#thank fuck I haven't actually tricked myself into remembering that I'd played a very different game

[boricuacherry-blog]

My memory lapses were becoming more and more frequent when I was drinking - especially when drinking and using. My wedding day was no different. Just as the wedding march began to play, the rum, dust, weed, and meth converged all at once and in full force, hurling me into a blackout. As a result, I have no memory of the wedding. Nonetheless, I became Mrs. Tommy Brown.

I remember coming out of the blackout during the reception as some old black bald guy was shoving a beer into my hand and shouting, "Congratulations!"

"For what?" I snapped back.

"For getting married to my great-nephew!" He exclaimed. Music blared in the background.

"I did what?" I screamed back. As my mind began to clear, my eyes scanned the room. I had no idea how long I'd been out of it. But obviously it'd been long enough to get a party started.

Though I had no memory of the wedding, the portion of the reception I was mentally present for was great. It was one big party. And anyone who knew me knew that I loved to party.

Tommy's mom walked around admiring the great job she'd done and what a wonderful wedding it turned out to be. Tommy walked around greeting people, giving hugs, and thanking them for coming. I walked around sneaking toots from my lil glass vial and downing the unfinished beers and glasses of wine people left sitting around.

No sense in wasting perfectly good booze, I told myself as I downed what was left of yet another person's wine.

Soon I was loaded and drunk all over again; so it wasn't long before my mind was gone again.

When my mind found its way back, Tommy was saying how nice it was that his work friends had given us a dinner cruise as a wedding present. We were sitting at a table aboard a beautiful boat filled with people I'd never seen before.

What happened to the reception people? I asked myself as I watched the ship's crew milling around setting plates of food in front of everyone.

"You need to eat," Tommy was saying. "You haven't eaten all day. All you've been doing is drinking. You're going to get sick."

I wasn't trying to hear that shit. I leaned over to the lil old white woman who was sitting on the other side of me and asked her where the bar was. I immediately began to make my way toward it.

As I was returning to my seat with my favorite drink in my hand - Long Island Iced Tea, no coke and no ice - a thin white woman approached me from behind.

"Excuse me," she said very quietly, "did you sit in something?"

Did I sit in something? I repeated to myself. Shit, did I?

I had no clue. I started to say something smart, like, Bitch, you brought it up, so you tell me! but for some reason I decided against it. As I was thinking of something else smart-alecky to say, she whispered, "I think you should go to the restroom and check it out."

Why do I have to go to the bathroom to check it out? I asked myself. And why the fuck is she whispering?

Deciding it was probably in my best interest not to make a scene in a place where being put out meant being tossed into the bay, I made my way to the restroom. I was horrified when I got there.

During the reception and still in a blackout, I had changed into a white cocktail dress. I had no memory of changing into the dress or where I'd even gotten it from. Actually, where it'd come from was not important. What was important was that the entire back of it was red. I had started my period! I guess I was so out of it, I had no clue - even though the dress was soaked through to the skin.

"Oh, you poor thing!" one of the white women in the bathroom cried.

Before I could respond, the women got to work, moving as a team. The way they grouped together to help me, you would have thought we were all old friends. The woman hurriedly returned with the shirt and shorts. As I struggled to keep my balance while putting on the shorts, the women continued to focus on the dress, chattering about various trick they'd learned or heard about over the years for getting out blood. As I threw on the shirt, I interrupted their chattering and told them that I was on my honeymoon. At that announcement, they seemed even more determined to get me looking right again. Though, I really cared less. What I did care about is that I'd learned that their pity for me kept drinks coming.

"What are you drinking?" One of them asked as she dunked my dress in the sink of cold water. "Long Island Iced Tea - no ice and no coke," I replied.

"Darn," the woman who'd given me the spare clothes said, "I've never heard of that before. Long Island Iced Tea. Let's see, that's made with vodka, rum, gin, bourbon, and coke. So if you remove the coke and ice, all you've got is...straight alcohol!" Her eyes were wide with amazement.

"Well, this is such a depressing moment," another chimed in, "I don't blame her for drinking like that."

Finally, someone who understands!

"We'll keep your glass full," she continued as she looked at me compassionately.

"Shit, fine wit' me," I replied. But, what I was thinking was, Y'all can have that raggedy-ass dress. Just keep the booze coming!

And they did.

I returned to the table a while later. The entire time I was in the bathroom, Tommy stayed at the table drinking. He never once came to see what was wrong. Never wondered about why I had taken so long. When I walked over to the table and told him what had happened, he got upset that I was on my period because that meant we couldn't have sex.

"Nigga, I done embarrassed myself by walking around God knows how long soaked to the core in blood and all you care about is you ain't gettin' no pussy!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was livid.

"Cup, shut up and sit down," he said sternly. "You're making an ass of yourself - as usual."

What did he say that for? That only pissed me off more.

"Fuck you!" I screamed. "You been fuckin' me for years and all of a sudden you pissed cuz you can't fuck now?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Cup, I said sit down!" he said louder as he stood up to face me. His eyebrows scrunched and his lips curled.

"You threatening me?" I screamed, bracing myself for a fight. "You threatening me?" I balled up my fist.

The entire boat became instantly silent. Tommy and I were the only black people on board. A sea of white faces stared at us in silent amazement.

Realizing I was drunk and aware of how belligerent I became when I was, Tommy immediately changed his stance and lowered his tone.

"Listen, baby, it's all right. Just sit down and we'll talk about it," he said quietly and slowly, in an obvious effort to calm me down.

"Fuck you," I screamed. I was pissed. It was too late for talking. It was too late for soothing. He'd gotten my anger boiling, and once it began to boil, I wouldn't stop - I couldn't stop because the alcohol took over and was in complete control. The six and a half Long Island Iced Teas I'd drunk had taken over and were talking to me.

You know you shouldn't have married this mothafucka! they were urging. Cuss his ass out! In fact, cuss everybody out.

And I did. I cussed Tommy out, calling him everything but a child of God. Then, the booze told me to storm out of the room. And that as I went, I should cuss out everybody I passed. Like a good drunk, I did as commanded.

"What you lookin' at, white woman?" I screamed at one person.

"Bitch, who told you to put yo' fat ass in that dress?" I snapped at another.

The room was completely silent except for my ranting and raving. The ship's crew, obviously uncertain of how to deal with the bizarre situation, just stood aside and, along with everyone else, watched in complete astonishment and disgust. No one within my eyesight was safe from an insult, not even one of the women who'd come to my rescue in the bathroom.

"Thanks for the help, heifer," I slurred and popped her on the back of the head as I staggered by. On and on I went as I staggered toward the door.

"Boy, who gave you that fucked-up hair cut?" I growled at an old white man sitting near the door.

Though he looked at me with obvious distaste, he was the only person who didn't seem shocked by, or afraid of, my behavior. And he was the only person who said something back.

"I hate drunks," he stated calmly but somberly as he stared up at me with piercing eyes.

"Well, us drunks hate YOU too!" I indignantly yelled back, staggering out the door, losing my balance, and slamming my head against the door frame.

I don't know what happened after I left. I made my way up to the deck where I spent the remainder of the cruise hurling over the side of the ship.

That night was the first time I'd ever admitted to being a drunk. But I wouldn't admit it again for a long, long time.