Author Topic: Walk of Shame  (Read 712 times)

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Walk of Shame
« on: September 28, 2004, 11:10:03 AM »
A Walk of Shame  

   And we open on a wide shot of me in a bed passed out. The flushing of a toilet and a barking dog wakes me up from near death. My eyes slowly open. The first thing I see is a Marilyn Manson poster in which Marilyn is wearing a pink leotard and is kissing a yellow cobra snake. There is a damp pillow between my legs and a soaking wet one underneath my head. I sit up, panicked. The hangover hits with a bang and my head throbs like it has never throbbed before. I can hear the sound of a water faucet from the bathroom. There’s someone in there. The water faucet is turned off. We cut to a shot of the door, and then to a tight shot of my scared-shitless face. The score slowly fades in; a percussion piece that builds in magnitude and gradually becomes louder and louder and louder inside my pounding cranium. The door cracks open and I slam my head back onto the pillow, closing my eyes.  
   I hear the person walk out of the bathroom, stomping around the small bedroom like a Clydesdale on the last leg of a race. I’m scarred to open my eyes but I can’t help but look. I slowly crack my eye lids open to find a guy- short, with shaggy brown hair- digging inside his messy closet. He’s wearing a pair of green boxers. I see thick patches of black hair on his back. He turns around and I quickly shut my eyes again, hoping he doesn’t notice.
   “Hey,” he says in a baritone voice.
   I do nothing.
   “I’m going to class,” he mumbles.
   I continue to do nothing.
   He mumbles a little more but I can’t quite make it out. I hear him continue to rummage through his closet before he makes his exit. The sound of the front door slamming shut is soon followed by the sound of a car door opening. I sit up and peak out the bedroom window, watching this guy drive away in a rundown, brown Jetta.
   I throw the covers off the bed only to discover I’m naked from the waist down. I spot my black thong next to an overflowing trash can near the bedroom door. My purse sits on the floor next to the bed. As I dig through it I find my cell phone (17 missed calls) and my wallet but I don’t find my keys, debit card, American Express, or any cash.
   We cut to a medium-shot of my pathetic reflection inside his disgusting bathroom. My eyes are bloodshot red. My hair has that I-just-got-fucked look and as I pull it back into a pony-tail I can feel a good amount of dried-up semen on the top and right side. I notice a Yager stain and a cigarette burn on this new $65 Bebe shirt. My ass and legs are sore and when I turn around I find scratch marks on my back.

   This scene begins with an extreme close-up of your face. Your eyes are watery and your cheeks are pale. There is a nurse standing beside you holding your hand while another nurse stands in between your legs next to a surprisingly young-looking doctor. You watch the doctor nod to the nurse that isn’t holding your hand and that nurse begins. They don’t tell you what they’re doing step-by-step but you know what’s going on because you’ve read and researched this. You wouldn’t have done otherwise. You’re smart, right. You know what they’re doing. You know exactly what and when everything is going to happen. We hold on the tight shot of your face as the nurse takes the sponge and cleans your vagina (you know she’s using an antiseptic because you read about it before). This is done quickly, maybe 15 seconds. The doctor then takes a needle and injects an anesthetic into your cervix. Do you feel it yet? It’s a powerful anesthetic. You should feel the numbing quickly. Then the thick rods come. This is the part you’re scared of but you shouldn’t really be scared because it’s not like you can feel it anyway. The doctor inserts the thick rods (which you know are used to absorb the fluids from the cervical area). The rods expand and your cervix opens. Do you remember when the nurse told you about this?
   We now cut to a flashback of the previous two hours. You are in the waiting room filling out paperwork. In another room a nurse takes your blood sample. In the bathroom you take a piss in a cup for your urinary analysis and after that you walk into the x-ray room for your ultrasound examination. We see you in an office talking with a counselor about birth control, the procedure, vacuum aspiration, anesthesia, tranquilizers, ovulation, breast engorgement and what to expect in the coming days and weeks after. We see you back in the waiting room trying not to stare at a 13 year-old girl and her crying mother. Next to them you see a middle-aged black woman scribbling on a clipboard while her twin sons sit on the floor fighting over a Twix bar.      
     A jump cut and we’re back on the close-up of your face. This is the money shot. Your cervix is open and the doctor inserts the soft plastic tube. You don’t feel it but in a few seconds you’re damn well going to hear it. You’re starring at the florescent light that hangs overhead and the nurse is holding your hand and when the vacuum is turned on the nurse squeezes your hand harder but you don’t feel it. The vacuum begins to suck the unwanted contents out of your uterus and continues to do so for five minutes and you start to get really worried not because you feel bad or guilty but because you feel nothing.  
   And then we fade out.

