Now I remember: the acrid whiskey in chipped
multi-colored coffee mugs, a knock-off
movie murmuring in the background,
the lot of us surrounded the smudged table
our bleary eyes focusing on our suites.

And now I remember the back room
where the makeshift **** was being passed,
and smoke slipped out of drunken mouths
like souls escaping
and my mouth felt like I had eaten desert sand.
The whiteness of the room was blinding,
and the flickering of the light
could be seen through my closed eyelids.

I remember the dingy couches,
all of them full of life but one seat,
the one beside me,
and He still hasn’t arrived.
The news of His arrival felt like
I had been punched a plethora of times.
The creamy taste of our peanut butter
sandwiches turned to bile.

The door littered one more being,
all heads turned. My hazy vision displayed
a shadowy figure; the lights flickered on
to brighten His face;
fingers slipped around my wrist; and then
I was removed from the boisterous room.

But I remember that my shoeless feet
couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with my friend;
he kept my head straight
while my knees wobbled,
and I stumbled through populated rooms
drinking flat coke to paint the color
back into my clammy face.

I remember voices coming closer,
until every single one of them-
including Him-
filled the room like a overstuffed stomach.
But my friend took my arm and pulled,
and the others gawked and cheered.

Now I remember: they thought we would ****.
Expecting eyes followed us,
but only to be disappointed by conversation
between two friends who shared a secret.
They did not bother asking why I cried
in the cloudy blue hallway-
they didn’t take a second glance.

No, I remember it all so clearly,
because I did not sip from those cracked mugs,
no, I sat under shuddering lights in
the musty back room.
I hadn’t even taken two hits
from the crinkled water bottle
before He walked in.

I remember the fire in His eyes
when our gazes met one anothers.
My whole being was a grenade,
and the sight of Him was
what pulled the invisible pin,
and at any moment I would explode.
I remember the way His lips upturned,
and the way His hands twitched,
as if He was ready to reach -
as if He was ready to touch -
but His hands never fumbled farther
than the small tear by
the pocket of His stained jeans.
I flinched when He turned around.

But I remember feeling as if I needed to apologize,
but I had nothing to apologize for.
But the odious cry from the kitchen stirred my insides,
and I couldn’t help but feel guilty-
I couldn’t help but feel like I was too hard,
but He deserved it all.
I was once a daisy-fresh girl.

Now I remember: my palms were too sweaty,
my mouth was too dry,
and the need for a drink left my throat coarse.
Heavy hands held mine to the kitchen,
and that’s where I saw Him glassy-eyed,
His mouth agape, His gaze dazed.

I remember the limp body leaning,
the way His arms dangled by His side,
as if they were swaying in a nonexistent breeze,
as if one blow and I could knock him over,
he was alive but it was like he was dead,
but I couldn’t find it in me to feel for a pulse,
I couldn’t find it in me to force my numb legs
to walk out of the room.

The last thing I remember was the walk
back to my house.
Unspoken words choked me,
leaving me gagging on frigid air.
My mother’s words resonated around me,
her warnings and concerns nipping my rosy cheeks.
Watch out for boys who touch you with ease.
My heart raced like a hummingbird’s wings
but my anxious hands stayed still
for the first time
since the last time.