story of my life (Rebeca Felix)

Seeing as there are a lot of events in my life that most people, including close friends of mine, do not believe, I think I would like to read a story where I was the protagonist. I think it would be a story that would give everyone a good laugh and a good cry, which is a pretty good balance in my opinion. I like the way that I see things (the world, people, reactions to events) and I believe that I could spin a pretty true story of my life as the narrator of my own story. True, maybe not real - this is a difference that some people get confused about. Truth to me is the portrayal of something that is a human reaction to or interpretation of certain events. Real is what actually happens in "real" life; traffic, pimples on picture day, a mail box full of credit card offers but nothing back from your best friend, etc.

As the protagonist and the narrator I think that I would have a fun time reading what I've written. I only like to write things that I myself want to read because I try to affect people, including myself, in certain ways with words and motion and catastrophically hilarious events that take place every damn day. My mother tells me that I am dramatic and have been since I was able to say the word "no," so creative liberties have been and will be taken in my work, as they should be in narrative, my words. I am alright at explaining my thoughts, but I'm better at showing them, so lets give this a go, shall we?

Rebeca was drunk at the beach again. It was the Fourth of July and she and the "crazies" (thats what they called themselves) had filled Crystal Geiser water bottles with the vodka Ally had shoplifted from the CVS off of Pacific Coast Highway earlier that morning. Rebeca was still a little iffy on the whole shoplifting thing. The first time it happened she couldn't even believe it. Sara and Ally had jumped into the car, Rebeca's dad's old Jeep, and asked her to stop at CVS to pick up some tanning oil on the way to the bay. Sure, thought Rebeca, that sounds nice. Lets slather ourselves up and bronze our way to the height of summer smelling of coconut and synthetic banana fragrance. Ally walked down the liquor aisle and picked up a handle of Grey Goose by its plastic security cap and shoved it into the folds of her beach towel, the one with Twister dots that draped over the top of her beach bag. While Rebeca hyperventilated Ally went into the bathroom and all I could hear was my heart pounding hotly in the space between my ears. She emerged a moment later with a lollipop she hadn't paid for tinting her tongue bright red. Don't freak, she said, and went to the checkout. Just this, she said, winking at the checkout boy, a gangly, pale thing who swam in the folds of his CVS polo shirt. He giggled and said it was on him. Thanks, she cooed and we followed her out. Since that day Rebeca was strictly a getaway driver and half a dozen times later, here they were, on the beach in the blazing July sun, hammered on gin and Vitamin Water. Rebeca laid back on her towel and let the sun bake the sweat right out of her, but it was too hot. She made her way to the water and walked into the gentle, waveless shallows of the bay. Bile rose in her throat and she ran back to the towels and threw up into a Chipotle bag. Sara and Ally patted her back and suggested that Rebeca get out of the sun for a while. Rebeca nodded, feeling another wave of nausea rise up from the pit of her stomach. She felt dizzy and blurry and needed to sit down. Ally led her to the shaded space between the expensive beach houses on the waterfront where people kept their surfboards. Rebeca slumped against the stucco wall and moaned. Shit, said Sara. Rebeca felt hot and sleepy and had the overwhelming sensation that someone had taken a dull knife to her esophagus. She faded in and out of consciousness to the frantic voices of Sara on the phone with someone, trying to find a ride home - Rebeca was a mess and couldn't drive, hell she couldn't walk. The next thing Rebeca saw was two pairs of polished black boots on the ground in front of her. She looked up and saw two policemen standing over her, Sara and Ally off to the side, somehow pale and tan at the same time. Hello, said one of the men from behind mirrored sunglasses. Rebeca squinted at their golden name tags and smiled. Hello Officer Collier, she slurred and then vomited on his boots.

Thank you and have a nice night. Love, Rebeca.