The Birthday

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
My 21st does not go to plan.

Submitted: January 05, 2016

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Submitted: January 05, 2016

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Reece was adamant that I have a proper twenty first birthday, and to be perfectly honest, so was I.

 
"Don't worry Tom, we'll go to a club, and end up with a few girls. It's easy." He alleged.
 
I didn't feel like any of this was going to be easy. I hadn't had a night out in over a year. Not a proper one. Finances and other nagging issues had prevented that. But this was my time. 
 
We were going to Hitchin, to Que Pasa, or something like that anyway. Me, Reece, Ryan & Micky we're going to try and create a night to remember. Me and my new shirt left to venture to the train station. I passed the cage where so many nights had been spent relentlessly striving for the perfect strike with the ball. The lights were still on and there were a few people knocking a ball about. I felt like that was where I belonged. Draped in shorts, late at night, frantically scurrying around with the ball. I felt out of place being dressed so well. There was a transition taking place, but I knew I would never lose the childlike element the cemented me as who I was so well.
 
Once in Hitchin, I realised I had better warn the others that I had one more invitee.
 
"Oh yeah guys. Luke's coming." I blurted out. Reece's head gently tapped the table, Ryan's head shook, and Micky let out an instant yell of 'no.'
 
"He's not that bad, I couldn't leave him out, even if he is a little different." I argued. Although he was a little more than a little different.
 
"Yeah but what the fuck is he gonna wear? He dresses like a Victorian!" Micky threw at me.
 
"It's fine. I already asked him and he said he's at a Thai meal with his parents and he's wearing a shirt." I hoped my confidence would be enough to ease them into accepting his presence. 
 
Shortly afterwards, his car rocked up outside the pub, before Luke emerged, adorned in a shirt, but one from the Edwardian era. To make matters worse, he had what looks like a great-great-grandfather's tie. Reece shook his head in disbelief.
 
"Oh my god, we can't take him out like that." He whispered to me.
 
"Ok Luke, you can come with us, but that tie has to go mate." Reece ordered, and with a reluctant sigh, Luke removed the green tie.
 
"How was the meal." I asked, disappointed his attire had let me down.
 
"Not great, all the staff got annoyed because my Dad kept asking all the waitresses if they were ladyboys." Luke chuckled louder than needed for his statement, and slapped his thigh in appreciation of himself. Oh wow, what the fuck had I done?
 
We managed to go through three clubs in Hitchin before Reece decided there was no "fanny" in there worth pursuing. Luke very generously offered to drive us all to the next club, and Hertford had exactly the same response from Reece.
 
Finally, we were to retreat home to Stevenage. We were going to Chicago's which I had assumed was an older person's club. Apparently not, since every other club in the town had shut down. Within an instant of arriving, I realised how warranted the nickname of Shitcago's was. 
 
Straight away, my shoes began to become far too acquainted with the floor. Sticky alcopops kept us cemented in place as we struggled to lift our legs to the bar. For a shithouse club though, the place was rammed. Maybe the "fanny" Reece desired would be here. He launched his arm around my shoulder.
 
"Come on Tom, we're going on a cunt hunt." He smiled. We didn't need to, I'd already found one. Him.
 
As we circled the club in successive laps, the crowding escalated and I was worried I may have to go the crèche and await picking up at the end of the night. Suddenly, and very deliberately, someone grabbed my face. My instincts kicked in and I grabbed the arm, removing it from me. I glanced up.
 
Harry.
 
So this prick was back. He had left Berwick a few years previous now. He was always the one I had never got on with. The one who started the civil war we had. The one who most of Symonds Green had knocked out for trying it on with their girls. I hated him. We all hated him.
 
"You alright." He laughed, as if we'd been the best of pals.
 
"Don't talk to me." I snarled. Then I noticed mystery guest number two. Chris.
 
"Chris! How the fuck did you end up with Harry?" I asked, confusion the dominant tone.
 
"He's down for Easter. So me, him and Keith came clubbing." Chris explained. I rolled my eyes as to display my disappointment at his attendance. Harry wandered off and I stole more conversation with Chris.
 
"Why's Harry got a black eye?" I asked, although Harry wore black eyes as often as most people wore shoes.
 
"Keith hit him." Chris sighed.
 
"And why did Keith do that? He try it on with his missus?" I asked, expecting a resounding yes.
 
"No. Not that. Me and Harry met up and then he said he was worried Keith didn't like him. I told him not to worry." Chris began.
 
"And clearly he should've worried because he didn't like him?" I asked.
 
"No, Keith didn't have a problem with him, but apparently Harry didn't like him. As soon as Keith arrived he went straight up to him and said 'Keith, I think you're a cunt.' So Keith punched him in the eye." Chris concluded.
 
"What an idiot. He goes up to a known lunatic and calls him a cunt. Shock." I sighed, out of embarrassment of knowing this moron.
 
