T he plane ride happened . I knew it did because I woke up an hour later in Las Vegas. It took me a few minutes to realize that I had been out for a lot longer than an hour and it was just the time difference that had gotten me there so quickly. The Valium had me knocked out before the plane ever got into the air, and while I was thankful I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of my first flight, I was also a little sad that I missed it. I couldn’t even see straight when I got my carry-on bag and followed Fiona off the plane. I just focused on the maroon t-shirt she was wearing and tried to avoid stumbling into walls as we headed into the airport.

The terminal in Las Vegas was a lot more chaotic than the one in Atlanta—at least from what I could tell. My feet were practically numb as I tried to keep walking behind Fiona. I spotted a bench and it was like my body was drawn to it. Before I even knew what was happening, I was sitting down and feeling my head drop down against my chest.

“Peoria, come on.” Fiona’s hand shook my shoulder. “We have to go get our bags. If we miss the shuttle, we’ll be stuck here for another hour.”

“I just need a nap. Give me a few minutes.” I put my hand on the hard surface of the bench and started to stretch out.

“Oh my god.” Fiona put her hand under my arm and tried to drag me back to my feet. “You took a Valium, not a sleeping pill.”

“I took two.” I yawned and stretched out my arms, trying to pull away from her.

“Two? One was for the plane ride home. Ugh!” Fiona pulled on my arm. “Stand up, you need to move around some so you’ll wake up.”

“I’m moving around—can’t you see? I’m walking in a straight line.” My feet shifted against the floor.

“You’re not walking. Stand up, Peoria!” Fiona’s tone got angry and it brought me back to my senses a little bit.

“Okay, I’m up.” I stood and yawned again.

“Get your bag.” She put my hand on my carry-on and we were walking again.

Each step seemed to help ease the Valium induced fog I had been in since our plane left Atlanta. The airport in Las Vegas looked to be more modernized with large screens adorning each terminal. The flash initially made my head hurt, but I quickly adjusted to it. My eyes focused on various things like tours and casino advertisements. Seeing a picture of the famous Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign on one of the screens made me perk up even more and it really started to set in that I was actually across the country in the city we always talked about visiting as kids. We always dreamed of seeing the shows, hearing some of the singers we grew up listening to that were playing every night, and trying our luck in the casinos until we hit it big or went home broke. I hurried my pace and caught up with Fiona, still feeling fairly tired but more alert than I was when I sat down on the bench. Fiona pointed us towards a train that would take us to the baggage claim and we boarded it with all the other travelers from our flight.

“We’re really here.” I looked over at Fiona and smiled. “We’re actually in Las Vegas!”

“Yes.” She nodded and a smile spread across her face as well. “You’re also old enough to drink now, so I think our first stop should be a bar.”

“I just want to get to the hotel and unload all our stuff.” I rubbed some of the sleep out of my eyes.

“The hotel has a bar.” She grinned even wider, her lips spreading to reveal her teeth.

“Okay, that sounds like a plan.” I nodded enthusiastically.

I certainly didn’t plan to get drunk, but a drink would be nice. I had only drank once in my life, which happened shortly after Fiona turned twenty-one and brought over a bottle of wine while my parents were out of town. The buzz had been amazing and I felt like I needed something to give me a bit of a lift, although my mind started to worry about mixing alcohol with the Valium as the train came to a stop. We hurried towards the baggage claim once we were at the top of the escalator and I could see the shuttles lined up outside the airport. One of them was likely going to carry us to the hotel and begin our Vegas adventure. We got to the baggage claim and lined up next to some folks I remembered from the airport in Atlanta, although that memory was a little hazy. My bag was easy to recognize with my University of Georgia tag proudly displayed on the front. I wasn’t a student there, but my parents were huge fans of the football team, so almost everything in our house had their mascot on it.

“We’re ahead of schedule.” I looked at my watch. “My nap didn’t slow us down at all.”

“If I wasn’t with you, I’m sure you would be still sleeping on that bench right now.” Fiona shot me an angry glare. “There’s my bag!”

“I don’t see mine yet.” I tilted my head towards the top of the conveyor belt that was still spitting out suitcases.

Fiona took a step back and stood next to an older woman who seemed to be staring at each bag intently. There was a man in front of me that was taller than me and blocking my view, so I had to keep shifting my head around to see the bags as they slowly moved by. His bag seemed to appear, because he took a step forward, but as he was approaching the luggage, he started to fall. My eyes opened in shock as he tumbled forward, knocking the older lady off her feet, and lost his grip on a cup of coffee in his hand. The coffee flew to the side, opened in mid-air, and splashed across Fiona’s chest. Fiona squealed, as did the man next to her who had been caught with some of the splatter. I started to lean forward to help the older lady who was grimacing in pain, but then I saw my bag. Not only did I see my bag—I saw someone else grab it off the conveyor belt. For a second, I thought he would realize his error, but he simply grabbed the bag next to it and started walking away.

