Chapter Text
Travis doesn't like crowds.
If he's being honest, he wishes he could turn around and head back home. The grating voices of his classmates crowding outside the buses are starting to give him a headache.
Oh my gosh, did you hear that we're having the entire park to ourselves tonight? Choke.
It has been just enough time that friends on separate busses are starting to group up: the fucking-loner folk begin to panic slightly, and the newly-developed couples get comfortable sucking each other's faces off in front of everyone, huddling together like they’re Harry and Sally on New Year's Eve. Mingling in all of the chattering and excitement is truly the last place he wants to be, but here he is, regardless.
If he had to blame someone, it would be his shit-ass friends or his dad, who is part of the staff chaperoning. Since he stopped hanging out with them last semester, Travis can’t go back to his old friends.
Dad also mentioned that this was his last hurrah before becoming an adult, telling him to enjoy it while it lasted. However, there’s not much to enjoy alone since most of the rides are for groups of two or more.
Then again, he wasn't blameless for that either; his talent for pissing people off was a scientific wonder. Really, Travis should've just gone back home and enjoyed the cool air of his room with his mom’s telenovela murmuring through his bedroom door. Still, Mom had taught him to at least try to keep an open mind for new experiences.
He’s just decided that he hates this specific new experience.
The thing is, it's not a new experience—he feels like he’s back to being the last one picked during dodgeball, and soccer, and football, and–
Well.
It's not that he doesn't like people and having friends—of course he does—it's just…there’s too much going on, and he knows he won’t enjoy it. Who goes to an amusement park by themselves, anyway, much less a school-coordinated one? But Travis, it's Grad Night! Let loose!
Fuck off; he can't even ride most of the rollercoasters after his surgery.
What frustrates Travis the most is that his classmates seem to be entirely different people after check-in and during the walk to the Six Flags entrance. Usually, it’s a slow-paced high school, and the occasional incidents with the nearby alleys for bumming a cigarette during lunch, backyards for keg parties after one of their sports team on the off chance wins, and for fucking a guy at a party–
Stop.
Travis presses the heel of his palm against his head, halfway to pulling his hair out. How is he supposed to have fun alone? How is this the peak of his life?
Stop. Please.
What is he supposed to do? Why is it so hard to breathe? How does he stop fidgeting and fucking spazzing out? Before he can derail his train of thought and pretend nothing is wrong, he thinks about how he’s supposed to hide that he can’t go on any of the rides because he’s pregnant, too. How did this happen to him? Why him?
Please. Stop.
Maybe if he tries to take a breath, it’ll help ease him back down to Earth. But who is he kidding? He can't pretend his way out of this. He needs to face the fact that he's a freak and a fucking–
Travis’s thoughts screech to a halt at the sound of a familiar voice, muffled comfort from someone in the distance. “Travis, breathe.” He’d swear on his life that it sounds like Lottie, but she’s nowhere near him. He turns left, then right, just to make sure. Nothing. But, he listens, and takes a deep breath in and out.
Right ahead of him is Jeff, loudly messing around with a few guys on the baseball team. He's praying he doesn't look terrified staring at him, because all anyone would think is that he’s gay. Or worse, that he's afraid of rollercoasters, like a fucking pussy.
Glimpsing at him, he notices Jeff raising and waving a hand at him, or maybe it’s to someone behind him. He doesn't turn around in case it’s the latter. His further thoughts are cut off as they break eye contact, and Jeff starts jogging to someone behind him. His vision blurs even more, and he tries to focus on the rides behind Jeff’s head. It looks broken, like some tangled wires from his garage, and holy shit, he thinks he’s going to pass out. He goes back to looking down and tracking how many bricks there are in the zig-zag pattern path to the entrance...
Wait, were those antlers? Why did he have antlers? Travis thinks as Jeff jogs past him, ignoring him.
Maybe he was fucking hallucinating. The lack of oxygen must be getting to him.
He feels like he’s losing it.
His already meager plans are crumpled as he stares at the pregnancy symbol on the safety sign for the fucking Enchanted Teapots of all the fucking rides. The one meant for kids and their half-asleep moms. Somebody, please, point a gun at him and take him out of his misery. He’ll even stand still to make it an easy shot.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?”
Natalie's voice knocks Travis out of his train of thought. Nat moves to stand next to him, leaning against the rail fence by the sign, arms folded.
Travis can't help but mimic her. He hugs his arms to his chest, hands twisted into his shirt, and leans back. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk, but Nat’s always had a way of knocking some sort of sense into him. Ever since that time, he landed on his ass after whiffing the soccer ball when he had to replace one of the girls during a scrimmage freshman year. Nat had to pull him to the side and tell him to get his head out of his ass.
“Shouldn't you be with the other dick bags on Skull Mountain?”
“Shouldn’t you be sucking someone's dick or doing laundry?” Travis responds reflexively, ignoring Nat, slumping in on himself.
“Fuck you too, dude.”
Travis should apologize. He doesn’t.
“I was trying to be nice, Flex, if you can believe it.” Nat's voice cracks, accent heavy. “Lottie was looking for you for some reason–”
“Lottie was looking for me?” He picks his head up and finally looks at her. Nat shifts a bit further away from him, and there’s something off in how she turns to him, and he swears it's like she wants to punch him.
“Jesus, so it is true,” Nat says.
Play dumb.
“Who’s Lottie?” Travis says hastily.
Not that dumb.
Travis looks down at the floor again.
Nat clears her throat as Travis’s neck begins to burn, feeling like he got caught for some crime he didn't commit. “I used to meet up with Lottie after every win we had this season. Found it odd that I didn't see Lottie in her room after finals for States. Now I know, I guess.”
“Yeah, she does that sometimes.” Even though nothing really happened. Travis feels special about getting Lottie to himself.
Travis doesn't even know why Lottie got involved in his life so quickly. He’s never liked anyone like that. No one other than Lottie, but he didn't even like Lottie like that to begin with.
During their conversation at States, he swore Lottie was like a stray deer in headlights as she sat between the ice machine and the wall. Now he’s wondering where Mom put the photos from CVS. They're probably in a scrapbook or framed somewhere in the corner of the house, close enough for guests to notice but subtle enough so everyone in the house doesn't have to see them.
They slowly eased into somewhat of a buffer zone after he tried to apologize, which didn't help the rumors about them fucking at Nationals too. That’s what he gets for apologizing in public. Hey, better than being the girl who bit someone's ear off.
Travis should've said something, that it wasn't like that. He should have shrugged it off with a simple explanation, but there wasn't any simple way to explain what had happened to him. What happened to him wasn't normal.
So he doesn't say anything at all. An awkward silence follows, punctuated by a subtle scoff from Nat.
“Guess she didn't tell you about it. Welcome to the club,” she says quietly.
Nat still looks nervous, and unlike herself, so he puts his hands back in his pocket like a lifeline. “I think it's just something about her in general.”
Travis watches as Nat makes a sound between a laugh and a sob.
“She’s something, isn't she?”
Travis exhales lightly, finally realizing what Nat meant, “Yeah, it's like she–” Still observing her with concern, he whispers, “I'm really sorry, Nat.”
Nat doesn't look at him when he glances her way. It's unlike him, but he feels responsible for everything.
Travis is trying really hard not to be an asshole after that new information, and he ducks away every time he even spots one of the Yellowjackets. Sitting on the benches since he can’t go on any of the rollercoasters, he thinks about how to come back from that. It's like everywhere Travis goes, things get worse and worse.
Hey, Lottie. Sorry, I ruined any chances of you getting laid. My bad.
He feels like he owes Lottie a heads-up, but it's not supposed to be any of his business in the first place.
Travis owes Lottie a lot of shit already.… Fuck, he thinks he's going to throw up. Travis’s eyebrows knit together as he processes how literal that last thought was.
Travis is not proud of the next part. He hurries to a nearby restroom, thanking every deity he knows that there is an open stall. Gross, why is it that color? He didn't even eat anything at the park yet. Fucking nasty.
After washing his mouth out with lukewarm park water and staring at his pallid reflection for a second too long, he trudges out of the restroom, just to get spooked by Lottie waiting outside. Speak of the devil.
“Jesus, Lottie,” he hisses, reflexively smacking Lottie's bicep.
“Is the baby alright?” she asks softly, ignoring Travis’s noodle arm.
Travis’s eyes dart around before he says anything to see if anyone’s started looking their way. To see if anyone knows. “Shout it for the entire park at this point, why don't you? Jeez, Lottie, there's no need to be obsessed with my baby.”
