03-11-19
“We are the hero of our own story,” Mary McCarthy.
If we’re all the heroes of our own story, then that would lead one to assume that at some point we would also inevitably have to be the villains of someone else’s. I wish I could say that I have only played this role once, but that would be a lie. I don’t know how many times I would be construed as the villain of someone’s story, and I’m sure it’s quite a few more than I’d ever recall.
As a young heterosexual male, the process of losing your virginity is not only supposed to be a noteworthy event but also something that you wear as some sort of badge—another mark of privilege in a society that lauds over creating a distinct power dynamic between men and women. I very much operated by the “no kissing and telling” philosophy and assumed that I would use the same standard across all sexual and romantic experiences.
My senior year in High School I was part of an exchange program with a school in Mexico, in fall of 2004 for several weeks between October and November, I along with about a dozen U.S. students hosted students from our sister school in Mexico. During this time the students involved in the program were constantly interacting, if we weren’t in class, we were working with this program. This forced a lot of us into interacting with each other when we otherwise would never hang out.
I was one of the oldest members in the exchange program, and as such, I was one of the only students that were able to drive. I became the defacto chauffer to several students, one of them being a young lady, the student she was hosting, and her boyfriend that couldn’t do the exchange element of the program but wanted to be involved in every other possible way. Both the young lady and her boyfriend became quick friends, I often felt a sense of exclusion from my classmates having moved as frequently as we did, and it was nice to start feeling more included again.
Throughout the program I became relatively good friends with the boyfriend, he was the only one I felt like I had anything in common with, we even began hanging out independently from the program. That made it hard when we did the exchange, going from Arizona to Mexico—I felt like I was out a buddy and no one to commiserate with.
On the bus ride down I learned from the young lady, that she and her boyfriend had broken up a week prior, (news to me,) and that she wasn’t too distraught as she was already interested in someone else…me. I was proud to stay virtuous to my honor. For several days her advances became more bold and blatant, and it wasn’t as if I didn’t think she was attractive, I just felt some odd sense of loyalty to her now ex-boyfriend that had become a buddy.
At the end of our time there we had a large beach campout. There were several dozen students on the beach with a bonfire, and all the chaperones thought it would be in the best interest to sleep in a beach house as opposed to out on the beach with those they were tasked with chaperoning. As the night waned, so did the inhibitions of many students. I had tried my best to avoid any interaction, I feared being complicit to anything that could get me in trouble with the school. When the young lady first propositioned me early in the night I was able to say “no,” and with gusto, besides I had plenty enough to keep me occupied, I had my minidisc player, a dozen minidiscs, my sketchbook—I would be occupied until it was time to leave, at least that’s what I thought. As the night was turning into the early morning the young lady came around my tent once more, and as fate would have it all my batteries died at that moment; no music to distract my attention and no light for my sketchbook. I felt somewhat cornered with no excuses having already said “no,” and having indicated that I was “tired.” She asked if she could at least hang out as her tentmate was off getting into her own trouble and she didn’t want to hang out alone. It was a legitimate enough excuse, so I relented. And thus, began the slippery slope.
The next morning, we were the last to wake and emerge from the tents. It felt like being branded with a scarlet letter. Everyone’s glares felt piercing, but now wasn’t the time to address it. The rest of the trip felt like a blur, it was all an effort to get to the next moment, as the next moment brought me closer to being done with the whole ordeal. Instead of basking in my newly developed “manhood” my first thoughts were filled with waves of shame and anxiety.
It wasn’t long after that that I learned the young lady had not in fact broken up with her boyfriend. It was at this point that all I could think about was the shame. I had let myself down. I had fallen short of my own principles and was complicit in someone else’s infidelity. It didn’t matter that we were all so young, I still valued their relationship as a commitment that I had helped to violate; it didn’t matter that it was under false pretenses, some part of me felt like it knew the entire time.
I spent the next several weeks/months denying anything had happened to everyone that would ask. I became paranoid that the young girl’s boyfriend was going to jump me, and truthfully, I thought he’d be in the right to do so. It’s one of the only times in my life that I was actually fearful of a fight, mainly because I knew I was in the wrong, I knew whatever happened to me, I had it coming. So I did all that I could think of, I pleaded with others and tried to solicit their support. After being back for a few days, and after trying to befriend some guys that were as big as the boyfriend, he eventually cornered me in a hallway. I was getting ready to take my punishment like “a man” after all I had “earned” it. Instead, in an act that will forever live as one of the most respectable actions I have seen he confronted me. He said he had heard that I was trying to get “protection,” and that being cheated on sucked, but hearing that I thought he was the type of person to solve his problems with violence hurt more as he had a much higher respect for me than I had evidently held in him.
Those words left a lasting mark in a way that no bruise ever could, and the shame that I carried from the entire experience would go on to fundamentally and unhealthily shape my perception of intimate relationships for the next few years.
Lyrics:
[Verse 1]
Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down because I want it all
It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss
Now I’m falling asleep and she’s calling a cab
While he’s having a smoke and she’s taking a drag
Now they’re going to bed and my stomach is sick
And it’s all in my head, but she’s touching his
[Pre-Chorus]
Chest now, he takes off her dress now
Let me go
I just can’t look, it’s killing me
And taking control
[Chorus]
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis
But it’s just the price I pay, destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes, ’cause I’m Mr. Brightside
[Instrumental][Verse 2]
I’m coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down because I want it all
It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss
Now I’m falling asleep and she’s calling a cab
While he’s having a smoke and she’s taking a drag
Now they’re going to bed and my stomach is sick
And it’s all in my head, but she’s touching his
[Pre-Chorus]
Chest now, he takes off her dress now
Let me go
‘Cause I just can’t look, it’s killing me
And taking control
[Chorus]
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis
But it’s just the price I pay, destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes, ’cause I’m Mr. Brightside
[Outro]
I never
I never
I never
I never