The Night Out

The Last Night

“Get up you clown, we’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.”

Dustin just rolled over on the sofa, ignoring Wes.

“Get up mate, come on. I’ll make some grub, and you should jump in the shower.”

Dustin didn’t move, he was from Barbados and had his own ideas on what was urgent.

“I’ve got rum.”

Dustin’s body jolted like a rusty engine attempting to turn over.

“I’ve got cigarettes, booze, and the lads are meeting us in the pub in one hour. I can make some cheese toasties.”

There was a noise coming from the sofa. “Rum………. you got ice?”

Wes laughed and poured a large rum, he walked into the kitchen, pulled a bag of ice from the freezer and broke off a knobbly chunk. It clinked into the glass as it was dropped into the rum. The smell hit Wes, and he took a deep breath and downed it. He couldn’t resist.

“Did you just drink my rum?” Said an irked Dustin as he stirred from his smelly slumber.

“No mate, of course not,” Wes poured another shot whilst coughing to cover the noise of the liquid falling onto the ice.

As Wes walked back into the dark, stale stinky living room, the tall, slender frame of Dustin was sat up looking at Wes as his toxic fuel was brought to him. Wes cracked open a can of Stella and they both sipped away whilst inhaling their nicotine. The two sat back and tried to remember the night before.

The night before was a blur, there were flashbacks of memories which was coming through like a scratched CD, skipping as the sound breaks through.

They’d lost each other during the night as they often did and met new friends, strangers, whose names were distant memories, and their faces were fading quicker than a summertime suntan. They were friendly and funny so would always meet people, in the club, at the bar, in the smoking area, even in the bathroom. Everyone was smashed and had a story to tell. Life was a struggle, these nights were the ultimate release, the moment the whole week was leading up to.

The lights, the music, the buzz and the atmosphere created a camaraderie between the young best strangers.

“How you doing mate? Where are you from?”

“I’m Andy, I’m from Burgess Hill, what are you on? I’ve got speed.”

“I’m just drinking tonight mate, but thanks.”

They chat; they move on. They just stayed away from the moody looking assholes. Some guys came out with the intention of getting into trouble, having a row with someone over nothing, just because of the booze and testosterone. It’s a toxic mix for some. Wes and Dustin were just out for a laugh, plus meeting girls was always a bonus. Wes had a girlfriend, but once he felt a connection with someone, he couldn’t help himself. After a few more drinks, Dustin was and ready to go out. They were wide eyed and prepped to go and smash it.

The boys got to the pub and met with Jay, Chris, Tony and Gaz. Everyone was already four to five drinks in, and Chris had snorted some coke, things were getting lively. The pub was getting busy with young people full of narcotics and anticipation, the lads moved to the pool table and were having a few games. A couple of girls they knew came over and joined in. It was Kelly and Demi; they loved to party and would often join in with the lad's drunken escapades. They had decided to go to the new club, it looked expensive, but they wanted to give it a try. The club was called Monroe’s, it was on three floors and had a search light outside pointing to the moody looking sky. It promised hope in the dark rain filled clouds. Each floor had a separate DJ playing different styles of music. The group had to act as sober as possible as they filed past the steroid addicted bouncer’s, dressed in their ill-fitting tuxedos.

A friendly attempt at conversation,

“Busy tonight mate?”

Was met with a grunt and a search. The searches were pointless, if you wanted to sneak drugs into the club, you either tucked them into your underwear or asked a girl to hide them in her bra. Two places the gorillas weren’t going to touch.

Once in everyone headed to the bar, it was shots, beers and scoping the place to see who was around. They would always bump into people they knew or recognised. The music was loud; the bass was travelling through their bodies; it was like being put into a blender where the alcohol and blood could mix to full effect. They were having a great night, girls were dancing, wearing short dresses with their war paint on. It made a 5/10 up to an 8/10 to maximise potential. The boys were helpless, but for one night it didn’t really matter. A kiss and a cuddle was only the usual outcome, with promises of forever love, knowing that in the morning their name would be forgotten. The embellished stories would be told and retold, another lost love in the cycle of growing up.

As the night went on, the group began to thin out as some would mingle with new and old friends. The three floors would be investigated and checked out. The alcohol was slowing down their brains; conversations were beginning to flow in a repetitive bundled manner and slurring became the new language. The club was getting hot and sticky, the place began to smell of sweat and cheap aftershave, the boys started to congregate back at the bar for some final Aftershocks. They talked to each other about where they’ve been and who they’ve met. Each story wilder than the other, then came the piss taking and calls of BS. The lads couldn’t go two minutes without winding each other up.

