by Chris Fletcher

Created on: November 03, 2008

Returning home from one particularly grueling night bartending, I was prepared for little more than a shower, a smoke and getting straight into bed. A sigh escaped my throat once I reached the front door. It was deep and satisfying.

"Honey, I'm home," I said quietly to myself.

My head was heavy, my arms slack and my legs proved somewhat reluctant to do their job. "Go up the damn stairs," I told them under my breath. "Salvation lies over yonder staircase." Begrudgingly they did as requested and I made it to the bedroom, expecting to find the docile, sleeping form of my girlfriend, Becky.

Except she wasn't sleeping. She was sat up straight on the edge of the bed, fully clothed and with a curious smile on her face. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her ankles crossed. The clock on the nightstand read a blurry three in the morning.

"Hi," I said, dropping my coat and bag. "You okay? I thought you'd be sleeping."

"I want to get married," she told me sweetly, like a child requesting an ice cream.

"Huh," I replied, somewhat taken aback. I was tired, irritable and quite dead on my feet. I certainly didn't have it in me to go through this discussion again. "Sorry honey, but no. And you know it's a no. What's brought this on anyway?"

"I want to get married," she repeated more sternly. If she heard me, she didn't show it. I sat down next to her and reiterated my previous statement.

"Look," she suddenly reaching boiling point. She stood and faced me. "This isn't about you. This isn't about your stupid ideas on marriage or your parent's divorce. This is about me and what I want. And what I want is to get married."

"I'm not... Okay, I'm not going through this with you again," I said. "I'm not even twenty, for crying out loud. There's just no way, sorry."

"I want to get married!" she shrieked, red-faced and tense.

"And I don't!" I insisted, looking up at her.

Suddenly everything was engulfed in this sharp crack of white light. Before I could register what it was, it faded swiftly into red, then black. Then nothing.

When I came to, there was dusty sunlight fighting its way through the window. For a terrifying second I thought my vision was cracked, and I tore my glasses from my face. The right lens had been fractured corner to corner. Confused, I set them aside and stood upright. I was rewarded with an orchestral thumping in my skull and a desperate need for aspirin. I fished a battered cigarette from my pocket, lit it and sucked greedily.

Downstairs, I found Becky sat on the couch, fresh faced and beaming. Her two brothers sat either side, and I was met with three wide smiles. Becky, I noticed, was toying idly, but pointedly, with a diamond on her ring finger - one I would later recognize as belonging to her mother. When she caught my eye, she smiled in a way that made me feel very small. Uncomfortable, even.

Somewhere in the back of my skull, a conversation about marriage from the night before started filtering through. Slowly, laboriously. I remembered getting home from work, and I remembered marriage coming up. After that, I was drawing a total blank. For some strange reason, I had the impression I had been punched in the face at one point, but tried to dismiss the idea as ridiculous.

Becky's younger brother, Steve, stood and walked over to where I was still swaying dubiously in the doorway. He grasped my hand and shook it firmly.

"Congratulations, mate," he said, a smile reaching across his face. "Welcome to the family."

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