   I try to call Stephanie as I walk out the front door but my cell phone dies before the first ring. I wonder if this dude has a phone inside but I’m thinking this is college and land lines are more or less extinct in this golden age of cell phones we live in. Besides, I cannot go back inside that house.
   The sun is blinding and in these pants and this thick wool shirt I am burning up. I make a right out of the driveway, hoping this is the way back to civilization (someone told me once that whenever you’re lost, it’s best to turn right). I’ve never been on this street before but in the distance I see Essex Ave. and I know that Essex leads to Reece St. From Reece I can walk down Wellington towards Campus and get on Witfield which will take me to Forthworth and ultimately to Sweet Bay, which is the street I live on. All in all a thirty minute walk. The problem is I’ll have to walk through some part of campus and will no doubt see someone I know and I can’t let that happen. I don’t know any other way to get home, though. Fuck.
   I’m telling myself “I’m never drinking or going home with another guy again” as I make my way down Essex Ave, starring down at the gravel road as four sorostitues drive by in a white Ford Explorer. They’re singing along to Britney Spears and they start laughing as they pass me. The sun reflects off their bleach-blond hair making it near impossible for me to see any of their faces.
   When I get on Reece St. I see a big Ford pick-up truck heading towards me. I check the time on my watch and pretend to look for something in my purse as they draw closer. A fratastic guy in the passenger seat starts whistling and the dude driving gives me a thumbs up. Assholes.
   Wellington is a long god-damn road. The only good thing is that there’s a sidewalk hidden behind some thick vegetation that allows me to hide from the cars, pedestrians, and bikers that populate the busy street. It’s 11:04 which means students are just getting out of a class and heading to another. As I run-walk fast down the sidewalk, keeping my head down, I begin to dread. I dread about the rest of this walk home. I dread about finding out what the hell happened last night. I dread checking all the messages on my cell phone. I dread the possibility of catching something from that stoner shithead. I dread the shit I’m going to get from my roommates, who by the way deserve at least some of the blame for allowing me to go home with that fucking bum. I dread.
   A long establishing shot on Witfield Rd. I’m somewhat relieved to find that the street is relatively empty. No cars in the distance. I light a cigarette and we cut to a tracking shot behind me as I walk on the curb.  Hey Jude fades in on the soundtrack as I pass Bleaker St. and as soon as I see the Fortworth Ave. sign Hey Jude segues into Sinatra’s That’s Life. When I get on Fortworth I see a bus coming in the opposite direction. The bus is packed with freshman all probably on their way to Geography 1101 or Intro. to reading. I hear several girls laugh, some cheers and “woohoo’s” from the guys. One unidentifiable person screams “dirty slut!” as the bus passes me.  
   You didn’t expect the cramps to hurt this bad but these are muscle cramps and are much stronger than a simple menstrual cramp and you know this because she told you. The bleeding is another problem. If you soak another maxi in the next hour you better call someone. The Vicodin you’re taking is doing little for the pain, and you’ve already finished the half-empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc you found in the fridge (which was a stupid idea, by the way, because alcohol is going to make the bleeding worse) so what do you do now? It’s Thursday night. Stephanie and Kelly are getting ready to go out. Everyone you know is going out. You can’t, though. You have to stay home, right?

   I find this note attached to my windshield when I get home:

      hey stupid cunt, fuck you. You’rrre a piece of shitt
and you fucked with my head too long I hope
you die bitch dieeee.

   Steph and Kel are not home and I don’t have my keys so I have to crawl through my window, cutting my leg on a loose piece of wood as I pull myself inside. I immediately get in the shower to wash the sex and blood and semen and dirt off my body. This shower scene is shot from overhead with Creep from Radiohead playing in the background. We then cut to a shot of me furiously brushing my teeth and tongue as the messages on my cell phone are played through voice over. Several messages from Steph and Kel wondering where I am. At least three drunken messages from Matthew, one in which he just breathes and doesn’t say anything. Another one is of two people having sex, with loud moaning and slapping sounds in the background, and at the end Matthew says “you’re not the only one getting some ass bitch” and then click. One message is from my mom wondering why I haven’t called her in four days and another is from my dad telling me my checking account is $324 overdrawn.  
   I swallow a crumbled up Valium I find in the bottom of my sock drawer and I chug some Nyquil before climbing into bed with a towel wrapped around my chest. The scene ends with a shot of me curled into a ball underneath my covers. We slowly pull back as Creep gets louder in the background and as I take a deep breath we fade to black.

   Is it coming back to you now? It should. Piece it together. You were at The Lodge drinking chocolate martinis and that guy from your Post-Modern Lit class was there and he had a couple of buddies with him and you met one of them, the least cute one, but he was funny and told you he had some blow in his car and your eyes lit up. You walked with him outside to the parking lot, holding his hand (you realize Matthew saw all of this, right?) and you got into the passenger seat and he pulled out the little plastic baggy and it had been a while since you had done it, three weeks maybe, so you were excited. He dug his key into the bag and held it up to your nose and you thought that was really nice of him to do. You got out of the car and went to Brew Pub, leaving Steph and Kel at the Lodge, and you took a shot of Maker’s Mark with a lemon and were chain-smoking and the dude you were with (his name remains unknown to anyone) was telling you about Denmark and how cool it is and you told him you wanted to go there so bad (coke talking) and you took another shot of Maker’s and then a lemon drop and then two shots of Patron and then he orders you a Stoli and tonic and by this point you’re speaking your own language.
   And in the car you’re licking his neck while giving him a hand job as he takes another key bump while smoking a cigarette and driving all at the same time. He pulls into the driveway of a shitty, little, brick duplex. He carries you inside and throws you on his bed. The sex begins immediately. You knock over a full can of warm Miller Lite and it spills all over the pillow. He jumps on top of you and it begins and at this point you feel like you want to throw-up and you start to dry-heave but the dude covers your mouth with his hand.
   He pulls out and flips you over and your head hits the wall as he rips your underwear completely off and hurls it across the room. He starts slobbering all over your back, moving down towards your ass and is stroking himself and you start to dry-heave again. He calls you Sally and tells you how hot your ass is and then he enters inside you with his finger and you start to cry and the throw-up comes but you swallow it right away as he starts to scratch your back and… do you really want to hear the rest?

