“Do you know why your brother is in the back of a police car right now?” my cousin asked me.

“Is it about the tree?”

The problem is this: when I drink, I think about two songs: “A Kiss Before I Go,” by Ryan Adams and the Cardinals and “Teachers” by Leonard Cohen—the former when I’m happy, the latter otherwise. The night started well, and because I interpret these songs however I want, I had one shot, one beer, and a kiss before each time I walked to a different sector of the house. After a few hours of this, we headed to a party (inevitably, I had the aforementioned triad of pleasures before we left).

But the apartment that the party was at got the best of me: Destiny’s Child is on the stereo, my friends and girlfriend are playing beer pong, and I’m stuck on the couch, having just soaked my shirt in a daring attempt to buckle my jeans while holding a beer. No one, I thought, has ever given a shit. And that seemed true and I went outside.

I was walking around, kicking the bushes, and it was getting bad. All the sudden, Leonard breaks in: Some girls wonder by mistake/ Into the mess that scalpels make. Now I don’t claim to know what that means, but it scared me a little, and then it settled onto my chest like a sack of concrete, and I was angry and breathless.

There was a freshly planted tree standing erect on the lawn in front of the apartments, like a pillar of new life and beauty. Or like a straight-A student. Anyway, it was too much. At first, I just wanted to see it slouch, to show this pompous son-of-a-bitch he was no better than the rest of us with his flowering limbs and natural stoicism. But when I pulled, it gave a little, and before long, I was taking running starts, going this way and that, and eventually the tree was horizontal, and I moved on.

I felt better after doing this (and beating a handicap sign into submission and knocking a link or two out ofa fence) and again Ryan Adams is pounding in my head. I head back in, and we’re all smiles, so I have a shot, a beer, and I kiss my buddy Caleb on the cheek because my girl’s just too damn far away. The whole crew steps out towards the parking lot, and my brother picks up the defeated tree. I see headlights and then I hear my brother saying, “what the hell?” behind me as I run for cover with everything I’ve got.

“Yes, because you pulled up that goshdamn tree,” my cousin said (my cousin really says goshdamn).

By now me, my buddy Cory, and my girlfriend are hiding down by the swimming pool, and I’m thinking, Why can’t I just listen to Destiny’s Child like everybody else? No one’s ever been arrested for being a survivor.

2 hours pass: my girlfriend’s asleep in my lap. We’re sitting in my cousin’s car. My brother somehow convinced the police that he was innocent and for some reason is now about to fight Caleb on the front lawn. My buzz has evolved into a tremendous headache, and I just want to get home. I set my girl’s head against the seat and go out to see what’s going on.

“I just want to beat the hell out of Ross right now,” I heard my brother say as I walked by, which is bad news if you’re Ross, which I generally am. I kept walking.

“Hey,” I say to someone who seems more hospitable. “It’s six in the morning. I’ll pay for whatever’s wrong. Call me tomorrow,” and I head back to the car hoping to God that no one will remember that I said that.

Of course by now Ryan Adams is gone. He can’t stand up to this kind of scrutiny. I’m looking down at my girlfriend, wishing I could sleep too, but I’m thinking: these bastards might kill me tonight. Then I look back at the tree: horizontal, conquered. Who’s stoic now, bitch? My brother and Caleb hug each other on the front lawn. I run my fingers through my girl’s hair, and relax a little. The sun is coming up over the apartments. I close my eyes and think: Teachers are my lessons done? I cannot take another one.