seventeen.

I'm tipsy as we trip down the stairs and into the bar that's serving pints of vodka red bull. I'm drunk by the end of the first bar where I've consumed not only mine, but numerous other people's rum and cokes and had a rousing celebration in the bathroom with the Brits on account of it being my birthday. I'm wasted going into O'Neills, which explains why I'm hanging onto the arm of the British boy and demanding love with an extra round of vodka red bulls.

The last thing I remember is being in a completely different bar and having the DJ, after wishing me a very happy birthday, insist that I chug a Long Island Ice Tea as fast as possible. Somewhere mid-chug, my memory of that night ends abruptly.

I wake up in my bed out of a long and perplexing dream to Rose and Chastity giggling uncontrollably and chattering in glee.

“Omigod, it was SO amazing..... you don’t understand....”

“Wait, was that when you were in front of the building on the bench?”

“No, that’s when we were under the hotel.”

“Wait, where was I?”

“I think you were with your guy over on the....”

“What the FUCK?!” I launch upright. “It’s my birthday,” I add, glowering at Chastity.

“It hasn’t been your birthday for six, no, seven hours, Anne.”

“It’s my birthday. It’s my fucking birthday and I want to sleep.”

“Fine then, we’ll go outside.”

“SLUTS!” I yell after them as they pull the door shut.

10 minutes later, I hear the key in the door. Then I hear a knock. Then I hear the key in the lock a few more times, a cracking sound, and muffled swearing. The knocking then becomes more panicked and insistent. I can’t remember a single thing from last night except that I'm royally pissed off, so I decide not to let them in.

It's starting to come back, just a little bit. Lots of shouting, running around, leaning over a toilet bowl... yes, there was definitely that.

And why do I remember dreaming and then being in an elevator? How did I even get back to my room?

There are more voices outside now, one with a strong English accent. It sounds like a real group effort, one that now includes our hotel neighbors. Heh heh heh. I'm enjoying this way more than I should be, in my half-drunk, half-awake state.

More parts of the night are now coming back to me in pieces, none of them chronological. Setting off for the hotel, lines zigzagging before me on the sidewalk, as concerned onlookers shout from below, “Where are your friends?”

Good question. The vague feeling that I was particularly mad at Chastity, that might have something to do with it. Throwing up; in a bathroom of a club, in a kebab shop, over the ocean with Rose holding my hair back, an unidentified man waiting for her in the background.

Leaning over the stone ledge, looking straight down at the waves, then, curled up on a bench, yelling…. Not sure at who…..

Running from someone…..

Sitting on a pool table, yelling again, this time at the British Boy, who… Oh God…. Why was I so angry at him?

Not wanting to remember, I turn instead to the issue of my return to the hotel. I have the distinct recollection of dreaming, then being in an elevator, then dreaming again. Did I wake up and leave my room in the middle of the night? Or did I just dream that I was in an elevator? Too exhausted to think any further, I allow myself to drift back into sleep.

It’s not until later that morning that I figure it out.

“Omigod, I passed out in the elevator,” is my response to Chastity’s wake-up call. She and Rose are scurrying around gathering up bikini bottoms, skirts, and flip-flops at a manic pace, and are wholly unconcerned about my news.

“That’s great, Anne,” Chastity answers from the depths of her suitcase, “We have like five minutes to get out of here.”

“I PASSED! OUT!” I shoot upright and scream, realizing that neither the belligerence nor alcohol is out of my system. “WHERE WERE YOU TWO?! I had to find my way back to the hotel ALONE!!!”

They don’t pause for a second in their tornado of activity, acknowledging only the clock about every two seconds. I look too; it’s 7:30 am, far before we’re due to depart.

“Why are we leaving so early?” I demand.

Chastity and Rose exchange a nervous look. Rose quickly buries herself in her packing, and Chastity clears her throat,

“Well, ah… let’s just say we’re not on the security guards’ best side right now.”

“Why not?” I growl, getting to my feet. Where is my skirt? I can only hope I removed it post-elevator.

“Well, they kind of saw us with these guys, kind of…. You know… in front of… on the lawn of… the hotel.”

This kills me, not for the fact that they were being completely indecent, of course, but for the fact that, as my unconscious form was being shuttled up and down the Aladdin aparthotel elevator shaft all night, they were outside having a grand old time. On my birthday. So I tell Chastity exactly what comes to mind.

“You SLUT! You WHORE!”

It sounds eerily familiar. Chastity rolls her eyes.

“I know, Anne. I heard you all the times last night.”

Uh oh. I don’t have a flashback for this one, but I’m not surprised that that’s what my subconscious has to say on the subject of Chastity Andrews. Damn Long Island Iced Tea. Never again.

“Anyway, so we’re not really welcome in this hotel anymore. Especially if you passed out in the elevator, I’m sure that didn’t help things.”

That’s right- I vaguely remember a security guard helping me into the room. Oh God- is he the one who took my skirt off? My mind immediately fills with irrational fears- made worse by the fact that, considering I’ll never truly remember what happened- they might not be so irrational after all.

I vault out of bed and start packing. Suddenly, I’m more than ready to head home.