The Proposal

The soft, dark smell of fallen Autumn leaves perfumed the cold wind that tossed Aaron's curls like a sea of wild brown waves. He brushed his hand over those waves to calm them, then put his grey hat back on. He put his hand back into his pants pocket and fingered the crisply folded note inside.

"Need to see you. Meet me at Belvedere Castle. Need to ask you a question. Love, Marta."

That is it. That is all she had written in her thin, barely legible scrawl. It was writing he knew so well. They had been neighbors for years before one night of too much summer rain and even more whiskey had them admitting long felt passions in-between rough, desperate kisses. There were a few nervous, embarrassed moments the following morning, but, thankfully, it was Marta who broke the fearful ice cooling the flames from the previous night.

"Fuck it. Aaron, I don't regret a moment from last night. That felt right. I think this could work."

And that had settled them into a relationship, living in the same one-bedroom apartment, for the past three years. She was never one to mince words or hold back her opinions. If she wanted something from the world, she went and got it, and the world was happy to oblige. They were good together. Things were moving smoothly until two weeks ago.

Two weeks had passed since Aaron and Marta's last meeting at Belvedere Castle, in Central Park. Aaron had planned that meeting. He walked her up the steps and down to the landing overlooking the turtle pond. Once there his mouth fumbled over the words pouring out from his heart, but she smiled gently as if she still understood. His shaking hands nearly dropped the ring over the rocky cliff, into the water below, but he caught it as if Cupid himself was watching over the couple and protecting the proposal from mishap. When she responded no he didn't hear her at first. When she repeated her no, it was as if she was speaking another language. It was the third no that twisted and squeezed the breath from him. As she ran away, he knelt there, breathless, and dumb to the world.

Did he kneel there for minutes? Hours? Years? He never knew. It was the old man, a trash collector who helped Aaron to his feet and set him on the path that would eventually take him back to a dark, empty apartment. There had been a note saying she was staying somewhere else for a while. He was too numb to even think about asking mutual friends if she was with them.

After his first Monday at work, it was suggested he take a little time. He was still trying to find his breath, convince his lungs to start working again, so he did not argue with the suggestion and went back to the newly lonely quiet of the apartment. Only the empty pizza boxes and take-out containers kept track of time's passage. For Aaron time was consciousness when the apartment was less dark, but no less empty; followed by darker hours when eventually consciousness was replaced with dreams of a laughing Marta who was always just out of reach, just out of earshot. Occasionally during the conscious moments food would arrive though he had no real recollection of ordering it.

This was his existence for nearly two weeks. This morning had been different though. This morning he became conscious, walked into the living room, and found it devoid of boxes and containers. In their place was a note, waiting heavy on the coffee table. He read the note once, twice, a thousand times; a million new questions filling his brain.

Where had she been? Was she ok? Why did she leave? Why did she say no? What did she want to ask him? When did she leave the note? Why did she clean away his boxes? Would she really be there today? Was she sorry? Had she changed her mind? Was she maybe going to ask him to marry her instead?

It was this final question that propelled him into the shower, into the cleanest smelling clothes from the floor, and out the door. As he hurriedly made his way to the park, he played their meeting in his mind a thousand times with a thousand different responses to her proposal, but inevitably each ended with kisses more inflamed with passion than their first, whiskey-tinged make out session.

By the time he reached the castle he had convinced himself that Cupid was giving him a second chance and that all he needed to do was deliver to Marta's soft lips the molten, longing-spiced kisses from his fevered imaginings to win her back. However, as the minutes stretched into hours hope became a dull ache sitting motionless in his chest like an unwelcome vagrant. As morning became early afternoon fingers that hopefully caressed the folded note hidden in his pocket, began desperately crushing it instead. Aaron looked over the railing into the depths of the pond below. He tried to blink away the frustrated tears, but they found their way to his cheeks and streamed down his face. He let them for a few moments, then angrily wiped them from his face. He took a deep breath, walked back up the stairs, and looked at the stairs that would lead him down, away from the castle; back to his quiet, empty, lonely apartment. He turned and instead took the path that led deeper into the park, surrounded by trees, falling, yellowed leaves and the occasional chattering of squirrels.

A woman made her way to the stairs that led to a landing that overlooked the turtle pond. She had been at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the castle for hours, weeping, unsure of how to explain, uncertain if her irrational fear and initial refusal would be understood, yet hopeful that her proposal would illicit a much different reaction. By the time she had reached the landing she had convinced herself that love was giving her a second chance and that all she needed to do was press molten, longing-spiced kisses to Aaron's lips to be forgiven. However, she was unaware the love, opportunity, and Aaron were already on a different path.