A Declaration of Love: an absurd Comedy

T’was a day like any other day.  The sun was shining, the mockingbirds were mocking, and Steve was in love.  He watched as Cheryl crumpled up greasy paper plates and lobbed them into the trash bin with the precision of an eagle swooping in on prey.  Her glossy ponytail gleamed red like the blood of slain enemies.  She looked like an angel.

Cheryl looked over.  “Hey Steve.  Steve!  Dreamer boy.  You agreed to help so get off your ass and clean up the living room.”

She was a snarky, demanding angel.  Steve was besotted.  Perhaps today would be the day that he professed his deep fathomless undying love for her.  He would tell her that he adored her, embrace her in a fiery kiss, then they would ride away on a black stallion into a storm that raged to match their passion.

Did he possess such an impressive equine?  Pah!  It was a small technicality where true love was involved.  Fate would provide.

“Steve!  Don’t be a flake.  Please help me.”

“Sure thing,” he mumbled.  His ears burned from the intensity of their imagined kiss.  He stood up and darted into the living room.

Pizza boxes and pop cans littered the room like flies on roadkill. He sighed and started gathering up the cardboard.  Come on, buddy.  You’ve loved her for years.  Just tell her.  Like: Cheryl I really like you.  Want to go out . . . like as boyfriend and girlfriend?

He grimaced.  Weak.  He could do better.

Cheryl, you are the sun.  I am but a pathetic crumpled butterfly, crawling lost in the darkness, yearning for your warmth.  Be mine?

Nope, too over the top.

Cheryl, I love you.

Yes, perfection!  Now he just had to say it.  He paused.  That was the scariest part.  What if she laughed in his face?

He carried the pizza boxes into the kitchen.

“Umm, Cheryl --”

“Give me a sec.  I just need to dump this in the bin.”

She brushed past him, a black garbage bag clutched in one perfectly manicured hand.  He wondered how those nails would feel dragging down his back.

He gulped.  “Okay.”

His feet led him to the living room window.  She walked to the edge of the driveway and tossed back the lid.

A white contractor’s van screeched to a stop in front of her.  Two men in horrifically tight lime green bodysuits jumped out.  They wore pantyhose over their faces and stood menacingly.  One had impressive legs.  

Steve blinked.  He knew his imagination was active but this was excessive.

“Back off, freaks!  This is private property,” Cheryl growled.

Great Legs darted in to scoop her up.

In one smooth motion she dropped the trash, grabbed the bin, and swirled around to connect with his face. Slimy vegetable ends and coffee grounds exploded into the air like confetti.

“Ow!” he howled.

“Nice!” Steve shouted.

Cheryl pivoted towards the house.  “Steve, help me!”

The other man, tall and burly, rushed forward and tackled her.  They rolled on the pavement, wrestling.

"Cheryl!  No!"  What the hell was happening?  Why would they attack her?

This is your chance.  Get out there and save her, buddy.  Be a hero!

Steve rushed outside.  "Hey!  You jerks!" he yelled, running for Burly.  At precisely the wrong moment he tripped and flailed towards Great Leg’s elbow; the offending joint slammed into his stomach.

Steve rolled over and curled up, gasping for air.  He watched helplessly as the two weirdos in dance wear overpowered Cheryl and stuffed her into the van.

“Cheryl!  NOOOOO!  You fiends!” he breathed weakly.

The van shot away.  Tire tracks steamed on the pavement.

Steve sprang up like a demonic cat.  He was not going to lose her!

His eyes darted around the yard for something useful.  He spied the bike of Cheryl’s little sister.  No choice.  He was desperate.

He leapt onto the tiny Barbie-pink bike, breathed deeply, and ferociously pedalled away.  The purple handlebar streamers blew in the wind.

Poor Cheryl!  She must be so -- well, she probably wouldn’t be terrified.  She was probably giving those knaves a severe tongue lashing.

He pondered his options.  How could he, a teenager on a tiny bike, rescue his friend from two deranged men in a metal van?  He didn’t own anything useful like a bazooka and he was a slight guy who didn’t know the art of war.  Dang it!  Why hadn’t he taken boxing or something?

While he wallowed in insignificance, a massive shaggy goat wandered into the road.  It was huge and upon its brow two thick black horns curled wickedly. The goat bleated a challenge before squaring off against the incoming van.

The van honked.  Then it executed a tricky but impressive bit of automotive ballet and twirled.

A crumpling sound filled the air as the goat became majestically airborne.  A moment later it ruined the calm existence of a metal fence.

The van swirled to a stop.

This was his chance!  Steve pedalled up to it.  His fingers were moments from clamping around the door handle when the van revved and cruelly screeched away, the bumper sparking against the pavement like fireworks.

“CHERYL!” he howled at the sky.  He crumpled to the ground, defeated.

“Mah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”

Something warm butted against his side.  He looked up, tears streaming from his eyes like snot from allergies.  

The shaggy beast stood before him.  

Steve conveniently blinked his surprise.  “Whoa!  How are you not dead?”

“Mah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”  The goat stared at him.  It stared down the road.  It stared at him.  It knelt awkwardly.

Realization dawned on Steve.  His pride was deeply wounded.  “How am I supposed to look badass riding in on a goat?”

It huffed.

“Seriously?”

The goat butted him again and waited.

Steve sighed.  Clearly life was mocking him.  Some guys got to fly in on a dragon to rescue the damsel; Steve would be charging in on a goat.  He admitted defeat and climbed on.

The goat pranced them away.

~    ~     ~    ~    ~

Ten minutes later the brave bovidae stood before a delightful little warehouse.  Its windows hung at jaunty angles while the rusty metal walls leaned in three directions simultaneously, uncertain where to collapse.

Okay, time to do this.  Steve had decided upon a deliciously nerdy rescue.  He crossed his fingers.

“Let’s go.”

The goat bleated fiercely and rammed the doors open.  Steve attempted to look heroic.  “Let my girlfriend go!” he bellowed.  “I have impressive fighting skills.  I challenge you to a duel -- in slow motion Karate!  HIIIIIII-YA!”  He jumped off and painstakingly descended into a crouch.

The fiends looked up.  Great Legs stood behind Cheryl, presumably employing his magnificent Boy Scout skills by tying her hands together.  “Mwah ha ha HA!!!” he laughed maniacally, trying to incite fear.

Burly grinned.  “Challenge accepted!”  Then he slowly, ever so slowly, began to move his hands.  The movements might have been impressive were it executed at a proper speed.

Cheryl shook her head.  “Idiots!  I’m surrounded by idiots,” she muttered.  “Steve, we are not dating.  I’m fifteen.  I have no interest in that right now.  But thanks for trying to save me; that’s really sweet.

“You two!” she glared at Burly.  “I don’t know what your deal is, but you’ve got issues.  Lots of issues.  See a therapist or something.  Kidnapping people is not okay!  I am so done with this.”  Then she whipped her skull back to smash into Great Leg’s face.

He yelped and released her.

She darted over to the goat and sliced her bonds on a sharp horn.  “Have fun playing with the bad men!” she called to Steve while she jumped onto its back.  They charged away, their figures a silhouette against the flaming sunset.

“Did you hear that?  She thinks I’m sweet!” If Steve’s grin were any larger the pain might have rendered him unconscious.  

Burly chuckled.  “Mate, she doesn’t want to date you. And I’ve got to admit, she’s kinda scary.”

“But that’s why we work!  She’s a take-charge kind of woman; I love to follow orders.”

“Give it a year.  Or a decade.  Maybe she’ll realize that too.”  Burly's hand resumed its crawl through the air.  “Are we gonna finish this?”

“Oh yeah.  Bring it on.”

And so commenced the greatest slow motion Karate fight of the ages.  Naturally Steve was defeated.  But the bad men felt so overcome with pity that they allowed him to gallantly crawl away.

And that’s how Steve came to realize that helping a friend clean up after a party always ends badly, but a declaration of love is appreciated.