Blackout

This isn't a complicated story. It's a human story, filled with senseless errors. I planned the evening a month in advance. My military days had ended ten years ago, but once a Marine always a Marine, and we don't miss the opportunity to celebrate November 10, the U.S. Marine's birthday. I took the longest shower and skipped cologne; preferring the scent of a light clean soap. I gave myself the once-over in the mirror- starched jeans, pressed polo, shiny shoes, fresh fade. I checked my phone to see if my baby brother had texted. He hadn't. Communication was not his forte. Aside from both of us being ex-Marines and functioning alcoholics, we have nothing else in common. I am four years older, married with a daughter, and the more level-headed of the two. He's a hothead with no fuse who loves to fight because... well he's good at it. I'm a talker and can distinctly remember talking my way out of an ass whoopin from him. But, that Cat knows how to have a good time and it's our tradition to celebrate this night together. I text him:

You still meeting me at Rumblers tonight? 5 pm cool?

I finally get a response:

It's on like Donkey Kong! :)

I head to the door, checking to see if my Uber arrived. I see Aimee in the kitchen making cookies with our daughter. Ah, my daughter. The light of my life. There is nothing more special than being a "Girl Dad". If someone had asked me 10 years ago if I imagined my future self having tea parties and getting my nails painted pink by a 4 yr old girl, I'd have answered: "HELL NO". But now, I can't imagine NOT doing those things. Aimee, as much as I love her, I could do without. But Tate? I don't think I could go a day without her in my life.

I walk over to them both, smiling like a Cheshire cat and kiss Aimee's face and lean down to sniff Tate's hair. It smells like strawberry. Aimee asks if I'm taking an Uber and I assure her that I most certainly am. She reminds me not to "go too far". And I think to myself *the hell you say?* That's the entire point of taking the Uber. I get a text. My Uber has arrived. I give Aimee one last kiss on those sweet lips and tell her don't wait up. She smiles and says, "give my love to Kirk and you both stay out of trouble".

Uber driver is a middle-aged redhead. Smacks her gum as she wishes me a good evening. Her car smells like juicy fruit and pine. We take a short drive to the center of town. Ten years ago, City Council voted to revamp Boyd Square. It used to house run-down shotgun houses, a library, and City Hall. Now it showcased trendy restaurants and bars, one of which I was headed to for an evening of crude, rude, drunken Marine debauchery. The car pulled up close to 4:45 pm and of course, I do not see Kirk. I pay the fare and hop out. Rumblers isn't very big. One big smoky room(indoor smoking was still allowed outside the city), a big bar to the right, a much smaller bar in the back next to two bathrooms, and an outdoor deck where a halfway decent cover band was playing alternative rock. I stood in the doorway for a long pause, perusing the room searching for my brother and The Crew. Now, this is my favorite part of the night, when my group notices I've arrived and they all turn and in unison yell out "Yo, Cormier! Ayeee, get your ass over here!". It's right out of an episode of Cheers and yes, on this night, everybody knows my name. And then I see my brother standing in the middle of a large group of ex-Marines, grinning from ear to ear, clearly already inebriated. I come over and join in on a big group hug, rough pats on the back, jeering and taunting from my comrades. None of us served together, some older than others, but all joined by one common thread-we'd signed up to die, defending our country. This love-hate relationship we all had with the military was complex. On one hand, I doubt most of us would sign up if we had to do it over again, but then there were things we all agreed were appreciable. The camaraderie, team-building, and pushing oneself past limits were all-important character-building traits that last a lifetime. November 10 was the day we honored not only what the Corps did for us but also, each other.

Kirk, being obnoxiously loud, requested another round of Tequila shots for the 10 of us. We all yell "Ooorah" before taking the sixth shot, and it's the last thing I clearly remember about that night. The next 48 hours came back to me in bits and pieces, like a dream I desperately wanted to remember as it fades away.

