TOWNIE NIGHT

My old friend Pat was already drunk by the time we got to the after party. He had told us, to save money, he was going to do No Booze November, but he obviously lied. When I pulled up to the curb, he was in the lawn, beer sloshing out of his red Solo cup when he ran over to greet us.

It was Thanksgiving Eve, also known as Townie Night. Everyone was back from college, packed into their childhood homes and looking to escape extended families and reconnect with friends they hadn't seen in months. We all eventually just ended up uptown at the bars.

I leaned my back against the car. It was my brother's new 2002 Subaru Impreza WRX, and he was reluctantly letting me use it for the night because my car had broken down the day before and was now at University Autos.

Pat said he was going to do a special type of flip for our amusement, which seemed like a terrible idea, but we didn't have the heart to say no. He reared back, over and over again, then stopped suddenly and pointed at me, Seth, and John.

“Gotcha!” he said.

We all looked at each other, confused. Jesse walked over and leaned against the car also.

“Did he just do the Fuju Flip?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said. “But I don't get it.”

“Gotcha!” Pat said again.

“Dude, we went over this,” Jesse said, shaking his head. “It's not 'Gotcha!'. It's 'Fooled you!'. You know? Fooled you, Fuju, get it?”

We all said “Ahhh!” at the same time, and Pat said, “Fuck, I fucked it up,” and took another drink, finishing his cup. He up-ended it, dripping brown drops on what remained of the lawn.

“It's all right,” I said. “Good try, though.”

Pat grabbed me in a half-hug, forced his forehead against mine.

“You're a good friend, you know that?” he said. “Always there for me. Love you, man.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, trying to get out of his grip. He was strong, and held on too long.

“No,” he said. “I'm serious. Seriously.”

“I know, I know,” I told him, peeling away. Another car pulled up, and he raced off to try the Fuju Flip on them.

Jesse took me to the side.

“Hey man, you mind taking him home?”

“What? Why?”

“He's been like this since the bar,” Jesse said. “He took too many shots. We tried to ditch him to come back here, but he figured it out and followed us.”

“That's fucked up,” I said. “He's your friend.”

“I know. But I don't know if you noticed, but he's pretty wasted and it's kinda getting on everybody's nerves. The girls are getting annoyed. Can you just take him, please?”

I looked over to see him halfway down the block, shooting air guns at two girls whose breath I could see in the cold. They gave polite chuckles and shook their heads.

“Fine,” I said.

“Thanks,” Jesse said. “I owe you one.”

After a few more fake flips to diminishing returns, some sloppy goodbyes that involved unwanted kisses, and some hugs that went on a moment too long, I managed to get Pat in the front seat. He insisted on shotgun, so John and Seth sat in the back.

“Where are we going?” Pat asked, cracking a beer he pulled out from his pocket.

“Throw that thing away,” I said.

“Why?”

“This is my brother's car.” I said. “If it smells like beer in here, he’ll kill me.”

“You puritan,” he said, taking a long swig.

“I'm going to take you home,” I said.

“No no no no no no no,” he said.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes,” I said.

He belched, finished the can of beer and littering it out the window.

“Dude, you're hammered,” John said from behind him.

“No, I'm OK,” Pat said. “Let's just get one more drink. Together. A night cap. For old time's sake. Together.”

I glanced back in the rearview mirror. John and Seth looked at each other and shrugged.

“I think we should get you home,” I said.

“That's boring,” Pat said. “Boring!”

“I don't know about another bar,” Seth said. “But I'm kind of hungry. Bagel & Deli?”

“Bagels!” Pat shouted.

“I could eat,” John said.

“Bagels!” Pat yelled again.

“I guess we're getting bagels,” I said.

The drive to the shop was only a few minutes, but by the time we arrived, Pat was already passed out, snoring softly in his seat, head pinned to his chest.

I parked, looked over at him. I felt bad for Pat. His dad had cancer, and due to an electrical short, their house burnt down around his birthday right before school started, so the whole town chipped in to gift him presents, and he and his family were now living temporarily at the trailer park on the far edge of town.

Pat decided to take a gap year between high school and college and backpack in Europe, but he didn’t have enough money, so he was working at The Doughnut Shoppe, the late shift. He was stuck here while the rest of us were off at school, and he seemed to be drinking his way through it.

I pushed on his shoulder gently. Seth and John got out of the back seat.

“You gonna be OK?” I asked him. He roused, nodded, hiccuped.

“We're going to get those bagels, you coming?”

“Who's car is this?” he asked.

“My brother's,” I said.

He nodded. “Nice car.”

“So, no bagel?” I asked.

He shook his head, fell back asleep.

I got out, stood next to Seth and John, who both had their hands in their jacket pockets, hopping a little in place.