“It’s fine,” he grouses as he walks past her. “Probably hungry and trying to tell me something or some shit.”
“Well, there's a McDonald's right there, and I personally would love something that isn't park food,” Lottie says as she walks backward, still facing him. Travis follows her begrudgingly.
“Four bucks for a fucking burger and small fries, Lottie,” Travis complains as they sit down in one of the booths inside since the service window was out of commission, “Not even a fucking happy meal. It's a fucking robbery.”
“Okay, first of all, money isn't the problem; I could buy you a meal if you wanted to eat that bad,” Lottie interjects, waving a fry at him and moving to unwrap the simple hamburger. “And two: look at this—a fucking cool trading card from 1977.”
“That card is fucking older than us,” Travis states as he steals a fry.
“By a year,” she says sassily.
Lottie then straightens up and recites the card to him, “North American Elk,” she starts. “North American Elk live only in Canada and the western mountain areas of the United States. Elk can weigh up to one thousand pounds and are among the largest members of the deer family. Like all deer, elk are excellent swimmers. They can see, hear, and smell very well, too. Male elk grow antlers or horns, which they shed every year. Wolves are the greatest natural enemy of elk. Baby elk are called calves. They live from fifteen to twenty-two years.”
All of that in one breath. Fucking nerd.
Travis reaches over, snatches the card, and reads what’s attached on the back to her sassily. “A voucher to save a dollar on day passes that expired in 1977; our lucky day, truly.” Lottie nods along. She probably doesn’t care so much about losing out on that kind of deal.
“If baby elk are called calves, then what are baby cows called?” he asks, throwing her a bone and sliding the card back to her for safekeeping.
“Still calves, Travis,” Lottie states before taking another bite of the hamburger.
“What about baby deer? Are they calves, too?” Travis asks genuinely, sifting through the paper bag and grabbing the ketchup packets to pour them on the hamburger wrapper. Blah Blah Blah, spreading it like it’s real blood, creating a stiff choking sound from Lottie, who seems to be trying to stifle her laughter. Still too distracted from her, it completely slips his mind that elk are different from deer, cringing slightly when he realizes what he said.
“Fawns,” Lottie mumbles out, still chewing on the remaining food in her mouth, sipping at her complimentary cup of water and extending the burger towards him.
“Shit, yeah.” He takes a bite of her burger, and fuck, it's divine. He’s been craving meat, too. At least Lottie promised him a funnel cake as they waited in line after this. “So there’s elk, moose, stag, and deer, right?”
“Stag and deer are the same thing; stags are just male deer.” Travis watches as Lottie poses with her hands mimicking antlers, leaning her hands back and forward and to the side to compare them to moose and elk, demonstrating how the three grow differently. “Though I’ve heard that moose and elk come from the same family. They’re called Cervidae.”
“Sounds like an ointment you would put on an athlete’s foot or some shit,” Travis grumbles out, staring at the ceiling. It’s nice hearing Lottie talk about something she’s passionate about. But God, is he starting to zone out a bit.
What drags Travis back is Lottie moving one of the last long fries towards him. She rambles about how she tried to pet a baby deer during one of their runs, but it got spooked and hit her with its hooves, and their old Coach Wyatt had Shauna drive her to the ER while Nat and Lee tried to soothe her.
“What the fuck, Lottie…” Travis says out loud before he can stop himself. He grabs their trash and swipes the crumbs off the table, not even looking at Lottie for permission.
In retaliation, Lottie snatches the remaining bits of fries and puts them in a napkin for herself.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Travis lets out a light huff, but before he can actually respond, he notices the rest of the graduating Yellowjackets cramming into the empty McDonald’s.
“Shit,” he hisses out, trying to sink into the booth, grabbing the trash, and wondering if he should crawl on the floor to the exit. (Press C to Crawl.) God, he’s really contemplating about crawling on the dirty floor towards the door.
And not a moment too soon: when Travis is almost under the table, Lottie turns around and sees why he went down there in the first place. She slowly begins to slide down the booth. Great minds think alike.
“What are you two little shits doing over here?” Van calls.
Shit, they did see him. Getting up from under the table and hitting his head, he whines out, “What does it fucking look like? Eating, dumbass. I just dropped a napkin. Didn’t want to leave a mess.”
“Hey, Van. Do you want an overpriced fry?” Lottie offers, straightening up.
“Those are my fries that you're offering, by the way,” Travis whispers to her, but he doesn’t move to stop her from offering some of their food.
Van takes the extended olive branch and sits in the booth beside Lottie. Tai follows right after her, looking drained. Then she pulls up a chair for Shauna as well, and fuck, Nat’s there, too. Just his luck.
“Hey, Travis,” Nat whispers and slides into the booth beside him. “Looks like you found Lottie.”
Great. Just Great.
“Do you want me to get you guys something? The prices are atrocious here,” Lottie offers, twiddling with her makeshift bundle of fries and looking up at Nat, hopeful.
“No thanks,” Nat pipes up before anyone can get a word in edgewise. Her voice is raspy, as if she had been crying earlier.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Travis tries to make eye contact with Lottie. Maybe blinking SOS in Morse code would help, but he completely blanks on how to say it–well, blink it. And the way Van’s staring at him, he must look like he’s tweaking out.
Lottie is fidgeting with the card as if trying to memorize it, oblivious to their impending doom.
“We mostly came in here to sit down, really; it’s the only place that’s comfortable and isn’t crowded by the other idiots that came.” Van stretches her shoulder, leaning into Tai.
Shauna, meanwhile, is just laying her head on the cool ceramic table, looking exhausted and maybe a little dehydrated. He notices Lottie’s worried look (oh, now she looks up) and passes the fries to Shauna as a peace offering. From the looks of it, Shauna’s still too out of it to even notice them.
“Plus, Shauna over here isn’t feeling too hot; she was nauseous on the bus ride here,” Tai adds, rubbing at Shauna’s back. “We were just looking to cool down before riding on Skull Mountain again if you guys want to join us.”
When he was nauseous, he would get some fountain water, but he didn’t trust people enough not to put their entire mouths on the faucet anywhere in this park. Feeling in his pockets for his wallet, he has enough to probably get her a bottle…
Before Travis can pipe in and turn down the offer, Lottie says, “Travis and I were actually planning on going on the carousel and getting funnel cake after, but have fun.”
“How romantic,” Tai says, and it looks like she’s trying to hide her disgust poorly. He can still see it. Fuck you, too, Taissa Turner.
Nat looks at him directly, and Travis tries not to feel guilty for cursing internally at Tai.
He fails.
Instead, he turns back to watch as Lottie tries to wriggle out of the booth without bothering to ask Van or Tai to move, almost eating shit in the process.
“Lottie, just say please, even an excuse me, ah fuck–” Van laughs out as she watches Lottie flounder around the booth before getting smacked by a stray arm, letting out a grunt.
“Jesus, Lottie.”
“Sorry,” Lottie whispers once she’s out of the booth and on stable ground, wiping at her skirt as if she were getting rid of the non-existent dirt.
Travis was about to turn and ask Nat if he could get out, but she had already gotten up, standing straight and trying to look nonchalant by staring at the ground, waiting for him.
He coughs out a quick, “Thanks, Nat,” as he walks past her.
“Have fun with Lottie, Travis,” Nat rasps out, leaning back into the booth without a second thought.
He takes a couple of steps, and as they’re about to exit, he mumbles out an apology to Lottie before turning around really quickly. Sifting through his pocket, two bucks should do… he reaches over the wall and shoves it across the table towards Shauna next to Lottie’s fry offering.
Walking backward towards Lottie, almost bumping into her, he mumbles out hurriedly to Shauna, “Get some water, and, like, don’t go on the rough rides.”
He can’t stop thinking about how casual Lottie was about it — Travis isn’t oblivious to the fact that Lottie didn’t want the rumors that had begun to pass through the group to spread even further.
Which, in his opinion, were made worse by her heading off with him and ditching the other Yellowjackets. Actually, scratch that — the whole group of seniors that came couldn’t seem to mind their own fucking business for more than five minutes.
As they walk side by side, he feels like everyone is staring at him. All he can do is rub his sweaty palms against his pants, as if it would do something—anything—to calm him down.
Lottie, however, is far more insistent on being a distraction.
“You’ve heard about the Goo Goo Dolls, right?” Lottie asks as she kicks a small pebble hard, tilting her head towards him. “How there’s gonna be a show tomorrow–Well, later today, actually.”
