Heaven (new version)

chapter 3: the way he used to dance

Travis usually took fifth avenue to go home but today he decided to make a left at the town's sole Arby's and go down Delaware Drive. There was an old park as soon as he made the left. He knew he used to play there when he was a kid but his brain no longer held any memory of him running to the slide or clambering on the monkey bars. All that remained was a void where a childhood used to be.

It had been years since the park fell into rust. Though Travis had seen children playing there sometimes, most days the old swings and things saw nothing more than broken bottles and cigarette butts from the patrons loitering outside of Club Purgatory which sat right next to it.

When Trav neared the club, he slowed down. Though he could no longer recall many things, he remembered sneaking into the club like some teenager so that his parents would not notice him going to that fag bar as his father called it.

Travis Cullen had been in his late twenties when he fell in love. He'd only loved once but he fell hard and it was brutal. Ol' six foot-three skateboard-mad Trav with the shaved head and beard hadn't been the kind who daydreamed. He didn't believe in fairy tales or mushy love but that all changed when he first saw Cookie.

It had been a Saturday, a few minutes past eleven PM. Travis had just walked into the club. The stamp they used back then was fresh on the back of his hand. A song was playing that Travis knew well. Yet the lyrics evaded him now, he remembered how they felt. Smooth. Fine. Silky. Just like the vision walking onto the stage who wrapped himself around the pole like it was a lover. Dusky brown skin. Something akin a dress that was flowy and transparent draped around the dancer's perfect physic. When the dancer caught Travis' eye, he felt his whole existence suddenly take on meaning. There was something in the way Cookie used to dance that could turn Travis into a heart-thumping, mushy mess.

The sun outside stood high in the sky. But in one fluid motion, it slipped behind a cluster of clouds and vanished. 

Though Travis knew his mother was waiting for him to return home at noon on the dot, he stopped his rust red car on the opposite side of the road and got out. One of the tail lights was cracked and held together by two large stickers: one had a skull with wings and read Powell Peralta Skateboards while the other simply read Caballero in a bright yellow graffiti-style font.

Gene's Flower Shoppe had been there since the fifties. Gene Blythe who owned it had been a bachelor all his life. Travis always thought the store owner looked like Mr. Hooper from Sesame Street because of his bow tie and horn-rimmed glasses.

The sky above was a dark gray hue as the sun remained hidden behind the cloud. But Travis ignored it. Around him, the scent of dry earth lingered.

Standing outside of the florist's – as they had been doing forever – were buckets full of carnations. White ones. Red ones. Pink ones. Yellow one. Orange ones. Travis trickled the tips of his fingers over the petals and breathed their scent in.

"It's been a while, Travis, my boy. Haven't seen you in quite some time," Mr. Blythe's voice interrupted Travis' thoughts.

"Oh. Go-ood morning, Mr. Blythe." Travis' hand hovered over the flowers' petals.

Mr. Blythe looked over his glasses. "I'd almost run out of red ones more than once."

"Y-yah-um, I remember that." A faint smile dusted Trav's lips briefly. "I used to buy..." he licked his lips, "Um... I –"

"Twelve of them twice a week for months," Gene politely reminded him. "You made me a rich man."

"Glad to-to have helped." Travis clasped his hands in front of him to avoid touching the carnations again.

"You look good, Travis," Gene Blythe said softly yet his gaze fluttered to the faint scars on the younger man's temple. "Hair suits you."

Absentmindedly, Trav touched his chin. "M-mooother likes it this way b-better."

Mr. Blythe gave him an understanding nod.

"I-I'd like soooome..." Travis pointed to the flowers. "Twelve, pl-please."

A faint furrow creased the shopkeeper's brow. He tossed a glance towards Purgatory then back to Travis. "Are you sure, son?"

A nod was all he could manage because words got tangled around Travis' tongue.

"Only the best ones then." Mr. Blythe gave Travis a pat on the shoulder before picking out a dozen of the biggest crimson carnations. Grabbing a semi-transparent piece of yellow cellophane from a shelf by the flowers, he nimbly wrapped the bouquet and then secured them with a white ribbon which he tied into a bow. "All set." With a smile, Mr. Blythe handed Travis the flowers.

The cellophane crinkled as Travis held the flowers in an embrace. "I rem-member how they used toooo sm-smell."

Gene Blythe pressed his index to his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "They are mighty pretty." 

"Hooow much?" Travis looked up from the petals. "I te-tend to fooorget."

With a gentle shake of his head, Gene patted Travis' shoulder once again. "No charge this time, son."

Travis thanked Mr. Blythe and crossed the street. He didn't notice the tears in the shopkeeper's eyes as the older man watched him place the bouquet against the side of the club, pause a moment, then dash to his car before anyone told his mother on him.

* Fun Fact: In the rewrite, I finally saw Travis crystal clear and he looked the way I described him here. Does anyone know who the Caballero sticker refers to?