Saying Something

I.                

I AM SITTING ON A DARK MEXICAN BEACH, EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD, AND I FEEL BEAUTIFUL AND DRUNK

So you are hot and young, and surrounded by so many other hot and young people, and you think that this is the meaning of life—to be hot and young.

WE’VE JUST STUMBLED OUT OF OUR RENTED BEACH HOUSE, AND THOUGH THE WATER IS TOO COLD FOR ANYTHING BUT WADING, WE ROLL AROUND IN THE SAND AND SCREAM AT THE SKY AND PLAY TAG WITH THE TIDE

You drink too much tequila, but that shouldn’t matter, but it does.

CHRIS SIDLES UP NEXT TO ME AND I THINK HE WILL BE MY FRIEND FOREVER

Chris is not a good person, but you don’t know that yet in your freshman year eagerness. When you sit next to him on that cold beach, you wonder if he is one of your “people”, but he isn’t.

WE ARE LOOKING AT THE CONSTELLATIONS TOGETHER WHEN CARLOS STUMBLES UP TO US

Carlos isn’t either, but he is older than you and you think that means smarter too, but he is just another fucking idiot sent to remind you why your dad told you to always be careful around men.

HE HAS A CUP OF AMBER IN ONE HAND, AND HE LAUNCHES INTO THIS LECTURE ABOUT GREEK MYTHOLOGY AND ASTRONOMY AND THE MILKY WAY. I JOKE THAT HE IS MANSPLAINING THE UNIVERSE TO ME, AND THE SHADOWS ON HIS FACE CONTORT. HE REMINDS ME THAT HE IS A FEMINIST AND HE WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT—I SHUT UP AND LISTEN

When he starts talking drunkly about the stars and you tell him that you already know everything he’s saying, don’t let him tell you he’s a feminist. Laugh at him with that deep, beautiful voice of yours and push him into the sand. Use your eyes to poke holes in his soul and fill them with the knowledge that you are the most divine being he has ever encountered, as old as the stars. Then take his cup and dump the liquor into the fucking ocean and tell him never to speak to you again.

II.              

I AM STANDING IN SOMEONE’S POORLY LIT FRONT YARD, NINETEEN YEARS OLD, AND I FEEL BEAUTIFUL AND DRUNK

I know you are having so much fun, and you should be, and I wish you could enjoy the whole night like you were meant to.

CARLOS IS SOMEHOW DRUNKER, WHICH IS NOT SURPRISING GIVEN THE TWO BLUE MARGARITAS I’D WATCHED HIM INHALE JUST A FEW HOURS PRIOR. HE ASKS ME TO FOLLOW HIM SOMEWHERE EVEN DARKER, AND LIKE A PUPPY, I HAPPILY ACQUIESCED

But Carlos is a shark in the deep, and he will see your greasy ponytail and easy laughter and read: weak.

WHEN HE GRABBED ME, I WAS SURPRISED; WHEN HE STARTED SLOBBERING ALL OVER MY BODY AND BEGGING ME TO COME HOME WITH HIM, I BEGAN TO WONDER IF I WAS DYING. I CHANTED NO UNTIL IT BARELY SEEMED LIKE A WORD ANYMORE, BUT STILL HE PULLED ME CLOSER, STILL HE MURMURED PERVERSIONS IN MY EAR

When he lures you behind the house, next to the trash cans, no won’t be enough for him.

 WHEN HE FINALLY REALIZED THAT I WOULD NEVER GIVE IN, WE STALKED BACK TO THE PARTY. CHRIS SAW THE LOOK ON OUR FACES AND ASKED IF EVERYTHING WAS ALRIGHT. I SPAT OUT THAT NOTHING WAS WRONG, AND KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT UNTIL I THREW UP IN A PARKING LOT TWENTY MINUTES LATER

Do what you have longed to do since you were a child on the playground—scream! Scream your fucking head off! Tell him he is disgusting and vomit on his shoes. Bite off his ear and sink your feet into his soft throat. When you have mashed him into a pulp, tell him that everyone hates him and he will never be forgiven. Then call his girlfriend on the phone and send her a picture. When the others ask you what happened, tell them in exquisite detail and blush with pride at the memory.

III.            

I HAVE TOLD EVERYONE ABOUT CARLOS, AND I AM HAVING NIGHTMARES ABOUT WHETHER I HAVE RUINED MY LIFE IN THE PROCESS. CHRIS TEXTS ME AND ASKS WHY HE HASN’T SEEN ME AROUND MUCH. WE MEET FOR COFFEE AND I SOB INTO A LATTE, FEELING WITNESSED

Chris does not understand that women do not only serve to fuck him, and though he expresses it differently than Carlos, he is no less evil.

LATER HE ASKS ME IF I WANT TO GET TACOS, AND I AM SO GRATEFUL FOR THE COMPANY OF SOMEONE WHO ISN’T MY PARTNER OR PARENTS. WE GET TO THE TACO SHOP AND HE INSISTS ON PAYING FOR MY MEAL—I FEEL A SMALL WAVE OF NAUSEA, BUT REMIND MYSELF THAT FRIENDS PAY FOR EACH OTHER’S MEALS TOO. AFTER A QUICK, QUIET MEAL I CLIMB BACK INTO HIS CAR AND WAIT TO BE DRIVEN HOME. THEN HE MENTIONS THE BOTTLE OF WINE AND BLANKET IN HIS BACKSEAT AND TELLS ME WE’RE GOING TO GATE’S PASS TO WATCH THE SUNSET. I AM SILENT AS HE DRIVES US INTO THE DESERT

When he tries to drive you into the desert, less than two weeks after his buddy pawed at you, tell him to pull the fuck over or you’ll call the police.

AFTER AN HOUR OF WATCHING HIM GET PROGRESSIVELY DRUNKER AND INCH PROGRESSIVELY CLOSER TO MY BEAUTIFUL BODY WITH HIS DISGUSTING SCALY HANDS, I BREAK AND TELL HIM THAT I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND. HE FINALLY TAKES ME HOME, BITCHING THE WHOLE WAY THAT WOMEN DON’T LIKE HIM. I BITE MY TONGUE AND HOPE HE AND CARLOS FIND EACH OTHER IN HELL

Explain to him the following: you do not drink alcohol anymore because the smell reminds you of his disgusting friend’s acrid breath; you think it is profoundly fucked up that he would want to take a traumatized girl on a date when she has expressed no romantic interest in you; you think he looks like a lizard and the reason girls don’t like him is because he is a creep. Then break his glasses in half and throw the shards in his face. Piss in the passenger seat, wipe yourself off with your jeans, and take an Uber, pants-less, back to your dorm room. 

 Regardless of where she may live in the future, Andrea Lara-Garcia is a writer from Arizona.