Page 60 of Spark

The crowd is transfixed, holding their collective breath in anticipation of whatever lyrics Ruby’s going to pair with this dramatic instrumentation.

But when Ruby knows she’s got everyone here in the palm of her hand, she pauses in her playing, ever so briefly, with her head slung back and her eyes closed, before lifting her head, hunching over, and launching into a two-chord, up-and-down banger that’s straight out of a circus.

Everyone guffaws at the sudden shift in tone, and a moment later, Ruby sings, “Savage sang Laila , tried to sell it as la-la. We all knew the truth, though, our rockstar was a gone-ah. And now, a soon-to-be daddaaa!”

The crowd cheers.

“Ooooh, nothing makes me gladda, than a fuckboy breaking freeeeeeeee! And finding the soulmate that makes him so happyyyyyyyy!”

Again, the party cheers, while Savage and Laila snuggle and laugh their asses off.

Ruby continues singing, “Oh, Mister Savage, do you know the old adage? Happy wife, happy life. Happy man, happy band. We’re all so happy for you, Adri-an.

So happy, I can’t make a joke about that.

Now, to your future kiddo: Oh, the places you’ll go!

And wherever that is, always know, you’ll have your Auntie Ruby in tow to love you like her ooooooown!

” Ruby plays a chord and lets the sound reverberate for a beat through the room—long enough to signal the ending to her masterpiece and elicit hoots and applause.

But just as the applause starts in earnest, Ruby belts out her final line with enthusiasm, drawing out every syllable for emphasis: “Happy birthday, Savage!” Finally, with her song officially completed, she throws back her head dramatically and plays a rumble on the piano, while the crowd applauds loudly and raucously.

As the crowd continues expressing its approval, Ruby gets up from the piano bench and takes a demure bow, before accepting a hug from both Savage and Laila.

But when our hosts are done loving up on my future wife, I pull her to me and gush about how awesome that was, almost forgetting . . .

“Okay, KC,” Savage says. “You’re up.”

That.

Shit.

Fuck.

The moment I’ve been waiting for has finally arrived, and I’m equal parts ecstatic and terrified.

“Original poem, song, or interpretative dance?” Savage asks.

My heart feels lodged in my throat. “Poem.”

Next to me, Ruby cheers, along with the rest of the party. And it’s easy to surmise she, and everyone else, are excited to witness Savage’s third option being selected for the first time in his silly game.

My heart stampeding, I climb to standing on the piano bench vacated by Ruby, and Laila, who knows what’s coming next, helps me out by pulling her to a spot that’s a few feet away from me in perfect view of everyone.

“Savage,” I bellow. “Happy twenty-eighth birthday, my brother. In your honor, I will be performing an original poem, written by me—a dramatic and erotic poem that’s going to take your breath away with its honesty, vulnerability, humanity, and pure filthiness.”

“I’d expect nothing less from such a wordsmith,” Savage says, making everyone chuckle.

I hang my head down and clasp my hands in front of my crotch for a long moment. And when I finally raise my head, I lock eyes with Ruby and announce, “Behold, this poem called . . . ‘ Spank .’”

Predictably, Ruby loses it, along with our other bandmates and Laila, all of whom know the backstory behind the joke.

Everyone else at the party is laughing, too.

Just as hard as Ruby, actually. But, obviously, they’re all busting up, simply because the title of my piece is a titillating word that’s not at all what they expected, given my dramatic wind-up.

In a sudden fit of nerves, I brush my fingertips against my pocket, yet again ensuring I can feel the outline of the ring box there.

When I do, I clear my throat and will the words to come out of my mouth, as I’ve practiced them, again and again.

But, suddenly, I feel tongue-tied. Obviously, my excitement in this one-of-a-kind moment is getting the best of me.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Ruby calls out playfully. “I feel like I’ve waited half my life to hear this freaking poem!”

Everyone in the room bursts out laughing with her, but nobody more so than the handful of people with a full understanding of Ruby’s joke.

“You can’t rush a masterpiece,” Savage says. “Take your time, KC.”

He’s right. You definitely can’t rush a masterpiece. Or a marriage proposal.

“Spank, spank, spank!” C-Bomb begins chanting, and the mantra catches on like wildfire, until, soon, the whole place is energetically demanding my recitation like a mob going after a hunchback in a Disney movie.

“Okay, okay,” I yell, waving my hands to quiet everyone down. “The bard is ready to perform now. I just needed a second to gather my thoughts.”