   “How’s that class going?”
   “It’s okay. My teacher is cool but we have this big paper due soon and I haven’t even started.”
   “How come?”
   “I’ve been busy with other stuff. Other classes. Work.”
   “You just have to manage and organize your time better. You have to make a schedule and determine what your priorities are and set deadlines-”
   “I know. I did all of that.”
   “Well, obviously not.”
   “I don’t want to talk about it. I work better under pressure anyway.”
   “You always say that, Melissa.”
   “Can we talk about something else?”
   “I noticed you just withdrew $450 out of your checking account.”
   “I lent it to Stephanie. She needed it for rent.”
   “I thought your rent was only $320.”
   “It is. She has other bills to pay, too.”
   “That’s a lot of money to lend to a friend. Are you sure you’re going to get it back?”
   “Yes, Dad, don’t worry about it.”
   “Just don’t call me in a week telling me that you’re broke and you need cash when-”
   “-Can we talk about something else besides this? How’s your work?”
   “It’s good. Busy.”
   A pause.
   “And Pepe. How’s he?”
   “He needs a shot. Some kind of allergy. He has an appointment with Dr. Edward on Friday.”
   “I miss him.”
   “I’m sure he misses you, too. You know, Grandma called and she said she never heard back from you after your birthday-”
   Another pause.
   “Yes? What is it?”

   We open on a medium shot of Stephanie sitting on a love seat in our living room. Stephanie is wearing a short black skirt and a blue stripped Polo shirt (mine). I am sitting in a recliner next to the love seat reading a Maxim and smoking a Parliament. Stephanie is drinking a Stella Artois. I am drinking raspberry iced tea.
   “Come on,” Stephanie says, starring at her cell phone. “Why hasn’t he called, god damnit?”
   “What time is it?”
   “It’s 11:25 and he told me he’d call when he got off work which was at 10 so what the hell is he doing?”
   The cell phone rings. Stephanie screams, jumps up, and then answers.
   “Hello?... hey… nothing, I just got back from working out… oh yeah… that sucks… Yeah I think I’m going with Melissa to Sky Bar for a drink first… no I still have to take a shower. I just got home too… yeah… okay cool… talk to you later…bye.” She hangs up and starts to jump up and down, making her way to the bathroom.
   “I knew that little bastard would call.”
   “You’re something else, kid,” I say while putting out the cigarette.
   “So are you coming with me?”
   “Don’t think so.”
   “Come on. You haven’t been out in three weeks. Just for one drink, please?”
   “Famous last words.”
   “Melissa- stop being a pussy. Let’s go. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be fun.”
   “I really don’t have the energy.”
   “Look, you don’t have a choice because I don’t know where Kelly is and I can’t show up there by myself so let’s just go for a drink and as soon as he shows up you can leave.”
   “Steph, I don’t-”
   She starts to whimper like a puppy as she runs over to my love seat, wrapping her arms around my neck.
   “Pleeeeease? One drink.”

   The first vodka has a little bite to it but after that first one you order a Greg Goose which is just so smooth and the second and third one you order go down like nothing. You chew on the ice cubes in your empty Collins glass while signaling to the Taiwanese bartender for another. The story will end with a fast montage of this evening, with Take me to the River by the Talking Heads playing in the background which segues into Black Eyed Peas which will soon turn into Outkast and then Modest Mouse and then some Oasis as we see fast jump cuts of you in a bar, taking flaming shots of 151, doing key bumps in the bathroom with Stephanie and Kelly, chain-smoking. In many shots we see Matthew in the background glaring at you. You don’t notice. You meet a guy named Kyle who tells you he’s a 2nd string placement kicker for the football team and you believe him. He takes you to a bar called Bar and you take two Yager bombs and do two lines of coke in the men’s bathroom with this big ass black dude name Bee. You walk out of the bathroom and Kyle has ordered you a double SKYY and tonic and you tell him you want to go and he takes you to his place. At his house you get a text message from Matthew that reads “why are you doing this” and The Who plays on the soundtrack and we end with a shot of Kyle’s bedroom door, the camera slowly pulling back as you enter the room with Kyle and his roommate Brett following behind you. The door slams shut. We fade to black.


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