I continued with the others around lap four of the club, becoming aware that my Nan has similar interests in carpet as the interior designer of this place.
 
I saw Micky at the bar, actually getting served. Maybe this was a birthday miracle? Unfortunately, so did Harry, and he wandered up towards Micky. He tapped Micky on the shoulder and outstretched a hand. Micky turned around, and pushed him over. Hard.
 
Within seconds, the swat team of bouncers descended and ejected both of them. Micky was gone, and the night was over. And I thought Luke's tie would be the biggest problem of the night.
 
Outside, and both Micky and Harry continued. Me and Ryan stood back and watched disapprovingly as our night descended into spectating this feud. Chris joined in on Harry's behalf and Micky demonstrated his pushing prowess as he managed to push Chris backwards, who tripped over Harry's leg, and both fell to the floor. Canned laughter filled the air. I lent in to Ryan.
 
"Collateral."
 
Eventually the shoving was shoved away by the bouncers and Harry ran towards home. Or rather, my home.
 
Chris had somehow switched sides and was now with us in Luke's car as we began our journey to Berwick. Reece couldn't be tempted to join us, his gash quest was too important for him to leave.
 
Somehow, Harry had got home before us, but Chris wasn't satisfied that Micky's fight with him was over.
 
"I'll get him out." Chris boasted. "Tom, come with me to the door and I'll get him to come out."
 
Reluctantly, I agreed, and me and Chris tiptoed with precision, the twenty yards from my house to Harry's. I'll never know why we adopted such measures of stealth, because we were planning on knocking on his door. 
 
"Tom, quickly knock on his door and I'll do the talking." Chris demanded.
 
"Fuck you. You knock on the door, he's your mate." I whispered.
 
"I don't want him to know that I'm the one that's getting him out to face Micky." Chris confessed.
 
"So how did you expect to knock on his door without him knowing it's you?" I shrugged.
 
"Like this." Chris attempted to knock on Harry's door with a kick so that he could maintain distance and begin a run. However, he lost his footing and somehow managed to kick Harry's door open with a loud thud.
 
We ran.
 
"What the fuck is wrong with you!" I screamed, as quietly as you could scream. Ryan had gone in and we leant against Luke's car planning a next move.
 
"Screw it, I'm going in." I noted as I kicked a small stone to the curb. I was drunk and slightly aggravated that my only real night clubbing in an age had been ruined.
 
"Don't go in!" Chris demanded.
 
"There's no way I'm staying out." I explained.
 
"There must be something that'll make you stay out?" Chris argued.
 
I decided to pick something unrealistic and unreasonable.
 
"Ok. That tree." I pointed to the branches that were left of the tree that had been cut down next to my house. "We take that tree..... in Luke's car..... as our mascot."
 
I smiled, victoriously.
 
"Ok." Luke's booming voice crept through his partially open window. The door opened and Luke and Chris began an attempt at lifting the main branch and thrusting it through Luke's boot and into the seats of the car. It was already squashed against his windscreen. Micky was fuming.
 
"I'm not driving around with a fucking tree next to me!" And with that, he opened his door and marched off. 
 
So now they had gained me, and lost Micky. 
 
We drove around in search of him, before admitting defeat and waiting by his house. Again, despite the fact we had wheels, another had beaten is on foot to our destination. Our drive had been hampered by the space the tree occupied and I was attacked relentlessly by sharp twigs. As we sailed through old town, the looks on bemused faces were adding to the bemusement of the night. Chris thought it would be a fantastic idea to leave the tree on Micky's doorstep. He struggled as he dragged it outside and slapped the sap off his hand.
 
"Let's get some food." He suggested, and we headed to Mcdonalds. Me and Chris were drunkenly chatting about films and Gladiator fought its way into discussion. A drunken Chris began reciting lines to those still wandering the high street.
 
"Are you not entertained?! Are you not entertained?! Is that not why you're here?!" He screamed, at the top of his chain smoking lungs.
 
Once at Mcdonalds, his manner didn't calm. In order to secure food, I concocted a credible takes that Chris suffered badly with Tourette's, as he launched another swearing tirade at staff:
 
"I want 6 chicken mc fucking nuggets, and 6 fucking diddy donuts."
 
Now, an ever increasingly drunk Chris wanted music. 
 
"What have you got in the car?" He asked, before swooping up the CD collection himself to find out without a response.
 
"Sinatra, Sinatra, Sinatra, Glenn Miller, Sinatra."
 
We listened to Sinatra.
 
Chris began bellowing out "My Way", as did we all, except me and Luke were in the car, and Chris was sat on the window ledge, hanging the majority of himself outside of the car. Luke did several continuous loops of a large roundabout as Frank's ode to non-conformity echoed into the sunrise. It was relevant. After all, this night has been done our way.


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