“I think I should stay here,” I said. “I don't want to leave him.”

“It's just going to take a few minutes,” John said. “He'll be OK.”

“He's passed out,” I said. “I should stay and keep the car warm, at least.”

“Fine,” Seth said. “We'll be back soon. Want anything?”

I began to give them my order, but then they complained:

“Dude, you always make like 1000 substitutions,” Seth said. “Can't you just get one of the regular sandwiches?”

“It's not that complicated,” I said. They groaned.

I didn't want to leave Pat in the car alone, but I also didn't want them to get my bagel order wrong. I was torn.

John and Seth started walking away without me, so I rapped on the window to let Pat know we were leaving, but he was still asleep, his head against the window now.

The bagel shop was packed, like a standing-room only event. Half a dozen college kids in tie-dyes and stained white aprons worked the counter, yelling out completed orders, the cash register dinging, Grateful Dead and Phish playing loudly on the ancient stereo system.

We looked at a laminated menu and shouted our orders to a white guy with dreadlocks, who sliced our bagels with a large serrated knife while whistling along to the music.

Seth got a bottle of beer from the cooler and we passed it around between us as we waited for our orders to be completed.

“So, what's the plan?” John asked.

“Well, let's take him home first,” I said.

“Naturally,” John said. “But what next?”

“Go back to the party?” Seth asked.

“What about a bar?” John asked.

“Any girls we could call?” I offered.

We smiled, finished the beer. It was still early. The night felt young. We didn't want it to end yet. We could find ourselves anywhere: another party, another bar, in bed with a girl, driving around the countryside smoking a joint. Anything seemed possible. We were going to drop Pat off at home and see where the night would take us.

We walked back to the car with a paper bag full of sandwiches, steaming inside aluminum foil.

When we got back to the car, the first thing we noticed was the smell. Pat was in the backseat for some reason. The rearview mirror was ripped off the windshield and was laying on the console. And Pat had puked all over himself and the floor. He must have had Mexican food for dinner.

Seth and John immediately grabbed their bagels from the bag and walked away. I tried to stop them, grabbed onto their shoulders to keep them with me.

“No,” Seth said. “I think we're going to head out.”

“Yeah,” John said. “That's fucking gross. Just take him home and come meet up with us later.”

I couldn't dissuade them. I watched them walk off into the night, past the bars and Bruno's Pizza and the smoke shops lit up with neon signs at that time of night.

I got back into the cold car. The smell was overwhelming. Pat snored in the backseat. The night suddenly felt small, constricting, narrow in its prospects. I wondered if I could somehow clean everything up before my brother found out about it. I wondered what he'd do if I couldn't.

I felt a swell of anger at Pat as I drove country roads with the windows down, the breeze freezing us. I had the heater on full blast, but it didn't do much. I turned the radio on, but I wasn't really listening.

“Do you have a hose at your house?” I yelled.

“Huh?” Pat asked, waking up.

“I need to clean the car, do you have a hose or not?”

“Dunno.”

“If I have to go to the car wash,” I said. “You're paying for it.”

“Pull over,” Pat said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Gonna be sick,” he said.

I swerved onto the shoulder and stopped. Pat managed to get out just in time for another stomach session, his whole body a fulcrum against the guardrail.

I put the car in park and got out, blowing into my cupped hands. Pat continued. I looked at the road, dark and desolate, no cars, no lights, no houses nearby. I could only see Pat's silhouette in the moonlight as he finished.

“Come on,” I said. “Let's get you home.” My toes and fingers felt numb.

“Just leave me here,” he said.

“Don't be an idiot,” I said. “Get back in the car.”

“No,” he said. “I'm staying.”

“On the side of the road?”

“Yeah, on the side of the fucking road,” he said.

“That's enough,” I said. I walked over to pick him up and force him into the car, but as I grabbed him, he took a swing at me.

He was drunk, so it didn't connect. He took another, I dodged it, and pushed him back into the guard rail, hard. He landed against it with a metallic thunk and sat there, stunned.

“Fuck you,” he said. “You're a shitty friend.” He spat.

“I'm a shitty friend?” I said. “Me? Are you serious right now?”

“You're the worst,” he said.

I didn't think that was fair, so I decided to leave him there. After all, he asked me to.

“Bye, Pat,” I said.

He was leaning his back against the guardrail, illuminated by my tail lights as I sped away. I went home, threw my lukewarm bagel in the trash, then wiped up chunks of puke with paper towels, and washed out what remained with our green garden hose. My brother didn’t replace the rearview mirror for some reason, but he did spend the rest of that winter driving around town with his windows down.

I never saw Pat again after that night, but he did leave a box of fresh donuts on our front porch a week later.