“More of a Smiths and Blur fan, but yeah, they’ve been on the radio recently,” Travis replies, kicking the rock too; it almost stops as it skids into a bump, and it’s more fun that way, in his opinion.
“Of fucking course you like the Smiths. The next thing you're going to tell me is that you like Weezer.” Lottie kicks the pebble again before it can come to a complete stop.
“Don’t even start about Weezer–”
“Oh my God, you're just like Shauna.”
“They’re a great band with great music. They’re way better than the girly shit you listen to,” Travis sasses back, kicking the rock a bit harder, almost slipping and falling flat on his ass but holding on to Lottie's arm. If he’s falling, so is she.
“They’re a good band with great music. Marry me, Morrissey,” Lottie mocks in a poor British accent, leaning against Travis, ignoring the pebble as they reach the line for the carousel.
“Fuck Morrissey. So what if he’s a lead singer? Marr is where it’s at. You have to know about the band break up, Lottie.” Leaning his head against hers to push her away from him, it feels like his horns and her antlers are interlocked in a game of tug of war. Giggling as they lean their entire body weights against each other while they wait for the line to dwindle down.
“I do remember hearing about Siouxsie and Morrissey making a song last year, I think,” Lottie says, pulling away and leaning against the metal bar, trying to fit through the wedge and sitting wobbly on the lower metal bar. He notices as they scoot along that Lottie is staring at something in the distance. Trying to subtly look over his shoulder, Travis finds the bottle blonde manning the ride.
Ah. So, Lottie's type is blondes.
Well, is it a type if it only happened twice? Wait, isn’t Laura Lee blonde? No way.… No, she’s a natural blonde. Natural. Yeah, she’s out of the question.
Right? Right.
Then this weird train of thought spirals back to, well, Jackie. She’s blonde — dirty blonde — but he remembers that rumor in Sophomore year that Taylor dyed her hair darker… after Shauna made a comment about liking darker-haired guys. But everyone kind of knew that was a lie before the whole Jeff situation, because, like, who listens to Fiona Apple that much?
Travis tries to peer over the other couples and friend groups also waiting in line, leaning casually against the metal chain links like it's a hammock. Failing, he fumbles and loses his balance slightly. Lottie grabs him before he completely falls.
He whispers out a small thank you, and he feels the back of his neck burn when he sees a dirty blonde couple turn around to see the commotion. He stares at the ground for the rest of the wait while trying to follow the moving line. For the hell of it, he looks up one last time to take a peek before getting to the front, step stuttering slightly once he sees the book the worker has.
Vagina Monologues. Yeah, totally Lottie’s type.
As they make their way up and go through the gate, Lottie whispers to the worker, “Love your hair, by the way.”
“Thanks. Enjoy the ride.”
Walking around the carousel, Travis waits for Lottie to pick an animal.
Rooster, Horse. Rooster, Horse.
Rooster, Horse. Rooster, Horse.
Ooh, Horse and Rooster! Let’s shake it up a little. Why don't we?
Watching as Lottie gets onto the rickety wooden horse, Travis stares at the roosters next to her on her right. Travis thinks there’s some sick irony to the world.
He should probably go to a different horse, but he can feel the stare of the worker on the back of his neck, waiting for him to pick. Fine. Fine.
“Hurry up, Travis, come on,” Lottie teases. All Travis can fire back is a pathetic middle finger as he gets on.
“It's just a rooster, Travis,” Lottie says as the worker's voice blares over the speaker, and the music kicks up, playing some old-timey song.
“It’s just a rooster,” Travis mocks sarcastically, sneering back at her. “You know what you did.”
He watches as Lottie leans back, reaching her arm out against the wind. “I plead the fifth.”
Travis, in all his maturity, blows a raspberry at her. Lottie pushes at him. It's nice having friends, Travis thinks.
Eww, mushy. Bleh.
He tries to focus on the ride instead, which is not… bad, per se. However, it does have a lot of clanky machine noises. A loud chhrk makes Travis wonder how old this rust bucket really is. He leans his head against the pole, breathing deeply as he waits for his stomach to settle, and turns to his left.
It's beautiful how carefree Lottie is, and it feels reminiscent of an old memory. It clicks suddenly — it’s just like watching Javi at Action Park. Travis remembers it happened around second grade, before the surgery. It was some bungee jump setup, and Javi cried because it was so high, so Travis joined him. Told him that he was there and that they would do it together.
He regrets it slightly because all he really remembers from that trip is landing on his back before getting pulled up, the wind knocked out of him as Javi kept laughing, and all Travis could feel was fear and the urge to cry.
“You good?” Lottie whispers, staring at something in front of her.
“Mhm,” Travis murmurs back to her.
Lottie doesn’t push any further. “There’s another carousel across the park if you want to try it out too.”
“Why are you hanging out with me, Lottie?” he asks compulsively, self-destructively.
“I can't think of one good reason why you'd be doing this,” he adds, sitting straighter. It’s true, to him, at least. Why is Lottie still around? He has the decency to know that he sucks to be around right now, and her social status probably tanks every second she’s around him. He’s hormonal as shit, and he’s a fucking hole in her pocket, and–
All he gets in response is a weak excuse about how she stuck with Shauna to comfort her when they first arrived. Yeah, he’s the less emotionally volatile of the two, real helpful. “Plus, I can't even get on any of the rollercoasters since I have high blood pressure from some meds my doctor gave me.”
“Then why come in the first place?”
“I just… wanted to hang out with my friends one last time. I haven't told anyone yet, but I deferred my acceptance to Cornell. I was supposed to study abroad. I–” He watches as Lottie pauses, fidgeting with the wooden horse before her, feeling its grooves.
All Travis feels is bitterness, waiting for Lottie to finish her sentence. Of course Lottie could afford to defer a college acceptance while he was contemplating what the fuck he was going to do with his life. He’s trying not to think about that whole shitshow for as long as he can.
He doesn’t bother to respond, and it feels like all his emotions are bottling up inside him. Deep down, he knows Lottie doesn’t deserve what he wants to say.
He barely got his “friend” back, so he switches the topic, “Dude, you take meds? Like what, pain meds or the heavy ones to fall asleep?”
“Supplements. Those vitamin ones,” Lottie says, pinching her fingers close like she’s holding a pill. “I've been taking them my entire life.”
Travis remembers getting prescribed calcium supplements and those weird joint vitamins that had an aftertaste like grout to help him recover after the surgery. They didn't have any side effects, though. Before he can ask about that, jolting them both, there’s a sudden loud hiss, and the music comes to a stop, signaling the ride is over.
“Do you want to get the funnel cake or go on the other carousel?” Lottie asks, extending a hand toward Travis to help him off.
He decidedly ignores her hand, hopping off. “I'm down for some funnel cake.”
They eat at the stand rammed into the corner of the park by the restrooms. Lottie sets down two plates, one empty and the other jam-packed with a fresh funnel cake leaking strawberry filling off to the side. She drops a wad of napkins and gently places their complimentary water cups in front of them.
Travis watches as Lottie stabs the funnel cake with a shoddy plastic knife to break some off for him, sliding it off with a soft plop as it lands on his plate. As soon as she sits on the bench across from him, Travis picks some of the strawberries off of Lottie's plate, even though she has already served him.
There’s no way she needs that much.
In trade, Lottie steals a whole dollop of whipped cream off Travis’s plate, making him wrestle with the urge to snatch her entire plate. He doesn’t.
Instead, he grabs the fork from Lottie’s hand and wildly fails in an attempt to take more. Lottie puts a palm on his forehead to hold him back, reaching back for her fork. It's comical, and he can only imagine what it looks like to someone watching them.
“Back, I say. Back!” Lottie huffs, sounding like an actor from an old English play they had to read for class. He leans all his weight into her hand until she eventually gives in, noticing that, yeah, he didn't get a lot of strawberries.
She scoops some up, rolling her eyes at him, and pops one into her mouth in trade.
“Better?” Lottie smirks, sassing him as she goes to take a bite.
He arches an eyebrow, asking, Are you serious?
They eat in silence for the most part after that, just a question here or there, and Lottie scoots forward to kick his shin after a shitty joke.
Lottie dragged him to one of the photo booths as they walked through the park to the other carousel, saying something about having memories.
