Golden Lockets

When I Get Home

George stared up at John once more. He saw his friend's face. John looked extremely concerned, maybe even a bit frightened. George sighed. He couldn't keep the charade up much longer, and he knew it. He carefully staggered to his feet, holding his stomach so tightly it looked like he was trying to prevent it from falling off. He let out a slow breath and muttered, "I'm pregnant."

John blinked in astonishment. "What did you say?"

"I'm pregnant!" George cried. He let out a small yelp and bent over, his face screwed up in pain.

John was still processing what George had just said. He just stood there looking gormless, blinking his eyes as if someone had thrown a fistful of sand at his face. "Pregnant?" John stuttered, "But... how?"

"I'll tell you later, but first get me home!" George said, his voice cracking. He screamed again and collapsed to the floor as he felt the pain as strong as one hundred daggers sinking into his stomach. Groaning and screaming with anguish, he writhed about on the floor, clutching his stomach. John didn't know what to do. He just hovered over George, fiddling with a loose string on his jumper.

George glared up at John, his eyes gleaming with tears. "Get me inside, now!"

John was so confused that he didn't think what he was saying. "Why?" he asked stupidly.

George tried to stand up again, wobbling a bit in his boots. He stared straight into John's eyes, as if he was about to slap him right across the face. George put his hands to his stomach again. Damp patches appeared on his trouser legs, and water trickled out onto the pavement. John watched as a puddle formed at George's feet.

"Did you wet yourself, Geo?" he asked.

George looked at him. He didn't say anything. The look was enough.

"I'll take that as a no, then." John muttered.

"You bloody idiot!" George screamed, substituting "bloody" for a worse word, "Don't you get it? My waters have broken! I'm in labour! If I don't get home now I'll probably have my baby right on the pavement!"

John couldn't argue with that logic. He grabbed George's hand and the two of them rushed down the street. (Their house was only a few paces away so they could have walked, but John didn't want to be shouted at again.) The entire time they were running George started huffing and puffing like a steam-train, "Whoo-whoo-whoo!", again and again. He sounded so comical that John almost giggled.

They arrived at the band's house after what seemed like a five hour marathon, even though it had been less than two minutes. John helped George through the gate, up the garden path, and up the stairs onto the deck. George opened the front door and waddled down the hall to his bedroom. John peered outside, looking left then right then left again. No one was walking down the path, no one was mowing their front lawn, no one was playing in the street.

"Perfect." John thought. He shut the door and locked it firmly.