damn, that sucks

You’re going to be late. Why did you drink again last night?

It’s Open Barn day today, but after a long night trying to chase after the one person I wanted to see, I’m hungover and tired.

It wasn’t worth the effort. He was too busy to see you. 

You should have just stayed home. 

Still, I slather on some sunscreen, lace up my bootstraps, and manifest a good day as I head over to the barn. 

Did you remember to take your meds before you left? And what about your birth control? You just fucked a guy raw two days ago. Don’t be messy. 

I took them. I always do. It’s one of the few things still hardwired in my brain at this point. 

The barn is already lively when I get there. I take my place as parking coordinator and get to watch high schoolers do tricks on horses while the sun beats down on us all. 

Are you really sneaking vape hits at a barn full of therapy horses the one day of the year they open the gates? 

Yes. Yes I am.

“Do you want to come to the barn today? You can come watch the events and eat food and pet horses since you never see what I do.” It takes some back and forth but my mother, father, and cousin’s kids are convinced. 

The shift goes by quickly and my family arrives.  

God, they’re so embarrassing. Why do they always make a scene?

At this point, I’m too numb to let it get to me. I nibble on my Cheetos (the only thing I’ve managed to stomach) and let my family be excited for the morning.

Thank god that’s over. 

It’s day two of that one skate event. Don’t you want to go? It’ll be lit and your friends will be there. Who cares if you’re exhausted? Just live a little. 

So I go home and shower.

No time to eat. You got places to be, girl. Just hit the bong real quick and the feeling will pass.

Real quick turns into forty minutes and my friends leave without me.

But it’s only 4pm, are you really going to Uber there? That’s so dumb.

I’ll Uber. I’ll probably stay out anyway.

It’s too expensive. Save the money.

True.

So, I hop in Bella the Tesla and we whip our way downtown, bumping A7X the entire drive before finding a quiet parking spot near the Waterfront.

“Why do you like making boys cry?” he asks about my shirt, his arm wrapped around his girl’s shoulder. 

Well, you’re stuck standing at this stop sign until the light changes. You can’t ignore him. 

“I think boys have just been testing me a little lately, ya feel?” I smile. 

The walk sign goes off and I’m stuck behind their slow asses for a moment before I speed past them. 

Exhausting. 

It doesn’t take long before I find my friends. 

The Rockstar Energy Open is fun. It’s fun seeing people have fun.

Oop. There he is. 

The neon orange hoodie is glaring in a crowd of grey, black, and dirty denim. 

He’s with someone new. But you shouldn’t be surprised. He dropped you on your birthday last year. You don’t matter to him. Why do you care?

I debrief this scorching hot topic with my friends and we—the bad bitches—enjoy the rest of the event. 

The DJ set after the event is rowdy, with people throwing skateboards, moshing, and a baby with noise-canceling headphones. 

Where’s the weed at? You gotta get into rolling, girl. So unprepared. 

Eventually, the concert ends and we—and my friends’ skater boy arm candy—agree to meet up somewhere else. 

“Does she need someone to walk her back to her car? It’s sus at night,” one of the boys asks.

“Nah, I’m only a few blocks down. I do this shit all the time and am not scared of no homeless people. It’s chill.”

I’m not bothered to be solo dolo tonight.

Besides, the boy from last night said he was going to be out tonight. You have another chance. 

I move my car to a more…concealed parking garage. 

You’re literally parking next to broken glass, girl. What?

I switch spots and pay regardless. I’m tired of trudging around and just want to sip something at the hotel bar already. 

Hotel is chill. Meet a few new people. Say hello to some familiar faces. 

That’s quite a few drinks for someone who said she’d drive home tonight. 

The skater boys have refreshed for the evening and are ready for the club. My friends and I take them to our favorite nearby spot to dance and just be lit. 

It’s getting late. They’re all making out now and you’re waiting for some guy to text you. Please stop making a fool of yourself and just go home. 

The reality of the situation dawns on me and yeah, I’m done for the night. 

And trudge back to the car we go. The alcohol has passed. You drank so much water. You’re good. 

And I’m chilling. My car is untouched and again, I blast A7X. 

Oh fuck, that was a deep pothole. Why didn’t you go around it?

I’ve accidentally driven over potholes before. It’s not a big deal. 

Music is bumping, the wind is in my hair, vape in my hand. I’m ready for sleep. 

But you got too excited, didn’t you?

I whip Bella too quickly making an exit on the freeway–then I feel it. The tires on the driver side burst and I’m drifting down the lane. Bella’s alarms are ringing. 

