There is a burning feeling in the center of my chest. I had forgotten how much pain there was here in the middle. How deep the despair runs, way down in my bones, beyond me, back to the first ones forced to wade in the water. A thread of sorrow, linking all of my lineage, now struggles to find its release through me. I won’t let it come out; it hurts too much. The wound grows more infected. I drink until the pain surrenders to my will, the captain of this vessel.

“Cheers,” I say in drunken stupor, raising my glass. “I wish everyone success and good tidings”—I burp—“for the upcoming midterms. How is it October fourth already? Are we in some kind of time warp? ’Cause time seems to be flying. Am I right or am I right?” I guzzle the drink. My fifth.

Stephen Clark and Connor are at the dinner. Both white men, neither one my Prince Charming so I hardly pay them any attention. There are also other students whom I’ve never met, so I don’t focus on them either. Professor Alexander-Grant invited students from varying backgrounds with different political views in the hopes of having a “lively, dynamic discussion.”

“Where are you all from?” the Times journalist asks. “All over, I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m actually from Wisconsin, believe it or not,” Stephen says. “My parents are both very liberal, which is unfortunate, but hey, no one’s perfect.”

Our guest of honor, who must be conservative also, laughs along with Stephen.

“That’s not funny,” I say before burping again. “Liberalism is some people’s only hope for freedom. People like me,” I say, pointing to myself. “Stephen, I had no idea you came from a liberal family.” My words are slurred and clearly annoy him. I cradle my chin in my hands with both my elbows on the table. “If your parents are lefties, then why are you like this? Are you hiding something? Are you secretly gay?” I say, whispering loudly. “I hear a lot of conservatives are in the closet. You can tell me. Don’t be afraid.”

Everyone gasps in shock. Professor Alexander-Grant scolds me and tells me I’m being inappropriate and that she’s shocked to see me like this. “So am I,” I respond, unphased. “Life is a joke. It’s all so funny, isn’t it?” I laugh uproariously, slapping my hand against the table several times.