From What I Remember

We make out for a few more minutes, but it’s not working.

For either of us. I pull away and crumple onto the sand. I don’t want to look at Charlie ever again. What was I thinking?

Charlie stares down at me, dumbfounded. “What just happened?”

I can’t help myself, I start crying.

Charlie falls to the sand beside me. He gently rubs my back. Now, at least, he seems to know what to do with his hands.

“We made a mistake. We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. Max never has to know about it. Promise.”

“That’s not what I’m crying about,” I cough out, in between tears.

Neither of us says anything as we stare at the fire.

And then Charlie’s phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket and answers.

“Max…hey.”

Charlie looks at me, and I look away. Speak of the devil.

uenas noches, señorita. ¿Cómo estás?” a man named Augusto asks me, slurring his words. He’s so wasted, he’s about five minutes from falling off his stool. We’re back at Manuel’s bar, hoping he can help us track down Will. He’s so busy with the madding crowd that he hasn’t had time to talk to us yet, so we’re waiting at the bar. I don’t think we’re going to make it home tonight. It’s getting too dark to make the drive now. And the fu

“Yo no hablo español,” I say. I’m not in the mood for a lengthy conversation with Augusto, who may or may not be celebrating his birthday. I glance over at him as he sways precariously. Jesus, I really hope he doesn’t fall over on me.

Max saunters back from the phone booth, smiling at me. I wonder what it’s like being Lily. Always having Max walking toward you, looking like that. Must be nice. Really nice.

“Everything good at your house?” I ask.

“No problemos.”

“Lucky you,” I say. I don’t think it’ll be quite the same at my house.

I stand up as Max takes a seat next to Augusto.

“I’m going to call my mom. I would advise you to move over a few seats. Augusto here is getting ready to take a tumble,” I tell Max.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

And then, as if on cue, Augusto falls over onto Max, and they both go down. Max is laughing.

“Wow. You called it,” Max says.

“I’m psychic.”

Augusto is snoring. Jesus.

“What are we supposed to do with him?” I ask.

“Let’s put him in a chair in the back.”

Max and I drag Augusto to a worn leather chair in the corner of the bar.

“He can sleep it off here,” Max says. “Go call your mom.”

As I head into the phone booth, I can’t help thinking that Max is a really decent guy. Possibly even a better person than me. All I wanted to do was run fast and far from Augusto, but Max wanted to make sure he was okay. Do I have everyone else at Freiburg wrong as well? I push that out of my mind as I dial Mom’s cell. I can only focus on fixing one problem at a time. Mom is up. Then I can revisit my social miscalculations from the past six years.

I never lie to my mom, but there’s a first time for everything, so here goes. I brace myself for the conversation, but she doesn’t pick up, which is weird. She always picks up my calls. I am calling from a different number, so maybe that’s the reason.

“Uh, hi, Mom. It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that the meeting went kind of late and I’m going to spend the night at Will’s, okay? I’ll call you in the morning.” And then I hang up fast. I’ve just dropped a bomb. She’s going to be, among other things, pissed. Really pissed. I’ve never done anything like this, but maybe it’s finally time I did.

“So?” Max asks as I slip onto a stool next to him, having passed Augusto along the way, who is curled up on the chair, fast asleep, covered in a colorful blanket. Did Max find a blanket for him as well? Who is he, Gandhi?

“I left her a message. She didn’t pick up. Second time today. She almost always picks up her cell.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s working, right?”

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” I say. But in the back of my mind, I can’t help worrying that something’s gone horribly wrong in my absence, because that’s my job. I hold things together for my family. But, you know what? I can’t do it forever. They need to learn how to take care of themselves, starting tonight. I’m leaving in less than three months. We’ve all got to learn how to let go, otherwise I might as well just call the whole thing off and go to UCSD.

I make a decision to put everything out of my head except for the here and now. For one night I want to be totally, unconscionably, downright selfish. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. I’ll deal with everything else tomorrow. Maybe I’m just buzzed enough to pull it off.

“Manuel says we can crash at his house. On the floor or something. And then we’ll head out first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah. Definitely,” I say. But I can’t help wondering what the larger meaning is here. I mean, Max and I are spending the night together, in a ma

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get to graduation on time,” Max says.

That’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.

“Dos cervezas, por favor,” Max says to an old bartender who’s helping out Manuel.

I laugh at Max’s accent.

“What?” Max asks.

“It’s dos, not does, which are female deer.”

“Maybe you can give me Spanish lessons when we get back home.”

“Maybe,” is all I say. But, of course, my mind races with the implications of that i

A shouting match breaks out at the bar. A drunk guy with dreads is screaming at the old bartender. The bartender yells back. He’s a tough old dude. He looks about ready to leap over the bar and smash the guy’s face in. Manuel has one eye trained on the guy, watching. The shouting gets louder, and then the guy with dreads throws a glass at the old dude. The old dude rushes out from the bar, but before he can get to dreadlocked guy, Manuel is there. He’s got dreadlocked guy in a headlock. The old dude is yelling in Spanish. His face is turning red with fury. Manuel barks out orders. The old dude retreats. Manuel drags dreadlock guy toward the exit and kicks him out of the bar.

Max and I share a look. I don’t think either of us would want to mess with Manuel. He’s one tough mother.

Manuel walks over to us.

“Enjoying the show?” he asks.

“Totally,” I say.

“That was awesome,” Max tells Manuel.

“Just another night in Ensenada.” Manuel laughs. “Dealing with people like that is part of doing business. Don’t own a bar when you grow up, mis amigos. People are loco. And when they drink, forget about it. Do something that doesn’t involve glass or alcohol.”

“Got it,” Max says.

“I texted Juan. Didn’t hear back from him. Probably doesn’t want me to know he’s with a guy. I wish he’d just come out already. It would make life a lot easier for all of us. I’m sure if you wander around you’ll run into him. Either way, you’ll crash at our place. I’ll make sure Juan gets Will to the house bright and early, even if I have to go to Juan’s apartment myself in the morning and fetch Will. I’m sure Juan will insist they’re just friends, even if they’re butt naked and in bed together.” Manuel laughs at his own joke. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you guys to the border in plenty of time.”