I remember the taste of having my first Manhattan cocktail. I was in a bar in New York City. A Manhattan seemed fitting. It also sounded very adult. Very new. Very different. Very not me. The bartender asked me if bourbon would be okay, and I nodded. I remember my friends getting a round of shots for the group after—their cheapest tequila with lime and tajin. I don’t remember what it tasted like but I remember heavily disliking my drink. I chugged it anyway. It cost me almost twenty-five dollars plus New York City tax plus tip, so I definitely remember not wanting it to go to waste. I remember feeling both drinks a little too fast as I stumbled into the subway. I remember flirting with my friend, Inés, while our two mostly sober companions, Gabriel and Mari, ensured we didn’t fall into the tracks. I think I remember her flirting back. I don’t remember sitting on her lap while we were on the train with her hands around my waist, but I remember joking that Mari should make sure she slept between us that night since we girls shared the bed while Gabriel slept on the floor.

I remember being too loud on the train, deciding I was too cool to sit on the subway train, struggling to cling to the pole, and Inés supporting me by holding my hand. My cheeks grew warmer when she complimented my little black dress while the girls behind me gave us dirty looks. My friends tried to convince me that I was plastered (I was just a little drunk). I don’t remember getting off the train, but I remember not getting lost. I felt proud of myself for being the drunk but successful guide. We walked a block or two before finding the club we intended to enter. I remember looking up, getting dizzy, and reading the red neon sign. Rick’s Cabaret. I remember getting intimidated by the bouncers outside. I suddenly felt sober when I had to tilt my head up to meet the glare of an insanely buff man who was at least six feet tall. I handed the scary, well-dressed man my license as he eyed me and my friends up and down. He opened the door before handing us over to another similar-looking man who could easily be his brother. I remember handing my coat to a beautiful woman with long black hair as we handed her twenty-dollar bills as an entrance fee. I don’t remember being anxious and jittery, but I remember obnoxiously staring at her obvious cleavage. I don’t remember apologizing, but my friends told me I did (I hope I did). I remember Mari clinging on to me as women in nothing but lingerie and high heels walked by us. Gabriel led us to the front of the room, where we luckily managed to get a table. I remember looking up at the stage, mesmerized at the sight in front of me— a woman with jet-black hair dancing gracefully to the beat as she slowly took her lacy black bra off. I remember her waving at us, blowing a kiss our way, with her bare chest on display. Gabriel told me to pick up my jaw from the floor as the dancer crawled towards us. I don’t remember ordering drinks but I remember being handed one anyway. I remember Mari uncomfortably ordering more drinks for the table as I watched the dancer bend down to talk to Inés. I remember her asking Inés what the occasion was, to which I yelled, “it’s her birthday!”. This earned Inés a free dance from her later.

I remember seeing a lanky guy walk towards us. He waved as I enthusiastically offered him my seat. I remember introducing him to my friends. His name was Angelo. He was a boy who I met on Tinder a week prior while I was in DC. This was our first time meeting, it was our first date, and it was also our first time at a strip club. I remember sitting on the arm of the chair. I don’t remember shifting towards his lap but I remember seeing Angelo be just as mesmerized as me, slightly flustered as he drank his beer. I remember feeling his hand move respectfully around my waist— not too high, not too low. He bought Inés a dance once he found out he dropped in on her birthday. After my fourth (or fifth?) drink, the night became more of a blur. I remember moving onto Mari’s lap so Angelo could get a dance. I remember him getting off the seat after so I could sit down and also get a dance. I remember the feeling of the dancer’s soft skin as she moved around my lap. She smelled like cherry vanilla, while her curly brown hair smelled like coconut. She asked if she could touch me, and I nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically. I remember Mari squealing next to me as she grew more comfortable. I don’t remember how many dances Gabriel got, but I remember feeling grossed out seeing one of my best friends (pretty much my brother) horny and smacking ass. I remember Mari getting a dance while Inés fell in love with a shy blonde stripper who had a thick Russian accent. I remember making a joke about Mari having to pray to God a little extra after tonight since she was very conservative and religious. I remember her laughing as she awkwardly slapped the stripper’s butt cheeks, screaming, “Yes, girl! Get it!” before the stripper turned around and rubbed Mari’s face between her boobs. I remember Angelo handing me more singles to throw at the girls on stage and I remember having nothing left once we walked out of the club.

I remember getting pizza with my friends at 2:30 in the morning. I don’t remember them disappearing, but I remember Angelo and I being left alone. I remember wanting a smoothie and something sweet. Angelo made it his mission to get me both. I remember him feeling proud of himself when we walked by a smoothie truck and a café within a block of each other. I don’t remember walking twenty minutes towards Times Square but I remember sitting on a wet bench as it drizzled more and more. We watched a man, clearly high on something, doing tricks on a skateboard in the rain, as I ate a slice of tres leches and he ate his crème brûlée. We tried to stifle our laughs when the man wiped out and walked it off like nothing happened. I remember Angelo walking me to the train station at four in the morning, hugging me before I entered the subway.

I barely remember the 15-minute train ride back to the hotel, but I remember feeling happy, and excited. Content. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t remember. I didn’t remember the man who raped me at work. I didn’t remember how his hands felt all over me. I didn’t remember how he bent me over as he forced himself in. I didn’t remember how he felt inside me. I didn’t remember his friends bullying me for “making it up” when I reported it. I didn’t remember how disgusting I felt after. I didn’t remember sitting in the hospital, waiting for a specific kind of nurse to arrive and run tests. I didn’t remember being swabbed all over my body. I didn’t remember being interviewed left and right by cops and human resources I didn’t remember the sleepless nights. I didn’t remember the nightmares. I didn’t remember my ex-fiancé who cheated on me. I didn’t remember him breaking up with me so he could “fuck other girls”. I didn’t remember the argument I had with my ex about our cats and how he got to keep both after the break-up. I didn’t remember the whispers that people exchanged at work whenever I walked by. I didn’t remember losing all my so-called friends due to rumors that were created about me. I didn’t remember the pity and concern that my family always gave me. I didn’t remember writing goodbye letters. I didn’t remember my sister constantly checking in on me to make sure I was still breathing. I didn’t remember the look of disappointment from my mother. I didn’t remember how my car needed an oil change. I didn’t remember all the bills I had to pay. I didn’t remember how cluttered my room had gotten. I didn’t remember any of my upcoming due dates. I didn’t remember losing myself and my independence over the past year.

Instead, I remember being baffled by the fact that Inés spent the whole night giving out twenty-dollar bills. I remember gaining so much respect for strippers and sex workers. I remember the feminine energy that I was surrounded with all night. I remember trying to buy a $500 bottle of champagne for Inés. I remember my card declining at the bar due to ‘fraudulent activity’ (Thank you, PNC). I remember feeling respected by Angelo. I remember being treated like a girl, not just a piece of meat in a little black dress. I remember him following the sidewalk rule attentively while we walked around Times Square with his hands in his pockets. I remember making it back to the hotel. I remember struggling to find my hotel key and embarrassingly pushing a door that was meant to be pulled. I remember the best hot shower I’ve ever had. I remember Angelo texting me if I made it home safe. I remember texting him back “alive and in one piece”. For the first time, I felt free of all my worries. For the first time, I remembered what it felt like to be happy. I remembered what it was like be carefree. To simply exist in the moment. I finally remembered what it felt like to be myself.