Luck

I never meant for all of this to happen. New Years is a time for shrugging off the old and welcoming the new. So, Tanya dumped me- I wasn’t overly fond of her by the end anyway- what kind of woman goes through your wallet and phone? A psycho, my mate, Tim would say. His taste in women is worse than mine so he should know but… really, what does he know?

No, this wasn’t because of Tanya, or even because I hate my job and my life, because I don’t. I’m a copywriter for the marketing branch of a delivery company, nothing exciting but I’m good at my job, I don’t hate my work colleagues and I enjoy what I do, for what it is. I still speak to my mum once a week, especially since Dad died and I enjoy hanging out with my mates.

This hasn’t happened because I was depressed or even drunk. This is just… shit luck.

I used to be lucky, it was a trait I’d inherited from Dad, according to my mother. Dad used to turn everything he touched to gold whether it was business or sport. He just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I guess luck doesn’t protect you from cancer, though.

I used to be lucky but I’m pretty sure I lost it somewhere around uni. I did a few… recreational herbal experiments between studies and I have to say, my luck has just never quite been the same since. Or maybe I just used it all, hard to tell with luck.

Anyway, shit luck, it’s been following me around lately and Tanya is the least of it but I don’t resent it. Luck comes and goes in cycles I reckon, and it was due to come back around. 2020 is going to be my year. Well, was going to be.

I can just imagine my poor mother getting the phonecall or seeing it on the news: ‘Accident kills New Year’s reveller’ or ‘Stupid kid, should have been more careful’. Something like that. I don’t think the news has much sympathy for its victims these days, anything for a good story, I suppose. It’s one reason I never wanted to get into copywriting for big firms or companies. I don’t have the right to shape someones perception of the world. It’s not my job to tell people what to think and those people who think it is, I find them unbearably arrogant. Who says their take on the story is right anyway?

I can just imagine the grabs in their articles- just fired, Dad lost to cancer this last year and they’d probably bring up that argument I had with Jeanette in accounting a couple years ago just to point out my ‘troubles’ at work, nicely rounding out the picture. If they’re any good, they might even dig into my university hobbies and blame substance abuse.

Poor Mum. She wouldn’t believe them, of course, but I can imagine what people would say to her, around her, about her. She doesn’t deserve that, especially so soon after Dad. I wish there was something I could do, something I could have done differently.

The sky is clear for once. Since the fires started on the coast there has been this thick layer of smoke-haze over the city but, for whatever reason, it’s cleared just in time for New Years Eve. I can almost even see the stars, or maybe they’re helicopters. I can’t really tell at the best of times.

I can hear the people as they trot across the cement sidewalks, tittering and mostly drunk. Occasionally, I hear the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the trains on the tracks nearby. There are people rushing by, hustling to be where they said they’d be, where they need to be in time for the fireworks and the countdown.

I was supposed to be at McGillian’s, meeting Tim and the boys. They’ll probably just assume I’m late again, I’m usually late. And when I don’t show up? Those boys will probably think I made up with Tanya and spent the countdown with her. I wouldn’t. I hadn’t told them everything about her insecurities, about the pressure she put on me to cut them out, about the way she picked on everything I wore and said and did. I didn’t tell them about the way she wanted to control everything so nothing would go wrong. I didn’t tell them about her melt-downs or the screaming or the fact that she’d called the police on me in one of her ‘moments’, only to send them away when they arrived. They don’t need to worry about all that.

She isn’t a bad girl, Tanya, she just has problems, like we all do. Problems I couldn’t fix. I don’t know whether she worked that out but, it was a relief when she said she was done. She’ll be fine. I would have been too, if I wasn’t so stupid.

A car horn jolts me out of a daze and I realise I had been lost in thought about Tanya and my mates. My poor mum.

It mustn’t be long now until midnight. I wouldn’t expect anyone to find me before then, they’re all too busy with their own things. I get it. I was exactly the same. I’m not angry, just resigned.

It’s starting to get cold. I’m not sure whether that’s because of the breeze coming off the water, the fact that I landed in a puddle or the cement under me making itself known. I don’t want to think of any other options, it’s too depressing. Surprisingly, my head doesn’t hurt. I’d have expected my head to hurt after a fall like that. Serves me right, I suppose, for running down the stairs without paying attention. I could have waited until I got to McGillian’s to use their loo but I knew what the crowd would be like. I knew Tim would grab me and drag me to the bar. I’d just have a quick, sneaky pee. Serves me right, I guess.

I’d call out but… nothing is working right. I'm not even sure how I'm still breathing. Luck? Maybe.

The streets have lost the top level of their hustle and bustle. It must be close now. Midnight. Somewhere nearby a car radio is turned up loud.

“…minutes until midnight. Find that special someone and hold them tight…” The car drives out of range. I try again to wiggle my toes, can’t feel anything. That should scare me, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s shock? Probably. My CPR course talked about shock, how you should cover the victim in a shiny silver blanket, keep them warm, keep them talking. Warm would be nice right about now.

I wonder what Tanya is doing. I don’t mean to, I’m not upset that she isn’t with me but I can’t picture her with anyone else on New Years. Or maybe she’s already found someone and is waiting for the countdown. Good luck to the poor bastard, I say.

Mum will be at her friends, watching the fireworks on telly, probably with wine. Maybe with silly hats or glasses or outfits. She’s a funny woman, my mum, indestructible. Onwards and upwards would be her motto, even after Dad died, even through the treatments and the radiation sickness. Poor Mum.

Footsteps pass overhead and I almost miss their pause.

“Hello?” A voice calls, almost directly above my head. I’m surprised they can see me in the shadows on the side of the embankment. I’d move my head but… that isn’t working right either.

“Are you okay?” They call again. I can’t answer. I expect they’ll move on in a minute, probably assuming I’m some drunk young guy with his zip down. Two of those things are true.

The footsteps retreat and the fleeting hope that they would stop goes with them. I don’t blame them. There are a lot of freaks in the city, especially on New Year’s.

A car passes, a different announcer this time.

“...goodbye to 2019. Say hello to 2020. It’s time, 10, 9, 8…”

Off it goes, along with the footsteps, and I close my eyes, keeping count. What a way to spend your last New Year’s Eve.

7, 6, 5,

Rustling nearby, I kind of hope it isn’t a rat.

 “He’s here!” Footsteps.

4, 3,

I open my eyes.

2, 1…