"Hey, birthday boy," laughed my friend Tom. "Have another beer, Jimmy. How's it feel to be 21?"
I grinned. "Pretty good. This is one hell of a party. But with all this alcohol, I'm glad I walked. I'll be in no shape to drive."
"Keep drinking and you'll be in no shape to walk home either," Mike boomed from across the room. "But it's only 5 blocks. You can crawl that far if you have to."
I laughed. "Is that so? How many times have you crawled home, Mikey boy?"
Mike chuckled. "Too many." He walked over. "Have some hard stuff. Here's a couple of screwdrivers."
"Thanks, Mike," I said as I downed the vodka-infused mixture. About 10 minutes later I staggered to my feet. "Oh, man. I don't feel so good." I wobbled towards the door. "I may need some air."
****
The pounding on the front door eventually woke me. "Uggggh," I groaned. I had the worst hangover of my life. I was back in my own apartment, although I had no idea how. I shuffled over to the door. "Go away. I'm not interested in what you're selling."
"We're not selling anything!" snapped a voice from outside. "Open up in the name of the law!"
I pulled the door open. "Uggggh. I feel like crap. Hi there, officers."
Two policemen helped me back to my couch, where I gratefully sank into the cushions. "We're investigating a rape that happened a block from here last night. Where were you?"
I blanched. "W-what? A rape? This is a safe area! Anyway, I was celebrating my 21st birthday with my friends." I gave them the address and the names of the partiers. "I think I way overdid the booze. Last thing I remember was drinking two screwdrivers. I have no idea how I even got home. I'm assuming they got me here."
"You look like you way overdid the booze," one of the officers laughed. "Anyway, we'll check out your story with these people. Don't leave the area until we tell you."
"I don't even plan to leave my house for the rest of the day," I groaned. "And probably tomorrow as well."
The policeman chuckled. "Drink some water to rehydrate, then sleep it off. You'll feel better."
I drank some water, then before I lay down, I popped onto my computer to find out what happened. A 20-year-old waitress, Karen Nelson, at a local restaurant had been walking home from work around midnight and been jumped from behind. She had been brutally raped. The article said that she had been saving herself for marriage. She never got so much as a glance at her attacker, and could provide no identifying details at all.
I didn't want to read any more about that, so I deactivated the computer and lay down. When I woke, I felt better.
****
The knock on my door the next day didn't seem quite as loud. I walked over and saw the same two officers. "Your story checks out," one of them said. "There were at least 20 people who confirm you were at the party. By the end of the night they were all pretty drunk themselves, and no one remembers helping you home, but they must have. You were apparently so drunk you couldn't even walk straight."
I grumbled, "Never again. I'm not going to touch a drop of alcohol in my life from now on."
The cop grinned. "You all say that. Anyway, looks like you're in the clear. Don't worry about the drinking. You only turn 21 once, after all."
I was still feeling a bit zonked, so I lay back down for a bit.
[5 years later]
I had followed the rape investigation and story for a while. Karen had gotten pregnant from the rape and decided to keep the baby. Her religious family was very anti-abortion. They had also pretty much disowned her because she had a child out of wedlock. There were no leads, and after a while the case had been dropped. I moved on with my life, and had gotten a job as a sales clerk in a shoe store. I had a trust fund from my late grandfather that meant I didn't actually have to work to live, but I liked working.
A woman and a young child walked into the store. I put on my best retail smile. "How may I help you today?"
"My daughter needs some new shoes," the woman replied. "Tennies. And I'm not rich, so I don't want a fancy brand."
I turned my attention to the daughter. "How are you, young lady? Let's get your feet measured so we know what size to get you." I sized her feet as I continued the conversation. "How's school treating you?"
"Pre-school," the mom laughed. "She's 4 years old."
I found an inexpensive, simple brand of shoe. "Do you like pre-school, miss?" I asked as I set the shoes down for the girl to try on.
"I'm Kellie," she giggled. "Pre-school is fun. My teacher is nice." She had one shoe on by now.
"What about the other kids, Kellie?" I asked curiously.
Kellie laughed. "Most of them are fun. I have 4 good friends." She made a slightly sour face. "There's one boy who bugs me all the time though. I think he likes me. Boys are gross."