SEVENTY-NINE: '28 to Life' (Story 2/29)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

When I first looked at 'Untitled Film Still #28' (above), I had trouble finding inspiration at first. Whereas "32 Inches of Liminal Space" came pretty quickly as soon as I looked at that enigmatic woman smoking in the dark, this sickly-looking woman in a bathrobe didn't compel me.

That is, until I took a good look at her hands. The way she's holding one over the other in a protective gesture. Suddenly, I wondered why she was outside of Apartment 508 in a robe with the door closed behind her. What kind of person stands looking off into the distance while barefoot in a hallway?

As I started writing, this "plain Jane" in a bathrobe started talking to me and what started as commentary on beauty turned into something much more harrowing, inspired by both my own personal experiences and those of countless female friends. I wasn't expecting this piece to be as dark as it is, but here we are.

What's interesting, though, is that despite the story this young woman is telling, there remains a snarky sense of humor. You do what you need to do to deal.

-- Teresa

**CONTENT WARNING: the following story features description of a sexual assault. **

Seventy-Nine #2: "28 to Life"

I tried today. I did. Despite my nausea and my better judgment, I tried. But I started having second thoughts as soon as I put my robe on and caught a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror. I hadn't brushed my hair in a couple of days. I figured I should do that. It wouldn't make me stunning, but at least I'd be fit for human interaction.

Not that I care one way or the other about being fit for that. I haven't in a long time.

I was always so pretty, they said. It was always 'pretty' from the time I was a toddler into my adulthood. In twenty-eight years, I'd never been 'cute.' Never 'gorgeous.' And never, ever 'beautiful.'

Pretty.

There's something fragile about 'pretty.' 'Cute' evokes the sturdy boisterousness of youth. Not taken seriously, of course, but not breakable. 'Cute' is resilient. 'Cute' bounces back.

'Gorgeous' is a word reserved for a type of striking I've never been. I don't stop traffic. I don't turn heads.

I'm noticed. Zeroed-in on.

And 'beautiful?' Too meaningful a word to have ever been applied to me. I never truly meant anything to anyone. Not really. Not to my parents, who had me later in life, so by the time I came around all their caring energy had been spent on my siblings.

Not to my few friends, if you could call them that. I always got the feeling that Joanna and Gloria were only friends with me because they saw me as a project. They "loved me for who I am," but their constant offers of unsolicited advice, makeovers, and outings to "broaden my horizons" made it clear that they loved me for who they could turn me into.

And then there was my "love life," again, if you could call it that. I never dated much, and whenever I did, it was only ever the one date.  More often than not, there were drunken make-out sessions in the back of bars or at Gloria's house parties.

Even then, before Rob, I hated going out. I only went when Gloria or Joanna forced me, and I inevitably spent the evening looking for any space available to escape the crowd and not get stuck watching the purses while my friends were asked to dance.

That's how Rob found me. Zeroed-in on me.

It was partly my mistake. I accepted the drink he brought me. I know, I know. "It wasn't my fault." But it kinda was.

I was sitting in the back of Flannagan's in their empty event room behind the main bar. Even in there, with a thick, wooden door separating me from the chaos of the bar, the music was still too damn loud.

"It's insane out there, isn't it?"

I looked up at the voice, and there he was. A guy way hotter than the kind of guy who usually hits on me. Tall and athletic with a full sleeve of tattoos up his left arm. The kind of guy sleeveless shirts were designed for. I never saw him smile, but he smirked constantly. Weirdly, I liked that. It was as if he was in on a dirty little secret and was having fun watching me try to work it out.

I wasn't fast enough.

I nodded at his comment, and he took that as an invitation to approach. It wasn't, but I didn't mind either. My friends were out in the bar area dancing and flirting. To be honest, it was nice to have someone paying attention to me back there. I wouldn't have to scream over the music or put on a performance. Rob approached me on my turf, and I was kinda grateful.

He told me his name as he walked over, and as I gave him mine, I noticed that he had two drinks in his hands.

"Double fisting?" I asked.

Smirk number one. The first of many.

"I wanted to 'buy the lady a drink,'" he replied. "But then 'the lady' ducked in here, and I wasn't sure what she'd like, so I got options."

He sat at the table across from me and put the glasses down, presenting them by sliding them toward me.

"Margarita, or rum and coke?" he asked. "I was trying to keep it simple."

I thought he was being thoughtful. I chose the rum and coke (tequila's never been my thing), and as I was about to take a sip, Rob raised the margarita and said, "To new friends!"

Smirk number two.

We clinked glasses.

I took my first sip.

It's here that my memory of that night starts to get weird, though the things I do remember, I remember very clearly.

Like, I remember noticing that at some point he went from sitting across from me to sitting in the chair beside me. I remember him kissing me for the first time and tasting like tequila. When I told him I wasn't a fan of tequila, he did that thing people who are fans of things do where they badger you about it by telling you that you "just haven't had the right one."

I remember him being annoyingly insistent about trying his margarita after I'd finished my rum and coke, and when I eventually obliged, he gave it to me as if he were giving a baby a bottle. He held the glass to my lips and tipped the drink into my mouth. I kept waiting for him to stop, but the drink kept coming, so I kept swallowing.

Until the glass was empty.

I remember walking through the crowded bar. Sort of. I was kind of floating through the bar. Rob's arm was around me, supporting my weight as I looked down at my feet, dragging one in front of the other, kinda surprised that they were moving when I couldn't really feel them.

I remember looking up and seeing Gloria and Joanna sitting at the bar as I floated past them. I tried to make eye contact, so they'd know where I was, and where I was going. One of them will come over, I thought. We're gonna leave together. That's the plan. But when Joanna noticed me floating toward the exit with Rob, her face lit up, and she raised a celebratory fist in the air. I saw her tap Gloria on the shoulder to direct her attention toward me, and when Gloria saw me, I heard her shout,

"Whoo! Get it, Tee!"

My last, unbroken memory of that night is my friends celebrating my being carried out of the bar by a stranger.

"Broadening my horizons," I guess.

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