“Fiona—that guy took my bag!” I pointed at him, but Fiona was too busy wiping coffee off her shirt to look up.

“Go get it, then.” She leaned down and started helping the older lady stand as other passengers did the same.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just a klutz.” The man who had spilled his coffee stood and looked mortified as multiple people grumbled and glared at him.

“Shit—I’ll be right back!” I started walking towards the man who was headed to the exit with my bag.

He didn’t seem to hear anything I said, so I kept following him as he made it to the sea of people gathered around the shuttles. I lost him in the crowd for a second as I walked through the doors, but then I saw him walking towards the parking area. I called out several times and waved at him, but there was no response. His pace seemed to pick up and I tried to run, but my legs were still feeling the effects of the Valium. I saw him turn the corner and it was almost like he looked my way, but he ignored me. I started to get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I got to the parking area and didn’t see any sign of him. It was possible he didn’t take my bag by accident—he may have intentionally stolen it.

A truck drove by and I kept searching for the guy I saw, but then my eyes were drawn back to the truck. I was almost certain it was being driven by the guy who had my bag, but I couldn’t see his face. I weaved between a couple of cars and got a look at the back of it, but all I could see was the Ford logo and a bumper sticker for Dixon’s Bar. The license plate was covered in mud. My shoulders slumped and a sigh rushed from my lips as I watched the truck disappear.

“He stole my bag...” I felt tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. “He stole my damn bag.”

***

“W AIT, SO HE JUST TOOK off with it?” Fiona was covered in coffee that she had done her best to mop up with a napkin.

“I think he did it on purpose!” I pulled her away from the baggage area. “We need to report this.”

“I need to change my shirt. Let me run to the bathroom real quick, you go get in line over there.” She pointed to the line of people at the lost luggage counter.

My luggage wasn’t lost, but it seemed like the best place to start. I stood in line behind the people, waiting my turn as impatiently as I could without causing a scene. I wanted to running around the airport screaming at the top of my lungs about the thief that made off with my bag, but I was sure that would only lead to my own arrest—possibly even a courtesy tasering in the process.

Fiona joined me in line after she was able to change her shirt and my turn finally came to step up to the counter. I frantically explained my situation to the clerk who seemed fairly disinterested. He filed a report, promised they would alert the authorities, and keep a lookout for my bag. I didn’t believe there was any chance it was going to just magically show up again, but I gave them my information—just in case. We missed our shuttle, but the next one was fairly close to arriving since we had spent so much time at the counter. I walked outside with Fiona, feeling dejected and agonizing over the things I had lost.

“My camera was in there. My tablet was in there. Shit!” I rubbed away a tear that tried to run down my cheek.

“Why wasn’t that stuff in your carry-on?” Fiona pointed to the bag in my hand.

“I already have my laptop and makeup in here. It was too heavy.” I shifted it from one hand to the other.

“Well crap...” Fiona sighed. “At least you have your debit card and your wallet—right?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“This just means we get to go shopping.” She tried to smile, but I could see she was empathetic to my situation.

“Right now, I think I just want to go to the hotel and drink.” My words came out like I had been drinking for years.

“At least that part of the vacation isn’t ruined.” Fiona pointed to the shuttle as it parked in front of us. The driver got out and started loading her luggage into the back.

“I’ll just hang onto mine.” I clutched my carry-on bag tight against my chest.

Vegas wasn’t shaping up to be the grand adventure we planned. I hadn’t even made it out of the airport before I was drugged and robbed—although technically I drugged myself. I slid into the back seat of the shuttle and dug around in my carry-on until I found my hairbrush. I pulled one of the fabric covered rubber bands off the handle and tied it around my hair, pulling my brown curls back in a ponytail. Chasing after the guy with my luggage, combined with the anxiety of standing in line, had left the back of my neck sweaty underneath my mop. I rubbed it with a napkin until it was dry and leaned back against the seat. As much as I craved freedom when I was at home with my parents, the only place I wanted to be in that moment was back with them. My father would know what to do. He wouldn’t have let the guy get away. My mother would have worn her heels off chasing his truck down and hitched a ride on the tailgate if it meant getting her camera back. Fiona tried to make small talk and a few jokes, but my humor was as dried up as my desire for conversation, so we rode the rest of the way in silence.