Uptown Wishes for Downtown

by Rebecca Blake Schwartz

She waited for the orange hand to turn to the walking man.
But watched instead the shadow of her umbrella whirling idly in her hands.
A darker spot on the dark and cracked concrete.
Her mind twirled to large delicate hands twisting a cork. Wine spilling while poured.
Brie cheese and water crackers, strawberries.
She would have preferred linty tasting cheese-wiz and cheap buttery crackers.
But he could not do without the grand gestures.

The walking man came, blinked and left.
People bustled by her, cars honked, bikers wove in and out of traffic.
Hotdog and hot pretzel smell radiated out to remind her of uneaten tabouli in the park last autumn.
He had meant to propose. She could have let him.
Could have sat and enjoyed and eaten tabouli and been proposed to.
But her mouth would not hold her smile.
It said that sometimes she wanted a burger at a dive where they could laugh and relax.
These grand gestures were too much.
He left the champagne in the picnic basket. Never complained, never proposed.
And had not understood.
More moments like this came, the ring, she knew, always in his left front pocket.

The shadow of her umbrella shook as she was shoved from behind.
She paced across the street without thought.
A museum exhibit of frescos in front of her eyes.
A fancy dinner and a Broadway show.
Formality and romance from a good man.
She knew she should let him propose.
If he could listen and loosen and bend one knee to the sidewalk in front of the hotdog cart
While they held hands and smiled and laughed
She might.