closest things he had to a friend were the nice ladies at the church that worked alongside his father.

His already preoccupied brain abruptly became filled with frantic worries. Being Sal's acquaintance and deskmate was difficult enough. He already had a hard time coming up with things to say. He was already unsure of how to act around him.

Friendship was more personal, more special. Just what would be expected of him now that they were friends? And what if he wasn't able to pull it off?

What made it worse was that today was February 14th, Valentine's day.

It was a holiday that Travis had never himself participated in. Obviously, he didn't have anyone to celebrate it with and the only holidays that were of any importance in his house were Christmas and Easter.

Was it normal to give friends gifts on Valentine's day? He had seen other kids exchange candy and toys and whatnot, but the last time he'd received anything like that was when he was a little boy when his mother was still around. He still had the little stuffed bear she'd gotten him. It was perched in the corner of his bed, the only stuffed animal he owned.

The bear was light brown with a cream nose, and the faux fur covering it was a bit ratty and not nearly as soft as it had once been. Its once shiny, plastic eyes were now dull and unpolished. Sleeping with the same stuffed animal for ten years did that sort of thing.

   Luckily for him, Kenneth was an infrequent visitor to his bedroom. Travis doubted that he knew that he slept with the stuffed animal his mom had given him, or maybe he did know and was giving him an inch of slack for once.

   Travis got on his knees beside his bed and began his morning prayers. He hated himself for how onerous praying had become. He hated how uncomfortable he felt recently when he got down on the floor and clasped his hands together.

   He wasn't deserving of God's blessings. He wasn't worthy of forgiveness, no matter how ashamed he was.

   Sal's porcelain face was clear as day in his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut, actively interrupting his carefully rehearsed routine.

   Travis's hands clutched around each other, his fingernails digging into the tender skin along his knuckles.

   But Sal's voice and eyes and soft blue hair didn't leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. 

   Travis sighed, letting his tingling hands go flat on the blanket. His gut twisted up into a knot.

Well, what did he expect anyway?

   It was only natural that he would be too consumed by sin to hold even the simplest of prayers.

   Today, he was wearing his purple sweater, the one with the pink bands around his biceps. He frowned at it as he stood in front of the mirror.

  He hadn't worn it since he'd spoken to Sal in the bathroom on bologna day.

  Under it was a white button-down shirt, to protect him from the scratchy, cheap sweater fabric.

   On top of both items was his rosary. After he neglected prayer just moments before, he felt embarrassed to even have it on. It laid between his collarbones, bright and flat and the reflection from the window bounced off of it, like a beacon shining in his face, like it was taunting him, like God knew how disgusting he was.