Mischia Farrer

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: