Classic Rock Bands One-shots

Maylor: Happy New Year

Roger's POV:

“ITS NEW YEARS EVE!!!” I’m rudely awoken by my eight-year-old niece jumping onto my stomach.

“Urk,” I groan, rolling over.

“Uncle Roger, get up, get up!” She shoves at my shoulder, and finally, I lift the covers off my head.

“What’s the bloody time?” I say, squinting at the clock. 6:15 am. Go figure. This is what I get for staying at my sister’s place in New York for the holiday season.

“Come on!” She insists, pushing the blankets off me. I roll over and shove my head under the pillow.

“Five more minutes, mate,” I mumble into the pillow. She jumps off the bed with a dejected sigh and I hear her footsteps exit my room. I fumble for the blanket and yank it back over my body. It’s too bloody early to deal with an over-excited eight-year-old.

A couple of hours later, I pad down the hallway to the kitchen of my sister, Clare’s New York apartment. She’s busy making breakfast while, my terror of a niece, sits on the counter jabbering a mile-a-minute about today’s Times Square Ball Drop.

“Morning Clare,” I say, coming up behind her and dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey, Roger. I’m just fixing up some pancakes.” I smile and sit down next to Sophie, my niece, who immediately turns to pour her random facts about Times Square onto me.

***

After a long brunch, where members of our extended family drop in to say ‘Hi’ and ‘Happy New Year’, we spend the rest of the afternoon playing board games and watching TV. Sophie is very partial to this one show, TBD fails, or whatever it’s called. Basically, people submit funny fails, and she has a blast watching them. Clare’s place is only about ten or so blocks from Times Square, so we got lucky in the sense that we don’t have to worry about road closures and whatnot. Not that I would be the one driving. America, your driving method is bloody stupid. Honestly, it’s like you wanted to be the outlier of the world.

And don’t even get me started on everything else. The only reason I’d come over from the UK was that I hadn’t spent a holiday season with Clare and Sophie since her husband passed away five or so years ago. Johnhad been my closest friend, and it became too hard to come back to the place he’d loved. But Clare had pleaded that I come because it had been too long and Sophie couldn’t wait to see Uncle Roger again, so I’d relented.

“Roger, you ready?” Clare called from the living room.

“Almost, love” I call back, running a brush through my hair and buttoning up my jacket. I yank on my shoes and walk outside my room. We’re going to be at Times Square with one of Calre’s friends and her family, so she’s arranged for us to meet up somewhere. We crowd into the elevator, neighbors all talking excitedly about this evening. I’m shoved and jostled as more and more people get on, but I tightly clutch Sophie’s hand and will the heavens to give me strength. I don’t like the US. Not because of the Revolutionary War, although there is some instinctive distaste from that, just because it’s so noisy and loud and…fat. Seriously, don’t American’s eat small portions?

Once we finally get out of Clare’s building, we start down 9th Avenue to meander our way to Times Square. New Yorkers have already started preparing for this evening’s ball drop, shops have already been closed, roads have started shutting down, and people mill about, last-minute champagne and gift shopping in the few grocers still open. But it’s so crowded, that it takes us almost an hour to get to Times Square, a walk that would normally take no longer than twenty minutes. People have already started congregating for the best spots, so we find an area to stand and for now, sit, with plenty of time to spare. It’s only around 7:30 in the evening, so I grab Sophie and go grab some donuts from a nearby vendor.