Saturday, May 01, 2021

Drunk Boys

The boys next door were chatting outside in their back yard.

We ate chicken and egg rice for dinner.

The boys next door were getting noisy.

We watched MasterChef. Oh, I don't know, I still like it.

The boys next door played music and got louder. Should I say something to the boys next door? I thought.

8pm. All the noise stopped, they had clearly gone out. Lovely.

We watched Trueblood. Season 2 the last episode. Eric has handcuffed himself to Russell Edgington as the sun comes up.

10.30pm. Time for bed. Take the bulldogs out for a wee, Buddy usually lets us know when it is 10.30pm and time for bed, and to head upstairs.

11.20pm. Lights out.

 

2.30am. I woke to banging that seemed to be off somewhere in the distance. There was intermittent, but continual banging. I thought I heard Shirtless Jose, (the one our security cameras* catches running around his back yard with his rather pert butt in his jocks), next door, yell out “Robbo!” (That should have been a clue)

* don't ask me why we have security cameras, Sam is a techno nerd, is why

I got up and had a wee. 

Even though, I thought the banging was somewhere else, off in the distance, I thought I might as well go downstairs and check on the house anyway.

There seemed to be some sort of commotion on our back veranda roof, but I thought maybe, it could have been, possums, possibly scared by the banging. I was just wondering if that would even be a thing, when Sam appeared.

“There is someone on our roof.”

“What?”

“I was going to the bathroom, and I saw someone on our roof, call the police.”

Then there were legs dangling over our veranda. Long, slim legs.

I called the police. 000 asked me all sorts of questions about if the person had fallen?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Do you think they are injured?”

“Um, no. I don’t know.” 

“Do you think an ambulance will be required?”

“I… er… wouldn’t think so.”

“Do they have a weapon.”

“What? Um… no. I don’t know.”

As I talked, I came to the realisation that it was probably one of the boys from next door climbing on our roof, the reason yet to be determined, but I was pretty confident there was alcohol involved. They had clearly gone out earlier. It was transporting me back to the days of my stepson Jay and his alcohol fuelled carry on, often early Sunday morning.

“Do you want to speak directly to the police officers, or are you happy for them to patrol?” 

“Er, um…” What do I think? It was the boys next door, it had to be, any concern I had was over. “I’m happy for them to patrol,” I guess. 

I went out the back, I could hear someone next door possibly talking on his phone, as there was nobody answering him, something about if there was a spare key he could use. He was slurring, I could hear that.

Sam reappeared and said the police were here. “They are out the front.”

The police were standing at our front gate, three of them. We told the police we thought it was the boys next door drunkenly locked out and climbing over our house to their house. The police said they would go and talk to them.

Sam and I stood in the front room. We could hear shirtless Jose say, “It is the fucking police.” (That pleased me)

We peeked out the venetian blinds of the front bedroom in the dark. The two boy coppers stood in the middle of the road, presumably the female copper was still chatting to the boys next door.

Then the cops got in the cop car and drove away.

It was 3am, or thereabouts, by then.

We went back to bed.

“I think I heard the police say something about them coming in and apologising,” said Sam.

“Oh, good, I’ll be expecting chocolates.”

“And flowers.”

“Yes, flowers too,” I said. “It has been some time since I have got chocolates and flowers from a 21 year old boy.”

We both chuckled.


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