“Do people really do this?” he asks, fidgeting with the dumb photos of them. The first one shows them caught off guard, clearly debating when the photo would go off. The second is a somewhat better attempt at smiling, but both their eyes are closed. His favorite has to be the last one, capturing them mid-laugh.
“Do what?”
“I dunno, like keep photos outside of the postcards you send to the family that you’ll never talk to,” He says, gesturing to the film. He’s never really liked getting his photo taken. It shows off every single unflattering thing about him.
“I mean for birthdays and get-togethers. I don't take photos with anyone outside of the team, usually… Maybe Shauna during study hall since we have always shared the same one since, well, forever. But she was always with Jackie in those, too. Laura Lee during chess club, but she usually takes them with JV more than anything.”
Travis wonders how many family photos are in Matthews' place. He doesn't remember any photos from that night. He wonders if there's one of those fancy family portraits lying around her place.
“I was never in the yearbook, outside of the mandatory photos we had to take” he says, and he thinks to himself, I don't think anyone will remember me.
“I mean, Tai bought one, and I spotted you. It was a photo of you and Javi, I think? The page was full of people and their siblings.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, and the last page was full of seniors from their families and everything. Coach must've put a segment there for you. I’ll ask Tai about it. See if you liked a girly color as a kid.”
Travis doesn’t want to think about how his dad didn’t give enough of a shit to pay money for that, but he doesn't want to ruin Lottie’s hopes about him. “I don’t like girly colors.”
“Then what do you like?”
He ponders momentarily, leaving her in suspense. “Forest green.”
“I like heliotrope, personally,” Lottie says as they arrive at the entrance for the second carousel.
“See, now that’s a girl color. What even is that?”
“It's like a purple-ish color. Supposedly, it was based on the Greek myth with Clytie and Helios.” Lottie begins and dumps a bunch of info on him as she rambles about the different versions throughout history. He focuses on the sunflower fact, though.
You couldn't blame him for not trying. It's starting to grow on him. It felt like having a copy of a trivia book from one of his friends that he never got from the Scholastic Book Fair.
Travis knew their time at the park was coming to a close when the sun started to rise. He reminisces about stumbling across a little soccer game stand right before the entrance. That if you made three shots, you’d win a jumbo prize.
Lottie dragged him towards it as they walked to the entrance, and he knew it was just her showing off to him; he'd seen her practice enough the past couple of months to know that she wasn't terrible at it. Though she stumbled and fell and sometimes even bled, she’d put all her heart into the sport.
He’ll also admit that it is nice to get a prize from someone, but god, was it getting in the way. He shifts the Tweedy bird plush so that it lays across his shoulder like a large bag of rice.
They come to a halt at the entrance, parting ways for a moment, waving each other a quick goodbye as they check in with their assigned teacher. He raises his hand for Ms. Corey as she calls out his name and pushes through the crowd of kids to talk to her really quickly.
“Hey, Ms. Corey, I’m going to go with my dad if that’s alright,” he says, like a liar.
“Marshall!” and Travis waits patiently as she goes through some of the other kids' last names. “Sure, Martinez, I'll mark you here again when we get to campus. Maguire!”
He says a small quick thank you before returning to Lottie's side as she talks to the group of Yellowjackets.
“We’re still going to the concert, right?” he asks as he scoots beside her.
“Yeah, we’re not far from Shauna’s place. I was about to ask her if we could crash for the night. Since she can’t come anymore.” Lottie whispers back to him, watching and waiting as Shauna and Lee are talking to each other. It seemed like all the girls were there waiting, saying their last goodbyes to each other.
Travis can't help but notice Laura Lees's backward Six Flags hat with the tag still on it. It makes her look different—not in a bad way. He thinks it’s more of a big difference from her flowery, baggy dresses and cardigans, which she usually wears in the school halls. He tries to read Shauna’s lips through all the chatter but focuses on Shauna’s pink-stained lips. Was she wearing that the entire time? No, right? He didn't see any, at least at the McDonalds. Who cares? She probably got some for her chapped lips.
But.
It's messy—messy in a way that is smeared and going slightly towards her jaw. He realizes it’s probably because of the water bottle he told her to get.
“Hey, Shauna, can we crash at your place tonight, please?” Lottie shows off her best cow eyes, as if that would make Travis a more welcomed guest.
“I would, but my mom’s coming home tonight, and my grandma’s probably awake by now, so I can't have guests over. I’m really sorry, Lottie,” Shauna says, following Laura Lee and the rest of them towards the school buses they came on, adding a quick, “My bad, Travis.”
“Eh. You got water, right? Or can I get my money back?” He could probably use it to pay for a cab or the metro to one of their houses. Maybe Lottie had a fancy driver waiting for them, and the driver would open the door leading to a fight of who went in first.
Shauna sighs and leans forward towards him and crams the dollars from her back pocket back into his palm with a huff. “I didn't need it. I felt fine after you guys left.”
“Dude, you have smeared lipstick… well, all over here,” he retorts sassily, gesturing to his mouth. He watches as Shauna reflexively wipes her own mouth, flushing a bit, trying to brush it off as blood. Travis thinks that’s an even worse lie to come up with after recent events.
Lottie pinches the back of his neck in retort. “Thanks anyway, Shauna. Come on, we’ll find a nearby motel. See you guys.”
A few of the Yellowjackets say their goodbyes as they head off.
They walk through the crowd, well, Travis is getting dragged around more than anything as Lottie grabs onto his hand.
“Wait… motel?”
“Yeah, we’re– excuse me, sorry…” Lottie tries to shuffle them through a group of kids towards the street. “If we go to my house, we’ll be super late for the concert. Since my driver is on vacation, I’ve just been bumming rides.”
So it’s not a twenty four hour service, noted.
“Don't you have a license? Or a car? We can just set an alarm and–”
Lottie stops him with a jolt, “I don't have a license. That means we have to crash at your place.” Travis looks up at her, so she was just driving him aroud willy nilly cool. Cool.
He quickly agrees, “Motel it is.”
Trying to spot any nearby bus stops that can take them further in town, Lottie drags him towards Nat with a group of fellow burnouts. Fuck, Jack’s there too.
Travis stays quiet by Lottie's side, hoping his silence is enough for him not to be noticed as she asks if they have any spare cigarettes. Nat hands one-pointedly. He notices how Nat refuses to have Lottie linger anywhere near her… dammit.
This time, Travis drags Lottie as he spots a bus stop heading east. “Come on, Lot. You can smoke on the bench.”
He tunes out the jeering from the dudes, and wolf whistles that trail them.
Travis plops on the bench, feeling like his body is slowly becoming one with the bench as the tension in his legs starts acting up. Fuck walking around parks. He sees Lottie trying to sit down before getting up in disgust, noticing the rank stain, and deciding to lean against the advertisement wall—as if it were any better.
He watches as she sifts through her pathetic pockets for a light. Travis wonders if she snuck it in the park the entire time or grabbed one as they went through the gift shop. So he tilts his head against Tweedy like it’s a pillow as she goes to light, preparing to hold his breath for as long as possible. Either that, or breathe directly through Tweedy as if the plush were an air purifier.
Before she lights it, he sees her hesitate, turning to him and closing her lighter with a simple flick. “Fuck, I can't smoke around you.”
He's too tired to care. “Didn't want to point out the obvious.”
“I'm going to have to quit smoking if I ever want to see the kid, don't I.”
“Preferably.”
With that, it all comes crashing back. Travis realizes that he doesn't know how the fuck he's meant to handle the pregnancy. And for a moment, he thinks about when he is going to die. He gets a bit freaked thinking about it every time. He wonders if the baby will pop out like how it was in Alien. Gnarly.
He ponders if he should start preparing his will and ensure someone takes care of it; he trusts Lottie. But all he can mutter is a pitiful, “Take care of the kid if I don't make it.”
Travis can see the worry seeping from Lottie's expression. He’s comfortable with the fact that he might die, but he needs to hear her promise him that she'll be there for it.
“Can’t die on me that easily.”
“Honestly, it’s all my fault.”
“Travis.”
He tries to look up at the sky and notices that there’s not a single star left. He feels tears welling up in his eyes. He tries to fight it by blinking and biting his cheek—something. Anything.
Stop crying; they're just crocodile tears.
“You're not going to die,” Lottie pleads as she pushes the plush to the side, holding on to Travis.
“You should've never been my friend.”
That halts Lottie in place, and she doesn't give a definitive response and shrugs at Travis. “Honestly, we shouldn’t work, but we do. Yeah, you get on my nerves when you say shit sometimes, but it's not like I’m perfect either.”
