The Quintessence of Macy Jensen

I wouldn’t say I complained a lot, but when I had something to complain about, then you couldn’t stop me. Right now, as I sat in my room with paper in my lap and pen in hand, I groaned and banged my head backwards into my plaster wall. My mother soon stood at my door, questioning if I was alright; and sane. I just nodded and she left me in my solitude to try to write a two-page essay on why Romeo Montague let his love for Juliet kill him. I, as I chewed on my pen, had already composed my answer: he was a love-struck teenage boy.

For some reason I wished that some boy would love me enough to let his love for me lead to his downfall, if it ever came to that. It was horrible yet romantic at the same time, and I then realized why Shakespeare was(and still is)a prodigy; he could make the worse situations into something wonderful despite the lingering hint of horridness. He had an implacable way with words that skyrocketed him to fame. I stood from my bed and tossed the one page essay to the floor.

I swept my hair into a loose bun as I left my room in search of something to eat. My stomach growled in protest as I descended and my mother looked up from her soap opera. It was a quick walk to end my hunger as I pulled open a cabinet and grabbed a bag of chips from the depths. I was soon back in my room after a quick conversation with my mother, or a reprimand as she scolded me for leaving my cat outside last night. But unfortunately I would have rather stayed with my mother and let her scold me to no end than to come up here, sit on my bed and stare at the paper dumbfounded like I had for the past forty-five minutes.

I led a rather boring life, don‘t I?



Let me get this clear; I hate parties, I hate parties, and I hate parties.

I stood on the porch of a random house of a random kid with random drinks being tossed around like party favors. I didn’t like it one bit, but I took in a breath and held my head high as I walked through the ajar door. I first noticed the mass of bodies that encased the “dance-floor”, which was actually a living room with the couches pushed to the walls and the porcelain in a closet. Next was the potent smell of alcohol, it’s aroma choking the room and barely letting it take a breath.

Finally, as I progressed further in the house, the music increased in volume and the bass resonated in my body and made my core tremble. This was a part if I’ve ever seen one. But let’s be honest, I haven’t seen many and this was my first one since middle school. It was like a whole new world once I stepped into the house, I felt different and I couldn’t say it was a bad feeling.

A cup was thrust in my cupped hands and I looked down at the vibrating liquid. It was brown and murky, and after taking a whiff and reeling back I could tell it was alcohol. I never had tasted beer before besides the few sips my father granted me when I was a wee toddler. So I shrugged and lifted the cup to my lips, waiting for the liquid to stream down my throat. After that I looked straight ahead, watched the scene in front of me and absentmindedly took another sip from the cup.



By the time the clock barely hanging on the wall read two a.m. I was on the dance floor with an empty cup in hand, mind you it was my second cup. I guess what I’am really doing is trying to justify what I am about to do, but in all honesty, I need to show my true colors to the world, right? Or is that some therapy bullshit they like to feed you so you think they’re doing their job and you’re getting better? Oh well.

A boy, a boy on the football team no less approached me at the moment and wrapped his hands around my waist, pulling me into his chest. I gladly obliged and let him sway me back and forth, my head laying on his chest and my cup scattered on the floor with the rest of them. While the song played and the voice sung the chorus for a second time the jock pulled my chin so I was staring into his blurry eyes. He leaned down and kissed me then. I was shocked, sure, but not as shocked as I would have if I was not a little tipsy. I know I know, I’m supposed to be that nerd who hoards herself in her room. Well, I decided while I was checking up on my blog, why not try to have a little fun?

But anyway, the boy pulled my closer and I wrapped my hands around his neck, which I had to stand on my tippy-toes to reach. And we stayed like that for the rest of the party; or until we were ushered home by the owner of the house. But I didn’t leave without a goodbye kiss from the stranger, and I bounded home with the prospect of him sending me a sweet text in the morning. If I knew who that mystery man was, I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.