Valentine's Day Confessions

I so did. It was me, Alex. I am the one who locker stalked you in 2003. It took a great deal of effort and excellent visual perception. This is what I did: everyday after lunch I would walk through senior hall and spot you and your friends by your lockers. I needed to know which one was yours. It took many days of verification. I counted how many in from the right. How many down from the left. I used my super vision to zoom in on the tiny black locker number. I mean, really, it took all of three seconds to walk by, and I didn’t want to stare. Half glances can only gain so much information. After I was pretty sure it was the seventh one from the end, I marked it. You probably couldn’t tell. It was with a little sticker from my Golden Delicious apple. I put it there one day when I got excused from art class to use the bathroom. It was all premeditated.

After I knew which orange metal box belonged to you, I planned the V-Day bomb. The quick shot of sappy, scented, pink heart filled trash that only a pathetic girl who had been pining for you since that time we had practiced the foxtrot together could. Should I give you a clue? Photocopy my year book mug shot and then cut out just the smile so you would have to match it? Scramble the letters in my name?

In the end, I decided to remain a mystery. Alex, I know you kept it. You probably still have it tucked away in your sock drawer until this very day. By staying anonymous, I gave you hope—hope I never had. You thought to yourself “What if it’s her? What if she likes me?” You could think to yourself that the girl you had been pining over actually liked you, that she had sent you a Valentine’s Day card, when in reality, it was me, not her.

I needed some evidence that you had read it. This was all carefully planned out. I wrote the witty poem, glued the tissue paper heart on the front, crafted the best sappy card I could that rivaled any Hallmark greeting. And—yes I confess—sprayed it with my glittery tropical fruit punch perfume. Oh god, I can’t believe I actually wore that $3.99 stuff from Rite Aid. I created the evidence I needed to give me satisfaction. I cut out twenty tiny tissue paper hearts and stuffed them inside of the card so that when you opened it unknowingly, they would flutter to the ground like red and pink butterflies landing. I even practiced opening it, to see what it would be like for you. After eight test runs, I filled the card for the last time, stuffed it into the envelope, and wrote your name in cursive on the front.

I slipped the card into the crack in your locker after school on February 13th. I made some lame excuse to stay late that day, and when the halls were clear, I delivered my message like Cupid.

I created all the excitement I needed for that day. I knew I was getting diddly-squat from anyone (excluding my mother), but the anticipation of you receiving that card was enough to hold me over.

After second period I walked past your locker and saw all the little tissue paper hearts on the ground. You had opened it. You were probably having a rockin’ day, knowing some girl had a crush on you. I smiled big and went to Spanish class, knowing I had made your day better.

Alex, I just want to know, how long did you think about it? How long did you think it was her before you asked her out? Is that why the two of you got together? Because of me? Because you finally got the confidence you needed? I’m not bitter about it in the slightest. I chuckle about it now. You two were cute together. But Alex, I just want to know. Did you ask her if she sent it to you? If you did, what did you do after she said no? Because it was me, not her.