He thinks that Lotties has never been more wrong about that last part. She's so fucking perfect. She is a downright saint in how she deals with him. Travis doesnt know how he got put in that category, “Friend.” He feels like he doesn't deserve it.
But there's a small voice in the back of his head saying, think of what she did to Nat. Who knows what she’ll do to you.
“Hey, okay, Travis, look at me. Please.” Lottie then asks, “Why were you at the party on New Year’s? Be honest.”
Travis just shrugs back. He knows why, but he’ll never confess. He stares at Lottie and then leans forward towards her, a half-assed attempt at pushing her away. Travis feels like a little kid again in the most crushing way possible.
He feels Lottie cling even tighter to his hands. “Travis, you’re going to be alright,” she says.
She pulls away, and reaches into her pocket before pulling out her wallet. Lottie shuffles through the ridiculous amount of bills and cards before pulling something else out. She lays it on his lap like it’s a sacrifice at an altar.
It's their grad photo.
Travis feels embarrassed, but Lottie stares at it somewhat fondly. Turning it back at him, she whispers back to him, “Why did you stand there during art? Why did you suddenly give a fuck enough to talk to me?”
And the flimsy photos from the booth burn in his back pocket.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” and she says it in a way, that she knows he’s lying.
So he shouts internally, I didn't want to be alone, alright? Are you happy?
I’ve been alone since my parents realized that I'm a fucking idiot. That I'll never amount to anything. That my mother loves my brother more than me. That my father wished I was more of a man and been something he could’ve been proud of.
Instead, he just shrugs and tilts his head away from her.
“Okay then. When you figure it out, tell me then because I know why I hang out with you.” Lottie says as she pulls the photo back into her wallet for safekeeping.
“And until then, I’ll drag you to appointments and annoy you ‘til you're sick of me.”
“Thanks.”
He feels at peace knowing that he’ll at least not die alone. So he quickly sheds his flannel and lays it across the other half of the bench, patting it down. Letting out a heavy sigh, Lottie goes to sit down and rests her head on his shoulder.
They enjoy the silence as they wait for the bus. Travis focuses on how their hands are intertwined; it feels girly, but he likes the warmth.
He watches and waits, feeling the hum of Lottie’s breath. Eventually, he flags the bus as it approaches.
Leading Lottie up the steps, he pays the fee for both of them and watches through the window for any motels as Lottie starts to doze off again.
Lottie is drooling on Travis’s shoulder. He can’t really say anything, because, one: she’s a teenage girl, and Travis is still a little bit scared of teenage girls. Sue him, all right?
Two: if it were him, he wouldn’t want to be called out for slobbering all over someone else’s iron-pressed shirt.
This is their stop. So it’s now or never, Travis. Now or never.
“Lottie?” He shakes her arm a bit, but nothing happens. “Lot, Lottie.” He tugs on her shoulder a bit harder.
She jolts awake, unceremoniously mid-snore, and chokes on her spit. “W… Huh? Are we here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great. That’s, uh…” Lottie rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “Let’s just go.”
She leans into him, two left feet, and he has to re-adjust her purse every five seconds before it slips from the crook of her elbow. Dragging half-asleep Lottie just a few meters from the bus stop to the motel is like trying to get a blackout-drunk person into a taxi.
Then he remembers about the Tweety Bird prize and turns towards where the bus was, but it’s already off to its next stop. Fuck. Cutting his losses, he turns back to Lottie. If it were up to Travis, he’d dump freezing water all over her, or just leave her on the side of the road until morning. But he won’t—because he’s kind and also because she’s paying for the room.
A moth swarms around the flickering light above the window. Travis thinks he sees a rat scuttle around the corner. It’s a pretty grimy place on the side of the highway by Six Flags, but it’s cheap, and that’s all that matters. Beggars can't be choosers.
Behind the front desk is a tall college dude with what looks like an attempt at dyed blonde hair. He rests his head in his hand, and his eyes keep drooping with fatigue—or, maybe, he’s high? Who knows? He hardly acknowledges Travis and Lottie’s presence as they stumble through the front door.
“Could we have one room?” Travis looks nervously at Lottie’s half-asleep figure tucked against him. “With two beds, preferably.”
The receptionist quirks an eyebrow at him and then at Lottie. “Two beds… right. I’m gonna need to see some I.D.”
Jesus Christ. He's going to go to jail, isn’t he. “Okay, hold on.”
Travis not-so-subtly elbows Lottie in the rib, and she grunts in discomfort. She fumbles for her purse and shoves it in his arms, then moves to sit and curl in one of the seats by the door. “My wallet’s in the side pocket,” she says.
He handles Lottie’s Victoria's Secret-whatever-the-fuck wallet like it’s a delicate baby. The receptionist is eyeing him suspiciously from the moment he opens the pocket to when he’s rifling through Lottie’s wallet and when he finally sets her I.D. down on the desk.
“Yours too, loverboy,” he says after barely giving her’s a glance.
“I don’t see why—” Travis holds his tongue when he notices the man revving for a comeback, or worse, with his luck, the police. Don’t make a big deal out of this; just give him the I.D. What a boring, pathetic fucking dude. The exhaustion in his system is slowly turning into a burning frustration, he’s not a fucking weirdo. Fuck this dude for toying with them because he has nothing else to do with his fucking life.
Travis fishes for his wallet from his jean pocket. “Here,” he grits out, setting it down next to Lottie’s. “Are we good?”
A beat passes. Two. Then, the guy cracks a smile. “I know a fake I.D. when I see one.”
“Why the fuck–” Deep breaths, deep breaths. Travis inhales sharply. “Sir, why would my I.D. be a fake and hers valid? She’s paying for the room anyway. It’s under her name.”
“Then she can go ahead and pay.”
Lottie is practically falling over herself, too big of a body for the pathetic wooden chair that you would see in the principal's office. Travis kicks her in the knee—lightly, this time—and she mumbles groggily, “Mm, are we there yet?”
“Lot, he needs your credit card. From you, specifically.”
“But I gave you my purse…” Shit, she’s gonna fall back asleep any moment now. How in the world does she function like this?
“He thinks my I.D. is a fake. Lottie, please, he probably thinks I’m a fucking weirdo who—” Carefully, Travis takes her credit card out of her wallet and puts it in her open palm. As if she’s just been injected with steroids or something, or she can sniff out the opportunity to spend some money, Lottie’s eyes snap open, and she straightens her spine.
And as she’s leaning over the counter, Travis can feel the narrowed-eyed glare from Lottie from where he stands, “One room, please… asshat.”
It takes some effort, probably through her blurry tear-filled eyes trying to navigate the terminal. Finally, it goes through; the receptionist hands Travis the key and receipt, and gives them a robotic “Have a nice night” as they wander down the hallway.
With Lottie in one hand and the key in his other hand, counting each room until he gets to their room. Fucking 25, finally. It's even harder to unlock the jank ass door since it seemed to be jammed. Eventually, Travis jiggles the handle and key, and sighs with relief when it opens. The blast of warm air from inside is incredibly welcomed.
Lottie doesn’t even bother taking her shoes off—just ragdolls on the closest bed, and he can hear her snores as soon as her head hits the pillow. Travis can’t help but watch her fondly as he slips off his sneakers, unbuttoning his undershirt, and throws it in the corner next to the flannel he wore earlier, and takes the bed on the other side of the dim room.
Setting the alarm for eleven a.m., he thinks that maybe the place will have some pathetic breakfast options left over by the time they wake up. Clicking the lamp off, he whispers a small goodnight to Lottie.
He dreams of a field filled with sunflowers.
Travis wakes up to the sound, and feeling, of his head hitting the carpet floor.
“Fuck!” Comes a voice from above him. It overlaps with the ear-splitting alarm going off. Did he black out or something? “Oh my God, Travis. Are you okay?”
“Turn that shit off already Javi!” he shouts back. Lottie scrambles across the bed and, with those long limbs of hers, reaches over the bedside table to shut the clock off. As if all of the noise had been sucked into a vacuum, the room goes deadly silent.
It only just registers that Travis is like, half-naked; he instinctively shields himself with the duvet. Lottie groans and covers her face with her hands, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes. He glances back at the digital clock—what the hell, it’s blinking? Did Lottie rip the cord from the outlet?
“It said 11:06,” Lottie muses.
