Joseph woke to the irritating beeping of his alarm clock, ringing harshly against his eardrums. Without opening an eye, he flung his arm out of the warm covers and smashed the “snooze” button, causing the noise to cease, leaving a welcomed echo of silence in the small bedroom. The weight of sleep pressed down on Joseph, but he knew he must get up. A strange something in the back of his mind warned him: this day had importance, and if he did not wake, he would find himself in deep trouble.

            This caused Joseph to crack an eye and glance at the calendar on the wall: February fourteenth, a Tuesday. He could not remember the significance of the date, until his vision adjusted and made out a tiny, red heart scribbled in the box’s margin. Joseph’s own heart faltered. Thank goodness he remembered now, or else his life would have ended in a heartbeat.

            Valentine’s Day.

            Suddenly, the world took a new perspective. The dire need to get out of bed struck Joseph, and he hurled head-first into his closet, grabbing the first t-shirt that touched his fingers, shorts, shoes (no time for socks), and flung the backpack hanging off the chair over his broad shoulders. He raced downstairs as the vague thought that he should at least comb his hair passed in a millisecond. A granola bar will have to do for breakfast, he convinced himself, taking one and hurtling through the kitchen in record time.

            When Joseph ran outdoors, the realization that shorts did not work for today’s weather did not come. He jumped to his truck, narrowly missing the black patch of ice next to the car’s front tires, only to stumble backwards trying to open a locked door. He swore under his breath and sprinted back inside to grab his keys off the kitchen counter. Outside, Joseph did not skip over the ice; this time, he found himself lying flat on his back, looking up at the truck’s underbelly, backpack smothered between him and the asphalt.

            Never mind that Joseph’s back bruised with the fall. Never mind that his stomach growled like an animal as he slid into the car seat; none of it mattered. What mattered more: his life----which would end soon if he did not hurry.

            The truck roared to life, echoing the rumbles in Joseph’s stomach, probably waking the entire neighborhood. The wheels squealed against the ice that coated most of the short driveway as he backed it out, faster than a bullet. The speed limit signs served no purpose when the boy sped down Rose Blossom Lane, turning abruptly on Petunia Boulevard. Even the road names mocked him. Way to forget, they teased. Nice going, they scolded. Better get moving, they warned.

            Joseph hunched over the wheel, trying to read the signs passing by too fast for weary eyes. He slowed down and looked to the left; Wal-Mart, Starbucks (That sounds great, he thought), Speedway, La Fleuriste, the body shop . . .

            Wait,Fleuriste? Joseph squinted at the pink sign ahead. Oh, the florist. Dumb French and their romance. Why make it harder for guys? Geez. He turned into the lot, which seemed packed, but with reason. Glad I’m not the only one who forgot last-minute,Joseph sighed inwardly, slightly relieved as he pulled into the last empty slot. He stumbled out of the truck cabin and headed toward the shop. Inside, he wasted no time choosing a bouquet of deep red roses before stepping in the long line to the checkout, foot tapping impatiently.

            Come on, he urged, don’t have all day here. Joseph looked ahead at the fellow customers; all of them male, grasping large bundles of flowers, some in equally ginormous pots or extravagant pink vases. Finally, the last person ahead of Joseph, who bought an assembly of white roses wrapped in plastic, paid forty dollars and left. The teenage cashier barely blinked when Joseph handed over the money. Forty-five dollars? Insane. After he ran through the cold back to his truck, and it roared to life once again, he steered it west, following the familiar route through the suburb. The houses blurred past: green, red, yellow, white, blue, brown . . . cream. He turned into the drive, slowly, easing the loud engine to a halt.

            He hoped her parents would sleep through the noise; nevertheless, he dropped from the truck, bouquet in hand, and began the short walk up the driveway. Before he reached the porch, however, Joseph took a right and headed to the far side of the house, right to the square window he had gone through so many times. It opened easily. Joseph pushed back the heavy blue curtain and slid through, treading lightly on the soft cream carpet. He could make out the brown tangle of hair in the midst of a pile of comforters, and the soft rise and fall of steady breathing.

            Joseph tiptoed to the edge of the bed and tucked a lock behind her ear, sticking the strong rose smell underneath her nose. She woke up.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jessica.”

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