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from side to side. You manage to set him on the closed toilet, and he’s blinking and looking from you to Jay. “What are you doing?” he asks.
    Which seems like THE strangest question he can ask in this situation, so you say the only thing you can: “What are YOU doing?”
    Jay is kneeling beside him, his arm still tightly around Alex’s shoulder. You have NEVER seen the expression that’s on Jay’s face. He looks wild-eyed, totally freaked out.
    Jay’s voice is pitched about an octave higher than normal. What are you, STUPID? he yells.
    Who said you could DO this? Can’t you wait until you’re HOME?
    Alex mumbles something about getting drunk and wanting to take a shower to sober up — but Jay keeps scolding him, telling him AT LEAST he could have left the DRAIN open like a
    NORMAL person — and despite this, Jay is wiping tears from his cheeks. Or maybe it’s not tears. Maybe it’s the humidity in the room.
    You’re a basket case yourself. You’re in total shock. All you want to do is get Alex out of there.
    You and Jay stand him up. Alex can barely walk, so you stand on either side of him and prop him up.
    Slowly, carefully, you make your way to the landing and down the stairs. Alex is dripping water, and it’s hard to hold onto him, but you manage to do it, across the living room and out the front door.
    All around you, guys are yelling and cheering. “Way to go, ALEX!” shouts one. “First casualty of the night!” shouts another.
    They have no clue. They think this is FUN.
    You and Jay drag Alex across the lawn to your car. The double-parked Jeep, fortunately, is gone.
    You dump Alex in the backseat. He tries to say something but immediately keels over and closes his eyes.
    Jay mutters a few choice angry words, the nicest of which is JERK. But as you climb in and start the car, he says, “Take care of him. And call me, okay?”
    You nod and drive off.
    Your hands are a little shaky. Your shoes are wet and slippery on the accelerator. You have to concentrate like crazy just to drive, and you go REALLY slowly.
    Your mind is racing. Where do you take him now — Home? [sic] Out for a cup of coffee? Isn’t coffee supposed to be good for drunkenness? Can you walk into a restaurant soaking wet?
    You can’t decide. You drive around the block. Then you drive in the direction of Las Palmas.
    You follow the edge of the park, just cruising, thinking.
    And soon you hear sniffling from the backseat. You figure Alex is getting a cold, but that’s not it.
    He’s crying.
    You realize you are too. You ask if he’s okay.
    He says he’s sort for getting your car wet.
    You tell him that’s okay, the seats are vinyl, and worse has happened to them.
    You look at him through the rearview mirror, but he’s looking away. He’s sobbing now, apologizing for being drunk and for using the shower. He keeps insisting that he only wanted to sober up, that’s all — saying it over and over, as if you wouldn’t believe him.
    You keep reassuring him and soon you both fall silent. The cars whiz by outside, and you hear someone’s car stereo booming away, and it all feels very eerie and uncomfortable, the two of you driving aimlessly, and you can’t help feeling that Alex wants to say something but he’s not saying it.
    You ask him if he wants to go home, but he says no. So you decide to take him to your house.
    By the time you arrive, Alex’s face is bone-white. That’s when he gets sick, in the flower bed by the side of the house.
    As you lead him into the house, he is moaning, stumbling, making these dry licking noises with his throat. You sit him down on the living room sofa and place an empty wastebasket nearby, just in case. Then you fetch some clothing from upstairs.
    As he changes, he apologizes again and again — I shouldn’t have done it, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was drunk, I didn’t mean it — and you calm him down, shushing him, saying don’t worry, no one at the party even noticed, it’s