All right, maybe they can scavenge for shitty off-brand cereal and watered-down coffee if they’re out the door by 11:10. “You wanna get breakfast?” Travis asks her. She nods.
“Put a shirt on, though.”
“Yeah, I was getting to it.” he snaps back.
Lottie waits patiently by the bed as Travis gets his shit together, then they’re out the door in under two minutes. The self-serve breakfast station is humble, and Travis can tell that they’ve just about missed peak activity—all that’s left are the old people sitting around the plastic tables and their remnants of all-bran oatmeal.
Before he can understand what game she’s playing, Lottie immediately bolts towards the cereal station and fills her bowl with the last of the fruit loops. That greedy motherfucker.
“Holy shit, Trav. They’ve got blue fruit loops now.” Fuck your blue fruit loops.
“Could’ve saved some for me,” Travis grumbles and pushes past her as he goes for the toaster. If he looks close enough, he’s pretty sure this bread has mold on it, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that right now. He instead slathers an unhealthy amount of jam and brings back coffee filled in paper cups for himself and Lottie.
She’s already finished the fruit loops—god, she scarfed them down like they were the last bowl of cereal left on Earth. But she perks up noticeably when Travis returns to the table as if she’s waiting for more. There’s a hungry glint in her eyes that sends a shiver down his spine, but he ultimately pushes the feeling to the side as he plops himself in the flimsy plastic chair.
Lottie stretches over the table, tearing some of the bread off his plate for herself, and shovels Travis’s toast into her mouth, wrinkling her nose at the taste. Serves her right.
“Hands to yourself,” Travis barks.
“Who died and made you King of Breakfast?” Lottie retorts snidely. She tries to go for seconds, but Travis smacks her hand away.
He notices, then, that Lottie’s leg is bouncing like crazy. She’s chewing the skin through her lip and glancing behind her shoulder every five seconds. She also hasn’t touched her coffee. Huh.
As if she can read his mind, Lottie says, “Oh, I don’t drink coffee. Doesn’t mix well with my supplements.”
Travis is starting to think that ‘supplements’ is a code word for something else, but he’s too afraid to ask. He remembers his Dad complaining about monitoring all the girls' dietary needs and medicine approved by the school. He assumed it was inhalers or shit, but was Lottie— no. The whole school would've known something about that since half of the staff acted like gossipy teens.
“You didn’t bring them with you to the motel, huh? Your, uh… supplements.”
Lottie clears her throat. “Yeah.”
Now she’s avoiding his eyes. This just got really fucking weird for no reason. “So,” he drawls, “When is this… Goo Goo Muck concert starting?”
“Goo Goo Dolls.” Lottie narrows her eyes and takes another piece of toast. Travis doesn’t have it in him to protest about it anymore.
“Right. Whatever.”
“We should probably leave in less than an hour if we wanna get a good spot in line,” Lottie says. Her demeanor has shifted drastically, like a light switch. Maybe it’s the bed-head, or the wild look in her eyes whenever she starts on something she’s really into. “I’m so excited, dude. You’re gonna love them. Trust me.”
Doubtful. That kind of scene just isn’t for him. But what else has he got to do, right? And Lottie is his friend. If he were going to do anything like this, he’d want it to be with Lottie.
He gets a few meager bites in, downs his coffee like it’s a shot, and they’re out the door by 11:45. Lottie skips down the parking lot, every step an electric current of energy. “Let’s fucking go! The Goo Goo Dolls aren’t ready for us, Travis!”
From: [email protected] Monday Jun 24 08:46:03 1996
Date: Saturday 22 Jun 1996 23:16:27, -0500
From: CHARLOTTE MATTHEWS
To: [email protected]
Subject: GOOS CONCERT!!!!!!!!!!!
On Saturday, June 22, 1996, I, Lottie Matthews, went to Six Flags Great Adventure since your ass was stuck with your family. Tell your bubbe I said hi, by the way.
Six Flags Great Adventure had a first come, first serve policy. So we had a few hours to waste. After roaming around the park with Travis, we went to the line way early. There were a bunch of people already waiting to get in. They handed out "Boarding Passes'' to people already in line. We got a pass from the guy handing them out, but we had to stay where we were in line if we wanted to be valid,, so booo. But we were about the 50th people there, still in range by the front. The attendants said that Dishwalla was not opening for the Goos, but during rehearsal time, I heard them singing "Counting Blue Cars," and no one else sang that song but them.
Then Goos rehearsed for a whileeee, Shauna. Not too long, though. Then, a couple of hours prior to showtime, all noise from inside the arena, which was an outdoor arena, stopped, which was weird. But then, it started to drizzle. The workers told us to get out of line and go home or stay and roam the park. We were exhausted, so we just lingered in the merch section, trying to find shelter from the sudden rain. But we noticed people started to form a line so we rushed to get back.
We knew they would not be honoring the "Boarding Passes" anymore since it was pouring, and by the time we got there, everyone was starting to crowd the entrance. After starting out totally behind the crowd, I got to the front of the line. Travis thankfully caught up. We were planning on sitting, so I gave him one of the shirts from the two that I didn't have on. (I bought a concert T-shirt for you since you couldn't go to the show, and the shirt that I had on when I went to the park. I put the concert T-shirt on thankfully.)
Then, a couple minutes prior the sound check guys start checking the equipment and stuff. The crowd was going nuts! There were about 250-350 people in the pit. And about 1,000-3,000 sitting in the bleachers. It was really hard to tell how many actually showed up. People were coming and going. It was really hard to tell. After a sound check by the sound crew, the Goos actually come out on stage. It was about a couple of minutes after showtime, but they actually started to sing! After going through hell to wait, they started to sing! IT WAS AWESOME!!! They opened up with Naked, and everyone went ballistic! Then, about halfway into the show, one of the girls nearby threw her scrunchie on stage. This seemed like nothing, but it led up to something???
The Goos stopped playing and said, "What the fuck! Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! If you don't calm the fuck down, then we're leaving!" (It was kinda like that, a little different than what he actually said, but he said fuck a few more times than I mentioned.) The girl was escorted out of the arena, and the guy, too. It sucked that she got kicked out! All for throwing a damn scrunchie!
Anyways, after the mess was cleaned up, they started playing again, obviously pissed at the security guards and the fans. The security guards really fucked up. They were too secure. And then someone got pissed and revolted. Well, they continued playing. Getting back to that song a little bit later. Before playing it again, they said, "Let's try to get through this one this time." They meant it as a joke. Some people didn't think so, but who cares?
They ended up playing Disconnected and then Slave Girl. They really messed Slave Girl up when they sang it. They did the same verse twice and then forgot what they were saying. So they just tried to get through it. I forget if they played more after that or not. I'm not sure what they ended with. I was having so much fun! Then, they were called back for a few more songs after everyone screamed for more. George, the drummer, didn't come back on stage. But John and Robby did. John did a solo-type song. Robby plays a few chords every now and then. I think it was like an unreleased song that he played. It was really cool. Then Robby did a song, and then they both did a song. All the encores were sounded unreleased. I never heard them, and no one else ever heard them. It was so cool. I wish someone bootlegged it! It was all over at 10ish. It was AWESOME!!!! They kick ass!!! They played like every song off of "A Boy Named Goo", and then a few older ones, not too many, though. They mixed the old and the new ones in a really awesome pattern.
GOO GOO DOLLS KICK ASS! YOUR LAME ASS MISSED OUT!
-Charlotte Matthews
Wiskoyak, NJ
[email protected]
Belly flopping onto the bed probably wasn't Travis’s best idea, but hitting the slightly damp sheets due to the humidity from the AC felt like heaven on his skin. He feels a sudden jolt when Lottie flips him like a piece of meat on a pan, gesturing for him to get up and shower.
Because, well, yeah, the park and concert sweat combo isn't helping either of them. Lottie's flowery perfume can only cover up so much. He tries to fight in the only way he knows, which is by going limp in her arms as she tugs on him to get up. Both are giggling, and faces scrunched up at the same time.
“Travis, please,” Lottie pleads, pulling at his arms and looking semi-pristine still. It’s unfair how pretty she is. Ultimately, he stops fighting because, of course, he wants to get the concert smell off him before they leave in the morning and trudges toward the restroom.
He takes some of his frustration by yanking on the shower faucet, waiting for it to warm up. Quickly flinging his hand under the stream of water, and rescinded it as soon as he felt the freezing water and a slight shiver down his spine.
Ough.
Travis whispers a pathetic curse and whispers a small fuck you at the faucet.
