Friday Night: A three-act play
October 20, 2002 ~ 3:56 a.m.
The setting: Bromley, south London
The time: 8 p.m.� 12 a.m.
The venue: A loud and crowded O�Neill�s pub
The event: A 24th birthday bash for a friend and former co-worker
The participants: Nightdragon, the Wife, Peter, Paul and assorted others
Act I
The wife: �Are you sure you know where this pub is that Peter told you about?�
Nightdragon: �He said it was in the direction of North Bromley, so ��
The dragon stops and peeks around the corner of the Sainsbury�s supermarket, looking in the direction of some Friday night revelers running up the avenue, hooting and hollering.
Nightdragon: �Um, I know it�s around here � let�s follow those kids.�
The wife: �Oh, there it is!�
Both approach the doorway.
Front door guard: �Take the hat off, mate.�
The dragon obliges.
Front door guard: �Ta. In you go.�
The dragon winks at him and enters, wife in hand. While shuffling this way and that, both try desperately to find Peter but to no avail.
Nightdragon: �Let�s try upstairs.�
The dragon and the wife stand on the upper deck of O�Neill�s, surveying the dancing crowd, pulsating to the beat of The Space Cowboy�s �I Would Die 4 U.� Eventually, they both take a seat at a small table and kill about ten minutes. The dragon suggests going back downstairs.
The dragon looks in the direction of the front doorway. There is a moment of recognition as the dragon notices Peter. He had forgotten about his friend�s penchant for spiky hair.
Nightdragon: �There he is!�
The wife: �Wow. It�s Sonic the Hedgehog himself!�
The dragon suppresses laughter and pumps the Peter�s hand. Peter reads the birthday card handed to him, one that lets you know the ten signs of computer geekdom. Peter pays special attention to number 4: �There is a nut loose on the keyboard, and it�s you.�
Nightdragon: �I circled that because it�s the most relevant where you�re concerned.�
Peter: �Cheers, mate, you flippin� Canadian boy!�
Peter introduces the dragon and his wife to his other friends and moments later, another friend and former co-worker of the dragon�s walks in.
Paul: �Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey!�
The dragon takes a moment to reflect that this is not Paul�s normal greeting. In the past, it has always regularly been a softly spoken �hi mate.� Getting him to raise the decibel level of his voice was always pretty much akin to getting blood from a stone. But then, the dragon had never seen Paul drunk before.
Nightdragon: �Good to see you, Paul. How�s it going?�
Paul: �Yeah, all right. I�m here and I�m happening. And I�m off to a club after this.�
Nightdragon [a bit incredulously]: �Let me get this straight. You�re already smashed, you�re drinking right now, and you�re going to drink later on at another club?�
Paul: �Of course. It�s Friday and I�m English � whattya think?�
Peter [confidently]: �He�s the first lad I�m gonna arrest once I�ve completed police training.�
The dragon and Peter both slap Paul good-naturedly on the back. And the serious drinking begins.
Act II
Peter: �Fuckin� hell, man, will you stop that?�
The dragon withdraws his hand after playing with Peter�s hair spikes for the umpteenth time. He points an accusatory finger at Paul who is pretty much oblivious to whatever is going on beyond the three feet of his personal space and dancing to Eddie Cochran�s �Summertime Blues.� The dragon takes his wife�s hand and drags her close to Paul, forcing her to pinch his butt.
The wife [laughing]: �Gerrout!�
Paul winks, shrugs and is now dancing in place to �Rock Around the Clock.� The clothes people are wearing confirm that it is still the year 2002, but in terms of audio entertainment, it is the late 1950s. People are be-bopping and laughing all over the pub.
The wife: �You�re so naughty. You know you�re the only one I fancy.�
The dragon answers her with a belch. Paul guffaws. Even Peter and friends, standing about six feet away, take notice. The wife rolls her eyes.
The wife [mock horror]: �Bloody hell.�
Wheatus� �Teenage Dirtbag� plays over the loudspeaker and it is the early 2000s all over again. The dragon and Paul are playing air guitar � and taking it seriously. The dragon is careful to switch fingers for every different bass note echoing throughout the room. The wife appears to be the only one taking interest in our performance.
Paul: �A wop bop a loo bop, a wop bam boom!�
Nightdragon [slurred voice]: �Dude, tha� was ssshix ssshongs ago.�
Paul: �I don�t give a shit. Arooooooo!�
The dragon joins Paul in an extended series of wolf howls. The room is on its way to becoming a blur. The dragon no longer notices the pain in his feet, inflicted by dancing all night long in the Western boots with 2-inch heels he�s wearing. About five minutes later, the lights come on inside the pub. It is closing time. The crowd pours out into the street.
Act III
Peter: �Well, thanks for stopping by. I�m glad to see you enjoyed yourself.�
Nightdragon: �Yaaah, cheersss, mate, uh � where�re you goin� now?�
Peter: �To another club, but I � I don�t think they�ll let you in.�
Nightdragon [points to Paul]: �Well, he�sss goin, ain�t he?�
Paul is quite happily dancing on the sidewalk despite the lack of music. Peter rests his hand on the dragon�s shoulder.
Peter: �Don�t you worry about him, mate. He�ll be OK. You go home and get some rest. Seriously.�
The wife: �Yeah, come on, hon. Let�s go home, you need to sleep.�
Nightdragon: �OK.�
The wife leads the dragon down a series of streets to the bus stop in front of a music store. The dragon looks at three saxophones in the display window and treats the wife to a lecture about the difference between alto, tenor and soprano saxes even though he�s never even set his hands on a saxophone before. The wife, bless her soul, feigns interest.
The bus comes and both hop on board. The dragon looks out the window and is instantly mesmorized by the flash after flash of streetlights. He gets off the bus in Penge and tries to relieve himself of the liquid waste straining his bladder, but falls into the bushes instead. The wife steadies him while he accomplishes the job. The dragon walks up the side street leading to their flat. He helps himself to the French fries his wife bought at a fish-and-chip shop along the way.
Nightdragon: �Here, kitty kitties. C�mon, kitties.�
The dragon eats a few of the chips and throws the rest at invisible cats. His gait is a walking form of Turet�s syndrome. He abruptly points at things for no reason and flails his arms, gesticulating wildly, and lurches and trots. He performs a dance right in the middle of the street. With the aid of the wife, he manages the two flights of stairs to the second-floor flat. He accidentally punches a hole through the fibreglass shower partition (it was crap anyway), spends five minutes puking into the toilet (�talking on the big white telephone,� in the wife�s parlance), and falls into bed.
The wife: �You all right now, hon?�
Nightdragon: �Ummmmfff.�
Before passing out, the dragon thinks that he is going to pay an awful physical price in the morning.
� M.E.M.
|
[Sign My Guestbook]
[View My Guestbook]
|
Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
AMERICA FOR TRUE AMERICANS!