What I Couldn’t Leave Behind
I went to Acapulco to run away from depression
I’m in Acapulco with my girlfriends Casey and Farrah. They’re here for a fun getaway; I’m here to getaway.
Several months ago, I dropped out of high school. It was my final year, and, instead of attending classes, I chose to lose myself in sleep.
In sleep, I don’t have to feel.
Leaving Canada for a week in sunny Acapulco seemed like a welcome change and escape from the darkness I had descended into.
Yes, I thought, I’ll get on a plane and leave all this behind. Step out of the comfortable baggy clothes I’ve been wearing to hide the discomfort of being in my own skin, and step into a new version of myself.
I will let myself be seen.
It didn’t quite turn out that way.
Tonight is one of the only nights since arriving in Acapulco I haven’t been cooped up alone in our hotel room suffering from diarrhea and listening to Meat Loaf and Sinead O’Connor.
We’ve decided to go to The Dome, a nightclub inside the posh Princess Hotel, a short taxi ride away from our less posh accommodations at Hotel Acapulco. When booking the trip, we didn’t care if it was a two-star hotel. It’s not like we were going to spend most of our time indoors anyway, right?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and ready, I watch Casey and Farrah scurry about to the tune of Meat Loaf’s “Bat Out of Hell.” They’re getting all prettied up for a night of dancing and flirting. I have no plans to flirt since I wouldn’t know-how.
I’m 19 and have never been on a date. Farrah’s never dated either, but she’s blossoming and guys are noticing. Maybe their attention has made her look at herself with new eyes and now can see the beauty that had always been there. Sometimes other people notice things about us before we do.
Farrah is my best friend — the only friend I ever loved. While I’ve been hiding in the hotel room for most of this trip, she and Casey have been spending more time together and getting closer. I preferred to be alone — more at home in a drab hotel room furnished with cranberry-colored carpeting, one double bed, and a cot. How could I blame her? Who else was she going to hang out with?
I’m afraid I’m losing her.
Of the three of us, Casey’s the most experienced when it comes to guys. She’s recently single. She was with her ex, Jeremy, since her first year of high school.
“Did you and Jeremy have oral sex?” Farrah asked Casey one night as we were about to go to sleep. She probably wouldn’t have asked that had the lights been on.
“Yes,” Casey said. She gave us a moment to take in her revelation.
“His dick goes all the way up to his stomach! I feel sorry for guys, man.”
“What does it taste like?” Farrah asked.
Oh my God, did she actually ask that?
Of course, I was all ears.
“Not very good,” Casey said. From the double bed I was sharing with Farrah, I looked over at Casey nestled in her cot. My vision had adjusted to the darkness and I saw the twisted expression on her face at the recollection.
The pulsating music and the flashing lights in The Dome seem to be urging us to join in on the lively atmosphere. Seated at a small table by the dance floor, we start dancing in our seats. Our shoulders roll, our asses knead the seats, our feet tap the floor. The dim lighting helps to ease my self-consciousness.
Farrah and I order Tequila Shooters to get more loosened up before hitting the dance floor. We both rave at the smoothness of this drink. It goes down so easily and feels as though you’re drinking nothing. Your senses are intact one minute, then suddenly they’re not.
A guy wearing a brown leather fedora, head-to-toe denim, and white Reeboks walks over to our table and says “hi” to me.
Me?
“Come on,” he says, gesturing to the dance floor with his fedoraed head.
I have no idea how many Tequila Shooters I’ve had, and I’m not sure if I can make it to the dance floor. There’s a short flight of stairs one would have to navigate to get there and in my state, it looks like an obstacle course.
“I’m not drunk. I’m aware of everything around me. I’m just…limber,” I say to myself.
My body feels loose and wobbly like a rubber band. At the stairs, I grab the handrail with both hands and descend the steps sideways.
It isn’t until I reach the dance floor that I realize the guy’s a head shorter than I am. He never stops smiling, though, and he’s got so much bounce in his bounces that I can’t help bouncing and smiling too.
“What’s your name?” he shouts in my ear.
“Ellie,” I lie. Before leaving our hotel room, Casey reminded us to use fake names.
“I’m Martinez,” he says.
When the song ends Martinez guides me to a red leather banquette by the bar area. Save for the bartender and a lone man sitting at the bar staring at his drink, the place feels barren and lifeless. The lighting is too bright here. A stark contrast from the dancing lounge where I felt somewhat protected in the shadows. Here, I have nowhere to hide.
Martinez brings over more Tequila Shooters. He watches me drink without joining in. I don’t say anything and keep drinking.
“You’re from Canada? Maybe I could come to visit you.”
He puts his leather fedora on my head. I laugh and can barely open my eyes. I feel warm from head to toe, light and heavy at the same time. I’m on the edge of numbness, of not caring. I could let go. Give in to his desires. And let him see me.
No. Not this way.
You want to be seen, Grace.
But not like this. Not like this.
My bladder wakes me. I remove the fedora and stumble to the washroom. My upper body leans forward, wrists limp and dangling in front of me like a dog walking on its hind legs.
Casey finds me sitting on one of the sinks with my head leaning against the fake marble wall. My savior. She’s been watching me and Martinez.
“Do you want me to tell him to leave you alone?” she asks.
“Yes, please. Thanks, Casey.”
We find Martinez in the waiting area. I hide behind Casey like a fearful child. She says something to him in Spanish. Having a multilingual friend has its advantages.
Martinez looks at me. “Do you know what your friend said to me? She isn’t very nice. She told me to fuck off, you know that?”
“Come on,” Casey says to me as she grabs my arm and guides me toward our table. We spot Farrah on the dance floor, her arms flailing above her head, eyes closed, pelvis thrusting at a guy wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, exposing his hairless chest.
Casey wakes Farrah from her euphoria. “We’re leaving, are you coming?”
“What?!” Her eyes plead with us. “No. Let’s stay. I’m having fun. Look at him, isn’t he gorgeous?”
“Well, we’re going whether you are or not,” Casey says.
We head for the exit, leaving Farrah on the dance floor with her Olive-skinned hunk.
“Wait! You bitches. I can’t believe you guys were going to leave me there all by myself,” Farrah says.
Casey and I ignore her and hail a taxi. All three of us squeeze into the backseat. Farrah sits between me and Casey, eyes half-closed with a dreamy drunk look on her face.
After a few minutes, she breaks the silence and says, “His name was Carlos. He said ‘I want to fuck you.’” She giggles uncontrollably as her head lolls on my right shoulder. Casey remains silent, arms crossed, staring out the window.
All three of us lost in our respective worlds.
My world hasn’t changed despite the change of scenery. I thought that a change of scenery would change things inside me. I thought I could board a plane and become someone else. Someone who could feel happy. At least for a little while.
But I’m still in that familiar dark place — a place that I can’t distance myself from no matter how far I may travel.
Hoping a gush of air will distract me from crying, I open the window, close my eyes, tilt my face toward the night sky, and will the warm wind carry away what I couldn’t leave behind.