Once he got in, when it was at a temperature he could stand, it only lasted for so long because of the shitty water pressure. And the fact that they were geniuses who didn't bring any spare clothes outside of the ones they purchased from the park. He thinks about if there's a washer and dryer somewhere in the hotel as he shuts off the water, reaching out for the skimpy hotel towels.
He wipes off the excess water and shakes his head like a wet dog, but once he looks up at the sink with the semi-clean cotton shorts with the Six Flags logo and a XXL Goo Goo Dolls tee that Lottie must have crammed through the crevice of the door. As he reaches out for it, it feels warm and cozy. As if…she must've put it on the water heater or something for him.
That is actually really nice of her. Huh.
He also decides to re-wear the underwear from yesterday. No one would know anyway. Lottie would know. And clumps his clothes into his pile as he's about to walk but stops realizing that he still has a rank ass breath, sifting through the complimentary soaps before finding a skimpy ass complimentary toothpaste.
Jackpot.
Quickly spreading some of the toothpaste on his index and middle finger, trying a half-assed attempt at brushing his teeth. Some of the toothpaste gets stuck on his gum, burning it a little bit before he gives up and spits it out. Close enough.
“All yours,” Travis says as he walks out of the restroom, dropping his dirty clothes by the TV, and wriggling under the covers in the bed closest to the bathroom wall.
He chuckles at Lottie's grumbling but watches her from the comfort of his bed as she begrudgingly gets up, grabbing her clothes from the makeshift pile of old and new ones.
In an attempt at falling asleep, while valiant, is ultimately a failure due to the high-pitched whine of the pipes due to the pathetic attempt at water pressure, and poor light from the lamp is too distracting. Fucking hell.
Travis tries to wriggle under the sheets more forming a cocoon of sorts so that it covers his eyes and shoddily blocks out as much of the light seeping the room, and he attempts to lift his head so that only one pillow supports him. He feels the exhaustion rising to the surface in him all at once, and the drowsiness begin to hit, maybe something is soothing about this shitty room as he focuses on the cult-like hum of the AC unit.
“Scoot over,” Lottie whispers, prodding at him with her gangly index finger.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Travis, scooch.”
“Lottie,” he raises his hand to unfurl the sheet around him and attempts a glare, “You have your own bed for a reason.”
In response, Lottie begins to pout. Fuck me. Lottie just doesn't know when to quit, does she?
Travis feels Lottie’s palm settle down at the edge of his bed. She fidgets with the edge of the comforter before whispering, “I do, but I’m fucking cold as shit since I’m the one next to the AC, so scoot over.”
“Then turn off the AC,” Oh my god, he's too exhausted and sweaty for this, and just—completely over it. So he lifts the cover. “I'll just use the undersheet as my cover. You can use the comforter.”
Lottie joins him on the bed after… seconds? Maybe a minute? It’s hard to tell. She makes a soft, wounded noise and leans over to her side of the room, transferring all the pillows from her bed and placing them so that there is a barrier of pillows between them.
“Turn the light off while you're at it.” he shifts over so that his back is to her, “Night, Lottie.”
“Night.”
Then it’s quiet, except for the occasional car driving down the freeway and the soft droll of the AC unit shutting down for the night, but the silence between them rings through the room nevertheless.
“Travis.” Lottie hums out, turning towards him.
“Yeah, Lot?”
“I had a dream last night that you died.”
Travis flops on his back and lets out a scoff. Join the club, Lottie.
He couldn’t see the expression on his face through the pillow wall, but Travis could take a guess as to how she looked when she said it. The way she whispered it, almost pained. Her heart was too big sometimes, even for her tall, lanky stature. He extended a hand towards Lottie under the wall barrier, “Still kicking.”
“Yeah…” she says, and the squeeze he feels in confirmation might be enough, “Still kicking.”
Lottie touches each of his fingers and makes circles on the center of his palm, and it's like she's inspecting every single groove, every nook and cranny. Like a shitty palm reader trying to decipher his fate.
It took her a long time to settle down as he waited for her snores, but eventually, their mutual exhaustion won out. The two of them fell into a deep sleep together, hands intertwined despite the shoddy barrier between them.
Travis dreams of faces that he knows, but ones he can't seem to recognize.
This dream used to be frequent when he was younger. It's usually on a sandy beach that's slightly humid, but there's usually a nice, soft breeze that lifts up the wisps of his hair. And there's always a group of people waving towards him from the waves, calling out to him. Join us, join us.
It always feels off, and yet. Vaguely nostalgic.
But this time, there's a stag woman nearby, covered in white garb and a mesh soccer bag that looks more like chainmail than anything.
“Get out, Travis,” she says, antlers swishing anxiously as Travis stares in bewilderment.
“Get out?”
She peers down at him, and instead of telling him, she asks, “Run?”
When he wakes up, his eyelids are heavy, and the weight on his chest is heavy.
“Travis,” Lottie says quietly, gripping his hand tighter. “Are you alright? You were mumbling in your sleep.”
I’m fine, Travis wants to say, but he swears he recognized that voice and its raspiness. But from where? Travis doesn't know. He can't recall—he's never felt anything like that, but it feels like he was being choked. And it hurts too much to think about, and forming a coherent thought seems near impossible. But–
I’ll get out?
Shoving himself up so that he's sitting, “Yeah… I'm all good, Lottie. Come on, we're going to miss the bus.”
He tries to ignore Lottie’s concerned glances as he gets dressed. She eventually turns away fully and paws at the bedside table, gathering her stuff. And as Travis steps out into the hall, she shuts the door with a small click.
But he feels that sliver of doubt again, confirming that he's just a pathetic boy mooching off her as they reach the front desk for checkout. She paid for the convenience fee and every other hidden fee that the place hid last minute.
A parasite, he thinks as he looks down at his stomach.
As Travis sits on the bus stop bench, his leg bouncing erratically, Lottie’s wandering off to take a drag somewhere just far enough that he won't have to breathe any in. Travis gets it; it’s a hard habit to break. She looked like she needed it anyway.
He puts his index fingers and whistles loudly to notify Lottie that the bus is here, waiting for her as she stomps out the half-used cigarette. No one is on the bus except for a knocked-out nurse in the back, probably off from a back-to-back shift, and an old dude in the middle of the bus, who looks disgruntled at the bus stopping for both of them.
He uses the remaining change he had to pay for both their fares as a half-ditched attempt to say ‘thank you’ to Lottie.
They sit near the front, and he leans on the cold metal bar. The smoke lingers on her, but honestly, he doesn’t really mind it.
The streets and cornerstones start to look familiar at some point, and Travis figures this is the closest he's going to get on this specific bus line. He waves a quick goodbye to Lottie as he gets off and tells her to call him when she gets home.
She waves back weakly and says, of course.
Travis walks the few blocks toward his house, and as he approaches the driveway he notices that both the cars are parked. His dad’s beat up station wagon right next to the semi rundown Honda his mom is currently renting. It’s weird, he thinks, usually she’d be on shift tonight. He brushes it off and relishes in his mother being home for once.
He walks through the grass towards the front porch. Recently, Javi’s been getting into the habit of locking every single door in the house, no matter what. He lands on checking for the hidden key underneath the wilting potted plant he got Mom as a birthday gift, but no dice.
Letting out a large sigh, Travis turns and starts towards the side door of the house; he lifts the lock up, wiggles it, and finally slides it until he hears the signature kkch, and passes through. A flash of white intrudes the corner of his eye, and he leans down to pet the crusty white alley cat that Javi feeds sometimes. Finally, as he tries to slowly close the sliding door, he hears his mother.
“Travis Maria Martinez. ”
Oh, great. The full government name. What did he do this time? “Hey, Mom,” he says, as casually as possible, but it comes out pretty flimsy.
All the while, Travis’s brain is racking over whatever he could’ve fucked up this time around. Forgot to take out the trash? Nah, he’s pretty sure he did that… sometime this week. Did they find his stash of weed? He’s like, ninety-five percent sure that he smoked the last of it to avoid that very problem. Was it that he missed curfew? Travis is an adult now, he can handle himself–
“Where the hell were you?” she scowls in the iciest tone he's heard since, well, the time he forgot to tell her that he was having a playdate with an old elementary friend. She thought he got kidnapped, and for the first time in his life, he felt the fear of God’s wrath from her.
On that notion Travis feels a sudden dread rising in him, as it's usually his dad who lectures him. A good yell and hold at his neck would do. “I was with–” he clears his throat, “–at a friend's place.”
