In the cracks of the pavement

It was about three years ago that I was walking along somewhere between Little Italy and Soho with a couple of friends. He held her hand, she and I murmured a few disconnected lines here and there, he cracked a joke, we chuckled. It was a crisp autumn evening, warm enough that I was wearing sandals, but just cool enough for a light jacket. I was cozy in that comfortable peace. We were walking by all of these restaurants filled with people who seemed hell bent on having the merriest night of their lives. The lights were extra sparkly, their laughter extra tinkly. It was the kind of evening that comes around once in a while when everything is light and airy and possible. You could run into that knight in shining armor around the corner – and he’d be wearing a light sweater and carrying a jacket which he could proffer for your use if you happened to catch a breeze and get goosebumps on your arms.

And my heel got stuck in the pavement.

There I was, stuck, in the midst of all this possibility. That knight in shining armor probably took a cab and went home without ever having the chance to offer me his jacket. The laughter suddenly seemed as if it was either too far away or too close, mocking me. The lights were now too dim for me to see as I struggled to get my sandal unstuck.

I got it free and hopped once, twice, steady. My friends were waiting for me and we strolled off again. That little stroke of reality lingered on but possibilities enveloped me once more.

I must remember this.