For a few minutes, I wondered why this was so natural for men and so hard for most women? Culture was one of the answers, since the Spanish women seemed very comfortable. But I had no doubt that female nipples are hypersexualized, even by ourselves. My shame wasn’t for exposing my body, but for attracting malicious glances from men.
Already lying down, I turned my attention back to the festival mantras and let myself be rocked by the melody. I was so focused that I could feel the vibration of the music in the contact of my body with the sand. I ended up forgetting that I was half naked and traveled away from the beach. I can’t say exactly where my conscience went. Maybe I dozed off. I’m not sure.
Completely free of shame, I asked a couple who were right behind me to take a look at my things. Barcelona is well known for the high incidence of pickpockets. I didn’t know if the beaches had the same problem, but I preferred not to take a risk. Besides, I wanted to enjoy the sea bath better.
I got into the fat, calm waves and felt the cold water wet my uncovered breasts. How nice to be free of any judgment. I looked for memories of my last sea bath in Trancoso. I wanted to relive that inexplicable sense of gratitude and happiness. I thanked them for the beautiful stories I had built in the last four months since I left for Canada, and I forgave myself for falling in love with Jordan and also for allowing myself to live those days of romance with Conor in Italy.
I wondered how many things have happened since, drowned in tears and sobs, I took off my wedding ring that Monday afternoon in Rio de Janeiro. Putting all that has happened, I couldn’t even blame myself. I, who even thought I’d never be able to get involved with anyone else, could only really thank myself. The world, after all, is not over. My father, after all, was right. No one dies out of love.
43 – AMNESIA AND SELF-FORGIVENESS
I opened my eyes and didn’t recognize the ceiling above me. I blinked and my head was throbbing. Of course, hangover after Ushuaia, I thought. One of Ibiza’s most famous ballads would surely leave its mark on my body already tired from the trip.
The bed was strangely more comfortable. I looked left and couldn’t find the next bunk. There was a black glass door and clothes thrown over the white sideboard.
Goddammit! May my mother forgive me what I’m gonna tell you here, but this is the memory of my Back to Single Life Party. I myself created the term in English, but I didn’t plan to forget the night. On the contrary, when I planned the fun party time with two Brazilian girls I met through Couchsurfing chat, I said it should be “memorable.”
I was wearing my black lingerie and the Australian guy beside me wasn’t completely naked either. It gave me some relief. If I couldn’t remember how I got there, I wouldn’t be able to put on my clothes after… well, you know.
I rushed to the bathroom to try to pick up any more signals from the night before. There was only one can of beer over the sink. My skirt was wrapped in the silk sheets next to Mitchell’s white shirt. He woke up when I pulled my clothes off and I smiled, completely embarrassed.
- Good morning, is everything ok? – he asked rubbing his eyes.
- I hope you tell me yes. I can’t remember much.
- Don’t worry, nothing happened – he got up and kissed my head.
- Oh really? Don’t I really need to worry?- I insisted.
- Yeah. You gave up and asked me to stop in the middle of the process and I’d never force anything – he reassured me with a gentle wink.
I called an Uber car and when I reached the apartment room, I looked out the window and saw from the balcony the pool and the huge butterfly that adorned the stage of Ushuaia. I ran down the stairs and had a flashback as I walked down the corridor. The smell of cigarettes and drinks brought back some memories of our arrival there. Nothing too important: crooked steps, laughter and a smelly cigar between my fingers as I slid my right hand up the wall. I still remember this image well.
I never knew how to smoke cigars. At every opportunity I had, always drenched in a lot of alcohol, I swallowed the thick smoke and woke up with amnesia. At least my blackout was partially explained. The other part of the blame I put on the three-liter Belvedere vodka, which was available in the front row room. I thought my Back to Single Life Party deserved to break my promise to never drink vodka again. Big mistake.
In the car, on my way to the hostel, I recapitulated the night from the flower headbands we got at the entrance to Ushuaia before sunset. We danced a lot with a group of drunk and funny Italians on the edge of the stage, and when the first dj of the night performed we were near the pool. We took the only photos of the party and decided to buy our first drink.
I remembered the multicolored lights perfectly, the shredded paper showers, and the electronic music that vibrated all my pores in a way I had never allowed myself to feel before. I’m still not a big fan of electronic music, but I wished to be in Ibiza so much that I wanted to experience all the sensations.
My stomach twisted every time the car jolted. In the meantime, I was looking at the cell phone photos for some hint of what could have happened until the third or fourth glass of vodka with energy drink. Yes, I also remembered the price of the drinks. I can’t believe I paid 14 euros on a Heineken long neck bottle yet. This is worth over 60 reais.[13]
It was after we bought our first and only beer that Alessandra prophesied:
- Calm down, girls. Soon we’ll be rocking, enjoying the party in a front row room.
- Amen – I laughed – with these prices, I can’t celebrate being single.
Mitchell approached us a few minutes after this dialogue. We were distracted and he arrived without us noticing.
- I want you in my room – he said, holding Alessandra and me, while Catia looked surprised at the other end of the triangle.
- Hi, how are you? Nice to meet you, my name’s Alessandra! – My new friend said, breaking free of his muscular arms. At the same time, I bent down to escape that hug as well.
- I’m sorry – he walked away, clasping his hands in supplication – my name is Mitchell. I’m from Australia. And you?
- I’m Alessandra and these are Catia and Paula. We’re Brazilian.
- Nice to meet you. I’d like to invite you to join me and my friend in our front row room.
As we walked to the room entrance, I warned Alessandra that his intention was to kiss one of us.
- I don’t think anyone here will mind kissing him – she snapped, and I had to agree.
Mitchell was very tall. He was certainly over six feet. The white shirt was tight enough to reveal the broad shoulders and strong, well-rounded arms. Short blond hair, incredible blue eyes and a jovial smile. I guessed he was about 28 years old. But he was only 24.
We went into the room without any problems. Mitchell’s friend was sitting on a white couch, receiving a neck massage and drinking. He looked completely crazy. We were introduced to him and a very friendly waiter served us a drink.
The VIP area was filled with comfortable white couches, black acrylic coffee tables and huge transparent buckets filled with ice and huge bottles of vodka and champagne, all lit with blue LED lights. Almost everyone in the rooms was wearing white, including our hosts. I figured that just like us, those who didn’t wear white were guests.
As the DJs took turns in the pick-ups, alcohol intake increased on the track. I could remember the champagne toast I made with the girls before I ended up kissing Mitchell.