Marry Me by Catherine Harnett
He was on a mission, a real proposal this time. A hocked ring, a clean shirt, a sundae of her choice. He was a rooster proclaiming love in a luncheonette.
No ice cream, I want a chocolate malt— she had a mind of her own.
A flourish, a magician pulling a ring from thin air, he was an almost-man with a job to do. It was plain, a single pearl, something a grandma wore. No box, too big, from Rothman’s pawn shop on 18.th
It wasn’t a movie scene, he didn’t get down on one knee. It was an old booth with a torn red seat. An indifferent waitress took their order. His girl fiddled with her hair, looked through the juke box for a song. He heard his girl suck the malted from a paper straw. She sighed.
Okay, I guess.
Where was the blush, the giddiness he expected. Yes I guess so, sure.
He promised they’d get a place of their own.
This is it? she said.
It was one long room, a railroad flat, a curtain strung between two rooms, a wash-line strung between two buildings. It smelled of foreign food. How would she dry clothes in soot-air, underwear frozen in winter? She imagined herself with a clothespin held between her teeth, yanking the cranky pulley, falling, falling through the air shaft.
And the stairs. How would she climb three flights, a baby carriage jolting on each step as she walked backwards; what if her baby tumbled out and cracked its head? I should have married the other guy. Sure, he wasn’t handsome, but he held the door, treated a girl good.
Catherine Harnett is a poet and fiction author. Her work has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including three books of poems. Her fiction appears in Hudson Review, anthologies and other magazines. Catherine’s professional background includes service in international and domestic government agencies. She currently lives in the DC area.
Photo courtesy of Catherine Harnett via The Tenement Museum
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