It Happened One Night

Digital cameras where not invented at this point in my life. If they were, I couldn't afford them. My apologies.

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"There isn't a taco in the world I haven't fallen in love with," says a wild-eyed guy across from me to no one in particular.

"Excuse me?" I reply. My hands cuffed behind me as we sit in the back of a police van in Spain, the sweet feeling of intoxication I'd felt just an hour before slowly deserting me for one of nausea and terror.

"Tacos, Catherine," repeats Wild Eyes. "Don't tell me you don't like tacos! Or better yet, gyros. Hmmm, those are so good. I could go for some Turkish food right now."

I wanted to tell him that right now we were going nowhere, except possibly jail. But I was too tired to burst his bubble and too scared to care about lunatics craving greasy foreign food in the middle of the night.

"Who's Catherine?" I asked instead.

"You are, brown eyes."

"My name's Annah, remember?"

"Well, I'm Daniel, and tonight you're Catherine. Just like that Zorro girl, but a little chubbier."

Then he laughed, and told me for the tenth time I was too prissy to go to jail.

7 months before...

Some people chalk up their lack of social skills to years of high school torment, yet for me, that time was a breeze in comparison to college. Transitioning from being part of the "popular crowd" to a complete nobody in a sea of snooty bitches and sex-deprived boys was a phenomenon that took me by surprise and threw me for a loop.

I initially attempted to acclimate by joining a sorority, then soon realized I had no interest in paying for a group of friends I didn't like and preferred wine stands to keg stands on any given day.

Since most of my friends went to community colleges and others got married straight out of high school, my social group was limited, to say the least.

I eventually found solace in my intership at Univision, immersing myself in research with the news crew and staying up way past my bed time. My fellow intern and partner in crime Gabriela spent too much time gawking at telenovela stars and newscasters in the make-up room with me, their faces transformed into something beautiful by the expert hands of artists as they sipped coffee or wine. We just knew that life would lead us directly to our dreams, her behind the cameras as a producer, me front and center as a reporter.

When Gabriela passed away unepextedly that winter from pneumonia, I lost all inclinations toward what was supposed to be my stepping stone to a career in the limelight. Soon after, I quit my internship and changed my major, the first of many times until I finally settled for whatever didn't require much thinking.

The weeks after her death, I took a new liking to my elective dance class, losing myself in badly choreographed routines and eventually striking a friendship with a feisty Puerto Rican named Roxy.

That semester, Roxy and I bonded over "Abstract Dancing For Beginners." The following, over "Basics of Flamenco" and cheap tequila. One March morning, as I sweated on the treadmill at the university gym, I overheard two girls squealing over their summer trip to Spain. I couldn't help but be consumed by jealousy, and the deep-rooted desire to get the fuck out of town.

First step in my poorly planned execution of said ambitious journey? Meeting Roxy for coffee.

Me: I need to talk to you.

Roxy: Oh God. Please don't say you're pregnant.

Me: No way! I'm the Queen of Condoms, don't you know?

Roxy: (smirks loudly) Is your crown made of latex?

Me: No, it's made of penises. Focus, woman!

Roxy: Focusing.

Me: I want to go to Spain for the summer study-abroad program.

Roxy: You charged spaghetti sauce last night. How is it exactly you intend to make this happen?

Me: It's called student loans. You in?

Roxy: Um... What's the legal age for drinking over there again?

Me: I knew you wouldn't disappoint me.

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I can sit here and tell you how departing for the motherland that summer with sixty strangers changed my life.

Or how living with a Spanish family who sat down for dinner every night shaped the way I'd like things to be if I'm ever blessed with a family of my own.

How Spain is infinitely beautiful, vibrating with a life that refuses to be dimmed by things like work or stress.

How regardless of how many gorgeous Spanish men hit on me during those months, I stayed true to my boyfriend at the time.

How when I returned, that same boyfriend I'd been so loyal to cheated on me in the stealthiest of fashions.

How I decided then and there being faithful to "boyfriends" or "significant others" at such a young age is a complete waste of time that should only be spent chasing pleasurable pursuits.

How Eat. Pray. Love. pales in comparison to all the things I've experienced abroad on a budget.

How we snuck away to Madrid without our professors knowing and I fell madly in love with the city, hoping to one day return for more than a night.

How when I did return eight years later, I fell in love once again, this time with a man who ignited my soul and changed the course of my life with his sad, blue eyes.

Alas, this is only a prelude to a story about one night, the very last of our trip.

... And I'll tell it to you tomorrow, as soon as I get some sleep.