Written By: Emma Florez

Art By: Alyssa Luongo

You know that fragile state you’re in when someone rejects you where you are liable to do just about anything?

This was the state I found myself in one early fall night at the skatepark. 

Everyone was running up the ramps, but because I was in Sad Boi Hours, I sat on top of a ramp and looked at my phone. The last time I’d been at the skate park was the second weekend of school. Although I had cried for reasons that may be mentioned in a future Chiv article, I’d had much more fun flirting with two of my friends. “Oh how naive I was, thinking those guys liked me.” Now I knew both were interested in other people. The juxtaposition of my first and second experiences at the skatepark made me curl up and cry silently. 

“Emma, are you okay?” My newest friend was the only person who picked up my vibe. I didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk to him about it, so I wiped my tears, put on my happy face, and joined my friends.

“Whew, it’s hot.” All the boys were sweaty from their antics, so their shirts came off. 

Fuck it. My shirt came off, too.

The looks of shock on those boys faces, that I would dare bare my bralette-clad titties to the world almost made my night okay.

Almost.

Downtown at 1:00 AM is an… interesting place. I’d gotten used to the smell of booze and weed, but actually interacting with drunk people was a new experience. 

A tall, extremely inebriated man stood on the sidewalk across from Church Street, yelling, “You want real music? New Kids on the Block!”

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but as a 5-foot-nothing girl, fear won out over amusement. That fear turned out to be founded when the man started looking for a fight, asking everyone around him to put their fists up. Thank God we’d put our shirts back on. My friends and I tried to walk around him as quickly and quietly as possible, and he said, “You guys are fine. I don’t want to fight you.” We thanked him and walked past. Unfortunately, he was going in the same direction as us and getting more riled up. I didn’t even know that was possible. 

“Run,” someone in my group whispered. 

We moved as a unit up Main Street, trying to get to campus as fast as possible. All I could think was SOMEBODY HOLD MY HAND. 

No one did.

I was too full of adrenaline to be scared anymore, and I just wanted to laugh. This was not helped by the fact that my friend who was running in front of me had put his shirt on inside out, and the tag was sticking out. Obviously, laughter was inappropriate, so I stifled it by forcing myself to be scared.

Thankfully, we made it back to our dorm safely, and now we can laugh about the whole thing. Four months later, I still can’t believe that everything happened over the span of one night. I thought I didn’t have “crazy college kid stories” because I wasn’t drinking or partying; that turned out to be wrong. This isn’t my favorite experience since being here, but it was definitely the craziest. . . So far.