All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Girls Don't Eat
“Do you remember when you picked me up from my friend’s house? We drove in your silver Infinity G37x sports car. It was around eleven at night, maybe ten. You sped through the roads, the music loud. We went to your house, and your mom was in the living room. Did you introduce me to her? I don’t think you did. You immediately sat in front of the computer and went to “www.dominos.com” to order pizza.
“Ryan, you ordered pizza last night!” Your mom yelled from the couch.
“I didn’t finish it mom” you responded.
“That’s why I stored it in the fridge. Your ordered two kinds!”
“I didn’t like them.”
We then went upstairs, in a small room with a couch, a nice sized television on a brown stand, and a clear glass coffee table in between the couch and the flat screen. That was where you made me watch a horror movie – my biggest fear. I remember asking for water, as I saw you drinking from your water bottle. Do you remember laughing at my question? I can easily remember that memory if I wanted too. I was so shocked back then, by your lack of consideration and courtesy, that I honestly don't believe it will ever escape my mind.
It was late at night, and my stomach grumbled, asking me for something to eat. During the movie, I decided to focus on something else besides the paranormal activity that was taking place on the screen. I began wondering about the pet duck my friends told me you had.
"Is it true you have a pet duck?" I decided I would ask you.
I kept my view on the screen, but out of the corner of my eye I could see your blank face turn into a gigantic grin.
"So, is it still around?" I asked again.
You began to laugh, and so I decided to face you.
"Yeah" was the only thing you said, and you reached under the couch for a blanket.
"Why?" At the time, I felt I needed more details about this pet duck of yours.
"What do you mean why?"
"Why a duck? Why not a cat, or a dog, a pig even? Many people have those running around their house nowadays" I explained.
You chuckled again, this time more to yourself. "Okay fine, I’ll tell you the story. So Jake, Leon, and I were outside and we shot a duck as it was sort of flying, and the bullet went through his left wing," my heart began to knock a little heavily against my chest when you had gotten to that part, but I said nothing as you continued. "And so when he landed in my yard, we all went and to look to see if it was dead, but it seemed to be in okay condition - all good. So now he just lives in my backyard, and I just feed it since it can't really fly anywhere or swim .... due to, you know ... some head trauma, minor abrasions and fractures, and stuff like that. His name is Frank."
My eyes remained wide and, listening to my lungs, I took a subtle deep breath in. "Oh" I said and glanced back at the television, "let's just watch this, it looks really good now," I lied.
“Ryannnnn!” I heard your mom yell.
Finally – the pizza delivery man was here.
“Stay here” you said as you jumped from the couch – literally – and made your way downstairs.
My stomach had calmed down just a bit - but only after I pictured myself taking a bite of the warm and melted mozzarella, along with the soft, yet crispy, dough. I then heard the faint sound of cabinets opening and then slamming and a clash of metal – forks and knives probably – and then finally I heard footsteps making their way closer to the room where I sat in.
But suddenly, the footsteps that were growing nearer had stopped, and were interrupted by a voice.
“Ryan!” there was a pause, and then the voice continued, “Ryan, aren’t you going to offer the girl a piece? Your ordered three pizza's this time, and a pasta bowl, and a brownie volcano cake!”
My ears could listen to the noise you were making while finishing your bite, then the scuffling and gulping that came after your obnoxious chewing, while swallowing. Then finally, I focused on the clearing of your throat that occurred before you answered.
“Mom!” – you yelled “girl’s don’t eat!”