A short story I posted in August last year. It’s now timely relevant, and I hope you enjoy it! A happy new year to you all!
Hobson is drunk. He says he isn’t, he says he doesn’t get drunk, but he is. I can tell because he’s been looking down at his shoes for the last 30 seconds. As if the imaginary microscopic people living on them will tie his laces together. He told me earlier he was going to marry his girlfriend. He gave me a speech on how he feels like a gentleman now, with his new job, with his new car. He bought himself a nice pair of blue suede shoes to push the pedals. He’s been showing them off all night. He said that’s what mature people do, they wear the attire that represents how they feel. He looks up at the ceiling, burps, and shouts
Angelica smiles at me. A smile that assures me she’s okay. She’s got her arm around Duncan. That’s what she wanted. You’ve always got to kiss someone at midnight, it’s the law, that’s what she told me. She can’t take her eyes off of him. He’s got his eye on Emily but he can’t help it, as it is made of glass.
Edward doesn’t look happy. He’s shouting out the numbers, he’s smiling, he’s got his arms around his rugby mates, but you can tell. It’s not in his eyes or any of that crap. It’s in his hand. Everyone around him carries empty bottles of Sabrina’s home made cherry liqueur but his pint glass is full.
Gordon, Jessica and Lucy are with me. Lucy’s chanting along with everyone else. Enjoying herself. She’s looking well. The last year seems like it had no effect on her. She looks so happy, everyone does. Everyone looks like they have their lives right on track. Lucy has just caught me smiling at her and now she’s smiling back at me. Our connecting gaze forgets her from shouting
You know, I want to change. I want to be a grown up. I want to be happy, or at least look happy, like everyone else. It’s time for a radical shift in lifestyle. I don’t want to wake up at 2 on a weekend, I don’t want to binge any more TV shows, I don’t want to call in sick when I’m hungover. I want to live. Maybe Hobson was right, him and his new clothes, his new attitude, maybe he’s got it right.
Hobson has thrown up.
This is it. I’m going to do it. My life, that is. I’ll do better. I’ll exercise. I’ll cycle to work. I’ll eat vegetables. I’ll only drink on weekends. I’ll write everyday. I’ll go to the gym at least once a month. It’s a fresh start. Seize the day. Carpe diem! Seize the year! Carpe year! And I’ll get myself a girlfriend. Do it right. And it can start right now, because I know the girl and she knows me.
Hobson has thrown up again, onto his shoes.
It’s always been Lucy. Of course it has. Our lunch at Viccino’s last Monday, the week before our movie night, and the week before that Martin’s cocktail extravaganza. They were all peppered with signs of a beautiful, ripe relationship, something that could be really special. Something that could work. I missed it before but it was there, of course it was! She’s the girl.
There’s still time. It’s the law.
Happy new year!
Angelica kisses Duncan.
Emily kisses Roger.
And Lucy, the potential love of my life, kisses Gordon.
Another illegal year.
Hobson has just slipped in his vomit.
Hand me your pint, Edward.