Does the Truth Have to Hurt?

A little advice to the twenty-somethings: Be careful whom you get drunk with and, if you plan to go out and to get loaded, LEAVE YOUR CELLPHONE AT HOME.   I realize my advice may contradict what other presumably responsible adults like your parents have told you.  I remember my own mother insisting I take a fully charged phone whenever I went out, in case I needed to call her or a taxi when I wasn’t in any shape to drive home.  Believe me, the much more likely scenario is that you’ll get good and drunk, call your girlfriend, and say something you can’t take back.  You’ll still end up walking home.

I did something I shouldn’t have last night.  I went out to a local club with Silvio, Maria’s brother.  I should have known better, because back in 2010 when I hung out with him and his friends, I was the butt of more jokes than I could possibly translate here.  Let’s just say the Spanish I learned would turn any mother’s hair white.  Anyway, I am back here now, and I am dating Maria.  I had to show Silvio that I wasn’t intimidated by him anymore.  I’d done a lot of clubbing in Manhattan since then, and frankly Silvio seems really “small town” to me now.  He can dance well, but he is all swagger.

However, I was not expecting to be drugged and dragged onto a Reggae-ton dance floor.  Let’s say it was a mind and body-bending experience.  The sad thing happened when the night was over and I regained consciousness in the back hallway of the club.  Silvio came up and crouched down to tell me, de hombre a hombre, that his sister, my Maria, was dating Ramos the Professor.   I didn’t care that it was two a.m., I called her anyway.   I couldn’t even frame a sentence at first. I could hardly breathe.

“Will, que pasa?  Are you alright?” she asks.

“Are you still seeing him?” I blurt.



“The professor.”

“Si.  Por que?” she says.

I yell, Arrggggghhh, right into the phone, and Maria hangs up.

The truth is that we see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe.  And sometimes we get it all wrong.  When I asked Maria if she was seeing the Professor, she thought I literally meant “seeing” him.   Silvio was messing with me, and — in my altered state from the evening’s debauchery — I let him.  Had I left my cell phone at home, I would have saved Maria and myself some heartache.  If I had waited, I would have asked her gently.  If I’d waited, I would have realized Silvio was playing with me.  But, sadly, Maria’s remark drove one stinging truth home better than a syringe could.


“Will, you do not trust me.”


Check out what others have to say about truth serums:


4 Comments on “Does the Truth Have to Hurt?

  1. Pingback: The Liebster Award | 1874: First Impressionist Exhibition

    • Did I say THANK YOU?! I’ve been blogging for years but finally just connecting with real people. I googled the rules, and I think it would be a true honor to accept your nomination for the Liebster Award. My first (obviously).

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