Flashes

Flashes. I only remember flashes. Bonfire. Sand. Waves. Laughter. Talking. Tequila. Lots of tequila. Tecate. How about another one? Why did you start with tequila on an empty stomach?

Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear… I’m in the clear!

It’s a party around a giant bonfire on the beach where I know only one person: my friend who invited me. The people here all went to her high school. I’m from out of town.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from here! I was valedictorian, class of 2012.”

“No way. For real?”

“Yes way.”

I lied. They believed me. My humor, it’s dry. Do I tell them the truth? Nah.

More flashes. There’s grass. I’m sitting on grass. I’m kissing someone. Who is it? The grass. It’s wet.

I’m not sure what to do here, so I keep drinking. The tequila’s in my purse. I opt for another Tecate. A guy, he comes up and starts talking to me. He has a kind face.

A bedroom. I’m in a bedroom. Whose bedroom? What is this place? I don’t care. I’m fine.

Sometimes when I’m drunk, I talk politics. This guy and I, we start talking politics. He leans more conservative. I lean liberal. That doesn’t matter to me. In fact, it makes me want to speak to him more.

“But you’re being exploited! Don’t you want more than that?”

“More of what? I’m happy with the way things are.”

“But don’t you just want more?”

“What do you want?”

Black. Blackness. Nothing. I don’t remember what happened next. And then there were just flashes.

I’m making out with this guy. On this bed. And I don’t know where I am. Who is he? He’s making out with me and I’m squinting, trying to look at his face. I don’t know.

Who is he?

I don’t know.

There’s two of them. They’re talking. One of them is the guy I was making out with. The other… I know him. He’s my friends brother. I met him tonight. I’m sitting on the bed. They’re talking about me. They’re arguing.

“Dude, I don’t know that she’s in the right state of mind.”

“It’s cool man… really, I think she’s fine.”

“Dude, seriously, I don’t know…”

I interject.

“I’m fine.”

I smile.

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine. Why did I say I was fine?

Vomit. I was puking. I remember all of the puking. I vomited on the floor.

Cleaning. I’m cleaning myself at the bathroom sink. He tries to help.

“Get away from me. I can take care of myself.”

I look at myself in the mirror. There’s vomit in my hair.

“My god, I’m such a mess.”

He’s going down on me. I can feel him there. He keeps going. I can feel myself getting close. I push him off and then pull him on top of me and my body is rubbing against his body. And then everything goes black. I don’t know what happens next…

I jolt awake. Was it a dream?

I’m not wearing any underwear.

No, it wasn’t.

The shirt I have on. It’s not mine. There’s vomit on the sheets on the bed. And on the floor.

Where is my underwear?

My clothes. They’re in a pile on the floor. And they’re wet… ick. From vomit?

There’s my underwear. The plainest, least sexy pair of underwear I had. Because nothing was going to happen. Nothing was supposed to happen.

My phone. Where is my phone?

I panic. What if I didn’t have it? What if it had been lost in my drunken stupor?

It’s okay. It’s here. In my jacket pocket. My jacket. Which smells of vomit. There’s vomit on it.

I look at the time. It’s 12pm. I’m lightheaded. The hangover. It’s bad. Why did I start with tequila on an empty stomach?

There’s a text from my friend. She wants to know where I am. She says that I ran off with Kevin. That she didn’t see me after that.

I ask her, who’s Kevin? The guy I was talking to about politics?

No. Not him.

Kevin’s not here. I don’t remember meeting Kevin. I don’t know who Kevin is. I only remember those flashes.

I don’t know where I am.

Where am I?

I need to get out of here.

I pick up my shorts. There's no vomit on them. They’re just wet. But why?

I put them on. I rip the men’s t-shirt off of me. I don’t know who it came from. I think it was his. Kevin’s. Kevin. His name was Kevin.

I let it drop to the ground. I put on my tank top. My tank top does have some vomit on it. It’ll just have to do.

There’s a door. I need to open it. I need to get out of here.

Where am I?

I step outside. It was cool in there, it’s hot out here.

I can’t see. The sun, it’s so bright.

I’m on a balcony. There’s a street and people walking around. The street… there’s something different.

A stop sign. Alto.

A woman. She’s walking down the street. I yell.

“Dónde estoy?”

She’s startled. She looks up at me.

“Dónde estoy?”

She shakes her head disapprovingly.

“Estás en Tijuana.”

Tijuana. Tijuana, Mexico.

I’m in Mexico, and all I remember are flashes.

How did I get here?