His mom suddenly gets up with a sigh and goes to the living room, calling for his dad. Shit.
Travis then registers that Javi is sitting next to where his mom was at, looking abashed, like a cloth that’s been snagged by a thorn. So it’s going to be a public execution, great. Just great.
His father barges in from the living with his fists curled around a bunch of papers. He drops them on the coffee table and the sound they make is about equivalent to a brick being dropped from a ten-story building.
Fuck. It's the pregnancy pamphlets. Fuck Fuck Fuck. How could he be so fucking stupid?
“Now, Travis, we let you do whatever you want. We don't ask questions, and we try to understand you.” He walks from the edge of the table towards him, staring at Travis directly. The look in his father’s eyes sends a shiver down his spine. “But during check-in, you were gone. Rebecca told me that you would be driving back with me, but you were nowhere to be found.”
“Dad, I–”
“I wasn't finished.”
And suddenly he feels his mind go to static. Shut up and listen, Travis, this is the only way you're going to get out of this alive. So he stares at the ground and desperately tries to zone out of this lecture.
“It also appears that you were seen leaving with Charlotte. Correct me if I'm wrong.”
He nods. One wrong move and it’s over for him, so he dare not speak. He wants out. Please let him out.
“I asked you a question. Answer me.”
“Yes, sir, I left with Lottie.”
“Lottie.” his mom repeats, rubbing at the bridge between her eyes. They're both remembering graduation and all the non-existent signs. This cannot be happening right now. Maybe Travis is still having that fever dream back at the motel. Lottie will kick him off the bed and he’ll wake up any minute. He goes to pinch his skin. Shit.
“I'm going to ask you a simple question, and I'm going to talk to you like an adult since you want to prance around acting like one,” and his Dad grabs at Travis’s shoulder and jaw, making him stare directly at him. Travis can feel his stomach beginning to froth up like foam. It’s a warzone of nerves in there. “Did you get her fucking pregnant, Travis?”
The hold on Travis’s jaw tightens. His dad’s hands, they fucking burn. Travis really tries to convey the truth because it is the truth. He didn’t get her pregnant. But his tone of fear betrays him. They both can smell it on him.
It's not Charlotte they should be worried about. “No, sir.”
“Honey, take Javi to his room, please.”
Travis, face between his father’s hardened grip, shoots a pleading glance towards his Mom and Javi. Please don't… Please don't leave me here with him. Javi looks like he wants to stay, but his Mom pulls at him until they're down the hall, and Travis hears the click of Javi’s door lock.
His dad releases him, and without so much as a moment to lose, says, “Get the fuck out of my house.” He looks weary and disappointed, Travis thinks. Or at least that's what he notices. What's new?
“But–”
“No. Travis.” Dad turns around and storms towards Travis's room and begins to throw the stuff out of his room. The fucking discs, those... Those were for Javi. “I've dealt with your bullshit enough. Go get a place, a job, a kid. Or whatever the fuck your doing with your life, but you are not welcome in this house anymore.”
“Dad…” he begs. He turns towards the sound of a door unlocking, and makes direct eye contact with his Mom. Please, I promise I’ll be better. Please don’t do this to me.
“I left for a minute, Honey–”
“No, Ana. We’ve given him too many chances. I'm done.” his Dad shouts and throws a frame out the door towards him. Travis ducks quickly and narrowly dodges it; bits and pieces of glass litter the floor and shower the room in constellations. His Mom curses at his Dad in Spanish, and for once in her life, stands up for him. Great timing, Mom.
Travis avoids the shattered glass as he gets up, averting his gaze at the remnants of the photograph. He refuses to stare at the smashed photo of a younger him, and he feels like he’s floating out of his body as he watches his parents yell and argue with each other like he's never seen before. It’s bubbling, this tension, it’s about to breach the surface like a volcano’s fucking magma.
He knows when the words slip out of his mouth as he stands, there's no going back. “I'm not like you. I didn't get a girl pregnant at eighteen.”
His mom turns, her expression written with agony as his father raises a poised hand. It’s weird, Travis thinks. How him and his dad are roughly the same height, but he always feels so small around him. Seconds later he feels a burning sensation on his cheek. All he can hear is his mother’s muffled gasp as she goes to cover her mouth.
That's the fiery bullet of the gun that blows this keg.
“Travis, I'm so sorry. I don't know what–” He tries to reach out towards him, but Travis flinches and shoves him away. If it's a fight he wants, it's a fight he’ll get.
“I hate you. I hope you rot in hell!” Travis slams his eyes shut as they blaze something fierce behind his lids.
“Travis, you're being dramatic, please just let me–”
“I'm not like you, and I hope I never will be.” Travis pushes past his Dad, cramming all his stuff in the bags he can scrounge. Quickly smashing the piggy bank that he's had for forever. Travis doesn't care in the slightest about the blood getting drawn from some of the sharper shards and figures this should be enough for a bus pass, and then some. His thoughts are a whirlwind the entire time.
As Travis storms out the room, he glances one last time at the shattered photos his father threw during his fit, and he looks up to see his mother's extended hand.
“I fucking hate you. All I wanted to be was enough for you.” he says with bitterness oozing off of every word, yet they scrape from his throat. He’s not sure what he believes anymore.
Travis walks through the hall staring at the photos, at some of the happier moments. His parent’s wedding. The four of them posing awkwardly in front of the mantleplace, the Christmas tree lingering in the background. Javi’s birthday. He remembers how Javi used to cry every single year; the cake candles in front of him would get extinguished by how much snot that boy produced. Javi, God. What is he going to do without him?
Then that nagging voice in the back of his reels forward, He’ll be just fine without you.
Parts of Travis want to turn around and beg for a place back in their family, but the shred of respect that he’s clinging to makes him continue forward. He’s fighting the door and is not ignorant to how quiet the house is now.
When he finally hears that familiar creak, he’s running for the hills.
Get out, Travis.
He gets it now.
Travis walks up the steps to the Matthews house… He pauses and looks up at it; with its towering walls and many, many windows, he can look into the behemoth of a building. It’s a fucking mansion compared to his house… Well, no, not his house anymore. Travis shakes his head and keeps moving. He stares at the huge driveway, and the weird tunnel that rich people’s houses always have. He could’ve sworn he heard it from somewhere. Was it French? Porte-something.
With a bag in one hand and a couple of quarters in the other, he holds it tight in his fist; his hand already has a tangy metallic scent. That’s not what he should be focusing on, like it’s any better to dwell on the reason why his face stings.
He makes it to the door and knocks once, just once, before he stops and waits. The only thing he hopes for is a familiar face.
Time slows to a crawl as he waits for a response. His weight shifts from foot to foot, and his fingers shake. He should stand still and wait, but… Travis nearly turns around. That’s how it goes, right? A watched pot never boils. He shoves his quarters in his pocket and picks up his right foot, aiming to go back down the pavement and down the street, when he hears the muffled sound of a bolt unlocking. Then the door moves on its hinges. It feels like forever until it’s cracked open enough that he can see a face staring back at him.
“Hey, Lottie.” He ignores the way his voice cracks when he says her name.
Lottie opens the door even more, leaning on the frame slightly, and he gets a glimpse of how empty the entranceway is. The place looks hollow, like a furniture catalog. Maybe there wasn’t anyone else to open the door. “Travis? I called you, but your dad said you were b—" and she pauses at the sight of his pinched face. Travis probably looks dreadful. He feels dreadful. He almost wants to apologize for bringing this to her step. He stands there, red-faced for more than one reason, tears building, building, until eventually–
Lottie reaches out to him, lightly grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him closer. He’s trying so hard to pull himself together, but he unravels as soon as he takes a step towards her. He doesn’t fight it. Travis stumbles into her and holds his breath.
He wants to be comforted, to be held, and to be loved. Travis feels her warm, slightly clammy hands on him, and he wants it so bad.
So he cries.
He hiccups through sobs and focuses on Lottie's hands in his hair, whispering to him that it’s going to be alright. Take a deep breath; you’re alright, Travis. He stands there, chin on Lottie's shoulder, sniveling while his hands stay stiff by his side. It’s pathetic, he reminds himself, but he doesn’t lean away.
Travis Martinez is tired. It’s the kind of tiredness that makes him want to lay in bed for a month, a year. When he shuts his eyes, he has to fight to open them, and his legs shake under the weight of his own body. He’s exhausted. Travis Martinez is exhausted.