What. The. Fuck.

I immediately slow down and find the nearest exit.

“Your car!” Someone shouts out their window, waving and pointing at me. 

“I know!”

I park on the nicest, emptiest, darkest road.

You already had to have this shit towed two months ago. Now this? Jesus fucking Christ, girl. And it’s 3am. No fucking tow service is going to help.

Then he texted me. 

And I’m sobbing. 

Just ask him for help. It’s okay. It’s an emergency.

So I do. He agrees to come to my pinned location. He’s nearby at a friend’s birthday party. 

Girl. Your phone is at 3-fucking-percent.

Fuck.

I sob harder and scream at the top of my lungs.

Isn’t there a Plaid Pantry nearby? Just go there really quick so your phone stays alive. Your shit-ass car charger isn’t going to keep your phone alive until he gets here. 

I trudge up half a mile before I realize it’s pointless. It’s dark. My phone is now at 1-percent.

Just wait outside your car and hopefully he’ll just see you. It’s an emergency. 

I can’t stop crying, staring at Bella’s busted rims and skid marks. 

A car pulls up.

That’s not him. 

“Is everything okay?”

“My fucking tires popped and my phone is fucking dead and my friend is on their way to get me and I need a fucking charger. Can you please drop me off at the Plaid Pantry so I can charge my phone and call my friend?”

“I have a charger right here.”

Please no. But you’re alone with him. And you need your fucking phone to turn on. Just tough it out. 

I sit in his car and plug in my phone, sobbing and explaining what happened.

The moment my phone turns on I make sure to see my ride is coming. 

Ten minutes.

So I call my friend, who’s still at the club with the skater boys. The phone is on speaker and he’s watching intently as we talk. 

Just bring the damn phone to your ear. But you can’t if this man is staring you down.

My friend tells me not to worry.

She’s too drunk. It’s okay. 

“You're so beautiful you know that? Why did your friends leave you alone?”

Heartbreaking.

My phone is at 13-percent when I finally see my ride’s car. 

Why did he just drive away? That must’ve been by mistake. He’ll flip around.

“Looks like you had some help haha,” the text reads.

I try not to scream crying in front of the stranger beside me, rapid-texting my ride to please turn around and to get here. 

He’s so mad. He’s so so so mad. 

But he agrees. 

“What’s your number? Let me get it really quick.”

I put a fake number in the stranger’s phone.

I jump out of the stranger’s car and he leaves, but not without making his presence known and waving off to both me and my ride.

And now there’s another issue. Your ride thinks you were hooking up with that rando. 

But he doesn’t say so. 

The drive home is exhausting. My face is smushed in his arm and I’m probably still crying at this point. 

You are such a burden. Yikes.

The air is tense as we’re parked outside my house. 

“I wish we could go inside and fuck and cuddle in peace. I’m so fucking tired.” 

He agrees. 

My dad is finally awake and calling me endlessly, asking me why I’m sitting in a car outside and not coming inside after that clusterfuck.

You’re on the phone with your dad and the boy who’s mad at you is rubbing you off right now. What the fuck is happening?

I tell my dad I’ll be inside soon.

I tell my ride we should go somewhere quieter because coming inside and fucking just isn’t an option in today’s world. 

The cops are lurking so we end up in a shady corner of a neighborhood. 

I want to get completely naked and just be held right now. I want to kiss and cuddle and feel genuine warmth.

Why is this happening?

He pulls up the seats. I take off my clothes (he insisted I keep the skirt on), but fucking in a car of this size is simply impossible. 

“You’re good at that, you know?” he says while I’m sucking the liquid out of him. 

We switch and he eats me out. After, he spits the remnants into his hand and throws it outside the car. He might’ve wiped me up with an old shirt.

Who knows what’s happening at this point?

We’re back parked outside of my house. 

“Here are your panties by the way. I’ve never had a girl forget her underwear before.”

I take my g-string that must’ve been sitting in his car all summer and stuff it into my purse.

This is mortifying.

“Thank you so much for helping me. I’m sorry I was going through it so much tonight but it really means a lot.”

We kiss and he drives off as I trudge inside to my dad.

Not done yet.

“Who was that? Why were you taking so long? What happened?”

The interrogation is endless but I don’t relent. Eventually I scrub the makeup off my face, put on my sleep dress and bonnet, and smoke a few bowls.

I cry. A lot. 

Yikes.

I don’t know how long it takes before I can finally settle myself enough to just sleep. 

Life is such pointless, never ending bullshit. But one thing’s for sure—I’m tired. 

© Narwan Amini, 1 September 2024