My friend Nancy was throwing a huge Mexican themed birthday/costume party. Jose and I picked out our outfits and were the first ones to arrive in Sylmar, about 40 minutes north from my house. Since Jose wanted to drink I happily agreed to be the designated driver and refrained from drinking the whole night. He brought his own 6 pack of Bohemia beers and had drank two of those before the rest of the guests even showed up. The late summer heat was not helping and instead of drinking more water, Jose was drinking beer like it was running out. Maybe not a good start to the night.
The party got going around 9:30 and by then Jose was well on his way to getting pretty hammered. Two tequila shots and 5 beers later, Jose is starting to dance and tell everyone he's fucked up. Our friends can't help but laugh at him. It's 11 pm and Jose is extremely drunk. He's telling everyone he's "fucked up" and can't sit still. By midnight, he can't even stand without wobbling. I get him to stop drinking. He then becomes unresponsive. When I call his name, he doesn't look up. His eyes are glazed over and he can't close his mouth. He is sweating profusely. I am so worried, I feel like I could cry. I maintain a straight face and mop the sweat off his forehead. I try to get him to drink some water but he only takes a few sips before accidentally dropping the bottle. He is NOT okay. He's acting strange. Jose keeps getting up to dance but he can't focus and he starts veering towards the pool. I freak out because the last thing I need is for him to fall in. My friends try to help and get him to eat something, but he won't listen. I keep pulling him around by the arm so he'll sit down but he jerks away from me and wanders in a daze among the party-goers like he's drugged up or sleep walking. I manage to get him to sit down finally but he bolts away again, stepping on my feet (I'm wearing sandals, ouch!) and smashing me in the right ear (I'm wearing dangly earrings, double ouch!). At that point, I am fed up. "Where are you going??!" I ask him as I try to gain control of his arm. All the other kids at the party laugh at me struggling to get Jose to slow down. Some ask if he's okay. I only mutter that he's fine but "a little drunk." I finally realize he's actually blacked out drunk. Jose has made a bee-line towards the restroom. As we wait for the toilet to become available, I try talking to him in a loud whisper but he's not reacting to my voice. He looks at me but he doesn't focus. He stares at me, as if asleep with his eyes open. His jaw is slightly open. He's sweating heavily. I snap my fingers to get him to wake up but it's no use. I seriously have to fight back tears. This isn't my baby. This isn't my boyfriend. This isn't Jose.
Finally, the bathroom door opens and Jose slowly walks in. He closes the door and is in there a good 20 minutes, not making a sound. After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I decide to knock on the door. "Jose? Are you okay in there?" I ask. No response. Not a single sound. My friend Sandra comes to help and I discover the door was never locked to begin with. I open it and peek inside. Jose is sitting on the toilet with his pants around his ankles and he looks like he's ready to pass out. My blood is boiling. I need to get him the FUCK out of here. "JOSE!" I snap. I get his attention (sort of) and demand that he get up, put his pants and boxers up and wash his hands. We are leaving, NOW! No time to flush the toilet. I don't even want to look. With the aid of my friends, we collect our stuff and go but not before Jose accidentally knocks over an unfinished beer someone left on the patio. It spills all over Nancy's back porch. I mutter, "Sorry" and rush to grab Jose before he gets any closer to the pool or before anyone sees the river of beer he created. I drag him by the arm and tell him to be careful with the steps in the dark. Getting him into my car is yet another struggle. I suddenly realize how much bigger, taller and heavier Jose is than me. It takes forever to get him to sit down, swing his legs into the car and buckle his seat belt. He won't listen and keeps trying to get out of the car. JEEZ! He might as well be an overgrown toddler! I am now practically yelling at him to pay attention and behave. It's so frustrating and worrying that he's not talking. I just hope he doesn't vomit on the drive home, like he's a baby or something. Finally, I get him to settle down and I use my GPS to get the heck outta of Sylmar. The whole drive home, Jose is passed out. He makes a couple of grumbling noises but when I ask him if he's okay, he doesn't answer.
It's not till almost 2 in the morning that we finally arrive at his house in Burbank. I sigh and look over at the passed out Jose who is only now slowly starting to wake up. The trip from my car, up the flight of stairs and to his front door is daunting. I feel like I'm about to climb Mount Everest with a passed out Jose strapped to my back. It takes me over 10 minutes to do what normally only takes like one minute. Buzzing myself into his apartment complex, leading Jose by his arm and climbing up the steps is a total ordeal. I feel like I'm herding a reluctant animal. Once I get to his front door, I fish Jose's keys out of his pocket and struggle to find the right one. Trial and error. I must have tried every single key. What is this kid, a janitor? So many keys. We finally get inside and I plop Jose on his couch since the path to his room is blocked by his sleeping nephew, who Jose almost steps on. Jose passes out and I tell his sister Diana to take care of him. I tell her he's blacked out. I drive home and by the time I finally crawl into my bed, my anger has reached a tipping point. I fire a text message to my comatose boyfriend:
I have never been so upset at him. He called me after we texted and apologized. As soon as I heard his voice on the line, the anger subsided and I was so glad he could talk again. He sounded normal and that made me feel super relieved. I made it very clear to him that I was okay with him being sorry but I was not okay with the situation the previous night. He promised to never drink that much again and apologized for everything that happened and all he put me through. He promised he'd go with me to my friend's baby shower that afternoon and when I saw him show up at my front step, I ran to hug him. "You're alive!" I said and we kissed. I can't stay mad at him. We took a nap together on my bed and we even made time for a little make up sex. Well, more like make up oral...you get the idea. Anyway, all the bad stuff of the previous night melted away and we eventually were able to laugh about it. I knew he was sorry and I knew it would never happen again. I believe him. I really do.
He's my heart. I would do anything to take care of him and make sure he's okay. Would I do it again? YES. In a heartbeat....but I don't wanna have to. I know Jose understands that.
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