Just Another New Year’s Eve Story
It was New Year’s Eve and you could just tell something was going to get very messy. You could feel it in the atmosphere. Everyone was acting like they were having fun but there was this bad vibe just simmering under the surface and the heat was just making it worse. 30ºC at 3am with fifteen of us left in the flat – no fan, windows open, rapidly running out of booze and ice. It was a recipe for trouble but everyone had reached that level of drunkenness where trouble disappears off the radar and find yourself with a bunch of people in a room acting like they’ve got nothing to live for in the morning.
We were all at Damo’s place: the night started well, but everyone was smashed before midnight and you could see Damo was getting all edgy. But being his mates and everything we were trying to cheer him up given the circumstances. We thought we were doing the right thing by keeping a drink in his hand. We all felt really sorry for him – his girlfriend left him three days before Christmas for another guy, and he was really, really into her. He was absolutely shattered. To make things worse, he had already arranged to spend Christmas with her at her parents place and he couldn’t get a flight to see his own parents at such short notice. He ended up staying home by himself, having to put up with the noise of everyone around him having a good time. I’d invited him to my place but he was being all sour grapes about it. At least I tried. So when he texted us all about having New Year’s at his place we rallied ‘round despite the weather and tried to give him something to look forward to in the New Year.
As 3:30 approached the temperature finally started to fall with the first drops of heavy rain, and Damo’s mood turned dramatically. The guy from Flat 5 next door had just got home with some of his mates, and you could hear them shouting and laughing as they came up the stairs; one of the guys poked his head out of the open door and yelled happy New Year to them and Damo just cracked. I don’t think any of us had seen him so angry before and at the time it seemed funny, like he was mucking around, but that just made it worse. We all knew he didn’t get along with Sam, the guy next door – he used to play music real loud all the time and frequently had noisy sex with all sorts of women, and it all echoes through the walls – but Sam was the landlord’s son; there was nothing he could do.
Before anyone realised what was happening, Damo was out the door and screaming at his neighbours on the landing. It took us a moment to realise how serious it was and those of us not passed out rushed outside. By the time I got out the door, Damo and Sam were sizing each other up, pushing each other around in the rain, and we all thought it was a bit no one thought it was serious. Just a bit of push and shove, happens all the time. Then Sam said, “Yeah, and she loved every minute of it. Said she’d never had it so good,” and Damo absolutely lost it. Before anyone had registered, Damo’s fist flew up and he king-hit Sam. Sam just crumpled. He must have been out cold before he fell, and there was this crack as his head hit the banister. Everyone froze, shocked, and some of the girls started screaming. Me and some of the other guys had to jump in to hold Damo back, ‘cause he was still laying into him as he lay bleeding on the concrete, a horrible pink-and-bloody wound on the side of his skull.
It wasn’t until the police and ambulance turned up I realised Damo had hit me too. I was so drunk I didn’t even feel it ‘til I realised my nose was bleeding. I said I didn’t want to press charges, but they said it wasn’t an option: he was in enough trouble already, they’d probably withdraw the lesser assault charge in court, but they’d have to put it through the books anyway. The detectives were really nice, not at all like I imagined. They took us all aside, one by one, got us glasses of water and everything, assured us everyone was going to be alright; all the while, the photographers were busy with the watery bloodstains on the balcony, recording for eternity what Damo took seconds to cause.
Maybe it was the beer sitting heavily in my stomach, but I felt sick like I’d never felt sick before. By the time it was all over and the taxi had dropped me home, the detective’s business card in my back pocket, the rain had stopped but I was cold and shaking. I could hear the birds singing outside and no matter how closely I pulled the curtains the first rays of light still managed to invade the lounge room. I collapsed on the couch and after switching my phone off I switched the television on. I didn’t even register the footage of fireworks and celebrations across the globe before I fell into a deep, dead sleep.
© Molly Cule, December 2007