I roll onto my side and glance up at the toilet. I look around the room, squinting and trying to remember how I got home. My head is pounding and I'm not wearing pants. I slowly push myself up into a sitting position. I see my pants thrown into the tub and they appear to be wet. Shit, I think. I pissed my pants. I make my way into the kitchen and notice the time on the stove. It's nearly 11 am. The house is quiet so Aimee and Tate are still asleep, I presume. I head back to the bathroom and jump in the shower. As I exit the shower, I notice a small black purse next to the tub. I pick it up and look inside. I notice the cocaine first. It's not my wife's purse, for sure. She treats her body like a temple. I see a little black book inside, monogrammed Merry Vu. Who is Merry Vu? And why the hell do I have her purse? I search the bag for her driver's license, but don't find one. I don't see a phone either. I open the black book to discover a stack of cash. I let out a long sigh, roll my eyes, shake my head and wonder aloud what the hell I've done this time? I grab the wet pants and dump them in the laundry room. Now I search for my phone to call Kirk and find out how I ended up with some chic's purse. He doesn't answer. I leave a message for him to call me right away. My next thought is how the hell to get rid of it. I obviously can't take it to the police. There will be questions that I don't have answers to. This is the downside of blackout drunk. I committed to "brownout drunk" once the kid was born and Aimee put her foot down. Brownout is where you wake up and remember everything you did, but not why you did it. Blackout is a loss of all memory and within a day or two, bits and pieces of an event return in quick flashes. My phone buzzes. It's Kirk. I answer. I ask if we met an Asian chic last night. He coughs and sputters: "negative ghost rider" I ask how I got home and he says he put me inside an Uber. I ask if I was alone. He assures me I was, then asks: "why man..what's up?" I explain I found a purse with a vial of coke and a little black book with a wad of money inside. He sounds shocked. He asks how I plan to return it. We both agree taking it to the cops would be stupid. We go back in forth about what to do then this guy comes up with dropping it at the post office. He's not the brightest so I was surprised by his suggestion. It sounded like a reasonable and halfway noble thing to do. It's a government building. There's a chance they'll return it to her.

I slip quietly out of the house and head to the post office. Just before dropping it inside the mailbox, I take the money out. I contemplate the ramifications of taking the money. I unbound it and count some of it. All fifties and hundreds. 20 thousand total! What is this chic into? I flip thru the black book and read dates, times, and male names. Maybe she's a high-priced hooker. How bad could the karma be if I take the cash? No one is watching. I am, after all, making the effort at returning her purse. That counts for something. I slip the purse inside the box and cash into the pocket of my coat. I return home to Tate's laughter and Aimee yelling for her to clean up her toys. She calls out to me, wondering where I've been. I swoop into the kitchen with donuts in hand and a Starbucks for her. That sure turned her suspicious scowl into a bright smile. "Aw, thanks baby, love you. How was last night? I didn't hear you come in". I respond that last night was epic fun.

Three days later. Tate and I are at the stove making banana pancakes. She requests strawberries for the eyes and a whipped cream smile. I never refuse her. The TV is playing in the background. Tate is trying to tell a 4 year old's joke and I'm feigning wild laughter so much so that I barely catch all of what the news anchor is reporting.

"Merry Vu, a 22 year old Southwestern student has been reported missing. The California native was last seen in Boyd Square barhopping with friends, Tues evening. The public is advised to please contact the authorities at 973..." Staring at the screen, I freeze like a deer in headlights. Holy shit. This chic is missing and I had her purse. The purse with coke and 20 thousand dollars inside it. I searched the depths of my mind trying to remember if our paths ever crossed that night and why. Two days prior, I'd placed the money in my safe in the Master closet, and forgotten all about Merry Vu. "Daddy you're burning the pancakes." I heard Tate exclaim. "What? O, sorry baby" I said quietly. I flipped a cake and prayed silently that no one had seen me anywhere near her that night. No one saw me dump the purse and Kirk was the only one who knew about it and the money. My secret was safe with my baby brother. Maybe the purse was already in my Uber when I got inside. Yea, that sounds reasonable. In my drunken state, I took it for safekeeping thinking I'd return it to her. My mind was convinced that this was the case. So, why did I suddenly feel sick with dread.

Aimee stands in front of a mountain of laundry. She dreads domesticity. Marrying an almost Mr. Mom had its perks. Ryan took care of the house, kids, and cooking while she made the big bucks. But, on occasion she did laundry. And as she went thru his pockets, she stumbled upon the license. Her momentary shock quickly turned to anger. He promised he was done with that. And of course, she was Asian. He always had a taste for them every since his time spent in Japan. She heard his laughter coming from the kitchen, probably laughing at a silly joke Tate had told. They were making breakfast. She was pissed but didn't want to argue in front of Tate. She turned and walked toward the kitchen and barely heard the newscaster's words as he reported on a missing young woman. Her ears began to ring as she recognized the face on the screen matching the face on the license she held in her shaking hand. The woman was last seen Tuesday, November 10 she heard the anchor say. He finished with: "anyone with information concerning her whereabouts should contact the authorities at 973... " Aimee stood staring at the back of her husband's head, watching him also watching the news of the missing girl. She wondered, what part of his "epic night" did Merry Vu play?