Editor's note: The Daily will publish short fiction on Fridays to promote the creativity of its writers and readers. RJ Young is a sports and life & arts columnist for The Daily.

Reggie Ridgeway couldn’t bring himself to propose before Kevin left to go to the bathroom. The war within him had short-circuited his brain-to-mouth mechanism.

Every strong feeling Reggie had was met by a stronger opposing reaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t have confidence. He had that in spades. It wasn’t that he didn’t value every opportunity. He practiced on his commute to class every morning. He practiced in his bathroom mirror while brushing his teeth. He even did exercises to improve his enunciation. But the public, what would the public, his friends, his family, what would they think?

“What the hell are you waiting for?” his heart said. “Are you really gonna let this happen again?”

“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” his head said. “Don’t do something neither of you will live down.”

There, at the table, Reggie struggled to say what he wanted, what he needed to say. The box was in his hands and lying in his lap. He fiddled with it, then his thumbs, then the box again. He looked around the room, taking stock of the people sitting around him, the people who were sure to do something stupid, something crazy if he could somehow get the courage to drop down on one knee. Tired of wrestling with the box, he plopped it down on the table.

Reggie glanced up at the men’s room door. He wished someone would bolt it shut, allowing no one in or out. It had been at least ten minutes since he watched Kevin roam into the bathroom. Reggie wondered what could be taking Kevin so long? Did he know? Was he running away for dear life?

The server approached Reggie’s table.

“Sir, is there anything I can get you?”

Reggie swallowed his full glass of champagne and handed it to the server. “Another,” Reggie said, “another glass of whatever this is.”

“Are you all right?” the server said.

Reggie looked pale, ill even. Flop sweat covered his cheeks and forehead.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be all right?”

The server walked away, a perturbed look on his face, but as he did he knocked the box off the table. It hurdled onto the floor.

“No,” Reggie yelled, jumping out of his seat onto the floor. He followed the box under two tables, between three sets of knees and under one giant cut of roast beef. The box finally came to a stop in front of two size 12 wingtips.

“Reggie,” Kevin said. “What on earth are you doing on the floor? What is that in your hand?”

Reggie threw his hands around the box, opened it and brought himself up to one knee. It was now or never.

“Look, Kevin, I know we have only been together for six months, but I love you. I truly, sincerely love you. But the only way I know how to express that is by asking you to marry me, which is stupid because they have laws against people like us getting married in Oklahoma. I shouldn’t have even brought it up, but I had this ring, and the waiter knocked it off the table and I had to catch and will you marry me?”

Kevin smiled and said, “They don’t have laws against us getting married in Vermont. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

To submit your own short story, email it to dailyent@ou.edu. Stories that are obscene or longer than 600 words will not be considered for publication.