A Sudden Love

One man knows the REAL meaning of commitment...

She said we could go Dutch--we would each pay for our own ticket. Sarah was three people behind me in line, and there were only three tickets left. I had to pay for both of them, or she wouldn't be able to join me. I figured she might be angry, but I bought them anyway.

We had known each other for three days, and this was only our first date. But I already knew this was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Here, at this most dramatic of events, I would ask the most dramatic, romantic question I ever could. She might be angry, but I was going to ask anyway.

When we walked through the gate together, we were not even really together. She was at least fifteen feet away from me, seething. She had protested that she would never be able to pay me back for the ticket; one ticket to the event was very expensive, but a second ticket was three times the price. I told her she didn't need to worry about it, I certainly wasn't. But she glared at me and followed me only at a distance. Ah! But she followed me! I would get my chance after all! She might be angry, but I would take my chance anyway.

We jostled and elbowed our way to the second row, per our tickets. They were putting the last touches on the scaffolding as we sat down. The rope was a brilliant white, and I could see, from this proximity, that it was a quality product: strong enough to hold weight, with just enough flex for an entertaining bounce. The crowd hushed as the black-hooded rope-man stepped up to the microphone. He opened the festivities with the customary invitation: "Let him who hath business with this court or crowd come forward and be heard!" The usual bands of clowns farced their way across the stage; a poet and two political dissidents (who would probably be the guests of honor at next year's event); a woman who became so flustered as she looked out at the crowd that she forgot what she was going to say and slunk off the stage to catcalls and shameful hoots. She was only second to last though--there was something I wanted to say, too. She might be angry, but I wanted all the world to hear me say it anyway.

I mounted the stairs. I stood at the mic, the trapdoor and the hanging tree just a few feet to my left. I felt her baleful gaze on me as I settled my nerves and the audience quieted. There was no urge or need to ramble. I spoke clearly and quickly, confidently, leaving no room for rebuttal. "This woman, Hedya U-d'Darya, will be my only love until the moment of my death!" I looked at her and watched her expression change. The crowd roared their approval and anticipation. With an economy of movement, so as not to let the moment grow stale in the least, I pulled the revolver from the back of my belt, put it against my temple, and said: "Until the moment of my death!" I began to squeeze the trigger, to raise the caste of the Common woman I loved to the venerated status of Widow d'Art. She might be angry, but I pulled the trigger anyway.