The Stoop with Six Steps

I have this dream that we live in the city.
So far away from everyone that we know
yet so close to the strangers we walk past on the street.

I hold you close while we walk down the lifted sidewalk,
guiding you over the thousands of tiny cracks,
not letting you fall again from those who broke your heart before.

The stoop with six steps leading up to our loft
stops us as we turn the corner from 6th Ave to Washington
that no one could possibly miss it unless in the case of avoidance.

With each step, a different thought arises in my mind
like each foot on a stair: subconscious and quick
but leaves me out of breath at the end.

Step One:
In retrospect to my youth, I was a late bloomer, awkward, and socially inept. I had a big family I wasn’t close to and a small group of friends that meant the world. In that group, was you. We were always best friends. Even today we still are, along with the others that have come into our lives. I was too young to realize what you had in store for me. I was fourteen with you having a week on me. For some reason that week you had on my age was the difference between you and I. You became a woman while I remained a fool. Long story short, (is it ever?) I threw a stupid, little party in October for my best friends to watch a movie and munched on snacks I regret now that I need a root canal. As my friends arrived, I extended my hospitality with a few drinks; yes soda was the fine wine of my teen years. My head was down pouring the glasses when you stepped across from me, table between us, to greet me. It was at that moment without looking up when I heard the most beautiful voice, a voice which I didn’t recognize. Suprised, I glanced up and everything around me disappeared. The faces of my friends in the background were a blur and their chatter fell silent. All I saw was you. My jaw was open to the point where you probably thought I was having a stroke, but you ignored it somehow and kept speaking to me. I’m sorry I don’t remember the words you said. I was too busy watching your lips curve and eyes stare into mine. But, I do remember what you were wearing, the perfume you wore, and the feelings I began to experience, unknowingly for a lifetime. You weren’t the childhood friend I knew; you were a beautiful stranger I wanted to desperately meet and ultimately know every single part of now.

Step Two:
But the number fifteen resonates. The age I fell. No not off of a set of stairs,
but fell in love with you. Every time I look at you, it takes me back to
the very moment it occurred to me that you were the one I wanted to spend
the rest of my life with. Even though I was only a teenager, barely a
young adult and too old to be a kid caught in the crossfire of a precarious
youthful love, I knew you were the one I wanted to marry. Why? I have two firm reasons besides the million others about your smile, hair, personality, oh, I can go on and on. You were wild and free. You didn’t care about what anyone thought of you. You just did; did whatever you wanted. You had this glow around you (and still do) that shined on everyone is came across, and they loved it too. But, not like me. I loved it for so much more. I could see the rays that bursted into the air from within and felt the warmth of your presence no matter how far away you were from me, because you were always on my mind. If only I didn’t have to wait until I was sixteen to get a job so I could save enough for a ring. However, this was special. I was just a bit more older than a kid with a more than adult reason to smash my piggy bank now.

Step Three:
The midst of our youth. I see that young, vivacious, wild girl you once were
and believe me, she still is there inside; not locked away but waiting to emerge at the right time. You just tamed that side of yourself to become a woman. A
successful, intelligent woman. Oh yes, back to our youth. High school is a
time of wanting to experience all that life has to offer and wanting to die at
the same time because of petty remarks from the popular crowd or the frustration
of answering the dreaded question from smug teachers, “What are you gonna do with your life?” Luckily for me, you were there. Every day, I watched you walk down the hall, laughing with anyone in your company. You seemed so happy. But, I was a part of your life since childhood and I knew what you’ve gone through. It was far from happy. But somehow, you put a smile on your face and challenged whatever was in your way that day while caring for those who fell down or needed a friend for that hour of math class. You were amazing to me. You are amazing to me now.

Step Four:
As I have grown with this massive heartache, I really haven’t become stronger. You have made me so passionately weak and have terrified me in the most beautiful way. You made me feel. I was so afraid to tell you. But, with every moment we spent together whether it was playing on the swings, running in the field, sitting on the green cement wall, crying in the driveway, walking down the alley, standing at the bus stop, eating in the cafeteria, dancing in our rooms, and drinking liquor that made out tongues and stomachs tingle. I wanted to wrap my arms around you, pull you close, place my hand gently on your face wiping the hair away from your gorgeous eyes, and slowly press my lips against yours with a force so strong that it continues for a few more seconds which feels like a few centuries. But I couldn’t do that. We were friends. There are rules. But I am in love. I lost you before over something so dumb. My feelings. No, my feelings aren’t dumb, it’s all the things I’ve said, all of the actions I took that were dumb. Especially this one: hurting myself. Hurting myself to feel pain outside of my soul. It didn’t compare. I realized nothing would compare. You think you aren’t, but you are worth every single hint of pain in my existence. And when I’m with you, I don’t feel pain. I am happy wherever you may be: next to me, on the phone, in a photograph, in my mind. I can fall asleep now.

Step Five:
My dream within this dream has come true. But, is it really a dream then or just an inception of a false reality? Either way, in any capacity, with time irrelevant, I am finally with you. I can come home every day and grab you, spin you around, and hold you. I can hold you whenever I want to: in the morning when we finish breakfast and you have to kiss away the smudge of syrup on the corner of my mouth from the delicious pancakes you made, after an afternoon walk to the inlet where the wind flows through your hair making me feel like I’m flying, and at night. Night. I can hold you at night. I can see you at night. I can just be with you at night. Night was the loneliest time of all for me because my mind would race and I would have to face the insomnia and anxiety of not being able to have you lay on my chest to hear how my heart beats for you. In that time of loniless, I wished for a dream of you. I am dreaming now.

Step Six:
We have reached the top of the stoop. I’m out of breath now.
—
“Will you marry me?”