“Quiet down, you animals!” Savage booms, and the crowd dutifully pipes down.

I return my gaze to Ruby’s sparkling eyes, and she unknowingly calms me down.

“‘Spank,’” I manage to say. “A dramatic, erotic poem by Kendrick Cook.” After brushing my fingertips against the ring box one last time for good measure, I finally begin in earnest, “There once was a man from the South Side.”

A tidal wave of laughter and cheers slams into me—one that would surely drown out my voice, if I tried to continue speaking. Obviously, a classic limerick set-up for my “dramatic and erotic” masterpiece isn’t what anyone expected.

I wait for the noise to die down before starting again. And when the volume in the party simmers down enough for me to hear myself think, I start reciting the poem from the top, once again, this time determined not to stop till I’ve reached the end:

“There once was a man from the South Side

Who fell in love with a gem at first sight.”

Ruby makes an “aw” face that sends butterflies into my belly, and I flash her a broad, beaming smile in return. Emboldened, I continue :

“He couldn’t have her, he thought

So he spanked his monkey raw

And bided his time till he got her.”

The crowd roars its approval, apparently thinking my limerick called “Spank” is now over. But, baby, I’m just getting started.

“ Once he got her, oh my

How the spanking intensified!

But not with his monkey

With her backside.”

Ruby giggles and blushes. But there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s now looking at me with the same kind of energy she had at Reed’s party, when I unexpectedly wailed her name instead of Shaynee’s, during my performance of Red Card Riot’s famous song.

Again, I wait for the noise to die down a bit.

And when it does, I forge ahead, determined to make Ruby my fiancée:

“Oh, how he spanked his ruby-red gem,

Till she screamed his name and came undone!

Till she turned his life upside down

Making him happier than a simple best friend

Until, lo, to a birthday bash he went

With a ring in his pocket and a prayer, heaven sent

That the question he’d devised to ask her tonight

Sweet Ruby would answer, “Yes, KC . . . I’ll be . . . your bride. ”

Ruby gasps at the final words out of my mouth, while the crowd around her explodes like a nuclear bomb. But a moment later, as if on cue, everyone stops screaming, all at once, in order to give me the floor for what’s obviously coming next.

I step off the piano bench slowly, feeling like every breath in this room is being held around me, the same as my own.

With my heart thumping in my ears, and my skin tingling, I pull out the ring box from my pocket with a shaking hand and walk toward Ruby, who’s now standing alone after being deserted by Laila.

When I reach my future wife, she’s shaking and wide-eyed.

Slowly, I sink to my knee before her, eliciting titters and muted squeals all around me. And when I’m in the traditional pose, I flip open the ring box and raise the sparkling diamond Laila helped me pick out, making Ruby gasp and burst into tears.

“Ruby Margaret Connolly, I love you, baby. I always have, and I always will. I don’t want to live a single day without you by my side, and I can’t wait to call you my wife. Please, baby, will you please marry me?”

“Yes!” Ruby shrieks, throwing her palms to her rosy, tear-streaked cheeks.

With a huge smile, I rise, pull her to me, and kiss her deeply. And by the time I get the ring onto her correct finger, we’re being mobbed by our bandmates and closest friends.

“That poem was amazing!” Ruby shrieks, as we hug and kiss gleefully. “Kendrick, oh my god, baby, this ring is insane! Gorgeous!”

“Laila helped me pick it out.”

“She gave you excellent advice. I would have picked this out myself, if I’d been there.” Squealing, Ruby throws her arms around my neck and peppers my face with kisses. “I loved your proposal so much! ”

“Good, because I love you. So fucking much.”

“And you thought you couldn’t write a poem called ‘Spank.’ Ha !”

A few feet away, Savage yells to nobody in particular to crank up the music again.

And God bless whoever’s manning the tunes—they put on “Spark.” Why not?

It’s about Ruby, after all. And this right here is quite the surprise happily-ever-after for the tortured poet who wrote those words with no idea of the joy they’d bring him one day soon.

“I love you so much, my love,” Ruby yells above the music. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you, too, baby. And not like a sister, to be clear.”

Ruby snorts. “God, I hope not.”

We both laugh as music, love, and joy swirl around us.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” I shout, simply because it feels so good to say it. I take her hand and kiss the new ring on her finger. The symbol of the life we’re going to build together. “I love you so much, Ruby Connolly! And, baby, I always will.”

If you’re interested in hearing the musical accompaniment to each dare and song during Savage’s Birthday Party, click here!