Their empty, alcohol filled stomachs were beginning to rumble, so they decided to find the nearest kebab shop. They all staggered out of the club, wishing the muscle headed bouncers a safe night, tummies full of hope and noses sniffing out the greasy sliced doner meat.

Within five minutes they heard police siren’s and three young men ran past them and screamed, “Run!”

The boys didn’t know what was happening, they panicked and due to their sozzled brains they automatically ran. The initial reaction was that something bad was chasing them and their hearts were racing. Suddenly two police cars came speeding up behind them, blues and two’s were on, but the boys weren’t hanging about, they saw an alleyway and sprinted down it. There were twists and turns, they were jumping over rubbish bags, checking over their shoulders but when they realised that they had escaped, they stopped to catch their breath. The police siren’s became quieter as the sound dissipated into the distance.

They eventually found “The Best” a fast-food joint, a name they thought was presumptuous. It set extremely high standards that the lads didn’t believe the Kurdish cooks would be able to live up to.

“Alright mate. Small doner and chips please.”

“Hey boss, do you want salad and chilli sauce with that?”

“Yes mate, pile it on. I’m as hungry as a hippo.”

The kebabs were devoured and Chris claimed that “this is the best kebab shop in the world. I bloody love this place.”

Dustin laughed and said, “I’m his boss, I didn’t even realise. Every time I spoke to them, they called me ‘Boss’. That’s brilliant. I’m due some back pay.”

As they were getting ready to leave another group of lads came into the The Best. Wes recognised a few of them and they started to talk. Neil told Wes that they were off to a local house party. Wes told his friends, and they were up for extending the night, why not?

There were now eleven of them walking, jumping, and dancing down the road, all full up with kebab and chips and a few of them struggling to walk in a straight line due to the amount of booze they had consumed. They didn’t want to turn up to the party empty handed and the shops were all closed, so they used their imagination. Neil grabbed a traffic cone, Gaz found a hubcap, Tony disappeared and came back with a for sale sign, the rest were looking for anything and between them came up with a random shoe, some police tape, and a bathroom cabinet found in a skip. They were all extremely pleased with themselves and were convinced the unknown hosts were going to love their offerings.

They eventually got to the party; it was in a semi-detached house down a cul-de-sac. The host, called Sara was dancing away with friends and welcomed the group. She was home alone as her parents had gone to Spain. Sara was rebelling due to her religious upbringing. The lads treated her like a princess, she sat down and was presented with each present from the drunk boys, as each gift became more bizarre, the party goers were in hysterics. Luckily there were plenty of beers available, so they helped themselves and chatted and danced around the fire until dawn, whilst the rest of the city slept.

At one point Dustin had disappeared, so everyone was searching for him, nobody could find him until he shouted down for the top of the tree at the bottom of the garden. He thought he would get an exciting view of the party and got stuck. The boys at the bottom of the tree decided to help by pushing the tree back and forth, making the top of the tree sway side to side. Dustin politely asked the group to stop but they declined. He eventually fell (he claims he jumped), luckily the shed roof broke his fall. Unfortunately for Wes, a broken branch came hurtling down and struck him on the forehead and cut him. Sara took great pleasure wrapping an oversized bandage around his head, Wes resembled an Egyptian mummy.

They had laughed all night, a few of the lads had fallen in love, and they told everyone they were going to spend the rest of their lives with them, they just needed to remember their names. Chris spent some time with Sara, they really got on, he was the only one that didn’t leave that morning, it turned out Chris never left.

They others all began hugging each other goodbye and a few taxis came to pick them up around 6am. It was the best night of their lives; they couldn’t wait for the next one.

Unfortunately, there never was another one. University was over and everyone had their own plans.

It was the end.

Some of the boys stayed in touch but as they got older, their life and priorities changed, they never met up as a group again. The last time Wes, Gaz and Neil met up was at Chris and Sara’s wedding. Gaz was now a father and Neil was an Estate Agent.

Wes took the change the hardest. He loved that life and wanted it back, but he wasn’t an idiot, he knew the moment had left them. He would listen to his old CDs at home, The Streets, Jamie T and The Verve and the blurred memories would filter through his pickled brain.

Losing the lifestyle was worse than any breakup he’d ever experienced, but he said to himself as he looked through some old photographs, “That was some night.” He nodded to his wife and walked into his daughter’s bedroom to read her a bedtime story. Wes caught a glimpse of himself in her bedroom mirror, the scar was still visible on his forehead from Dustin’s fall, a lasting souvenir from the greatest night in history.

The End.