Fiddle Sticks and Random Bits

The Ballerina Tree

Late one Thursday evening I saw a woman enter the Laundromat off the corner of the street with one hand dragging in a black bag, and the other gripped tight around a child's wrist. I stood beside my machine, waiting for my whites and watched. Her hands were raw, her face creased with wrinkles, her eyes floating over dark circles. 

The smell of smoke and beer came from the bags of clothes. The woman opened the bag and tossed work pants, tank tops, old socks, and boxers into the washing machine before dumping out five quarters and a few pieces of gum into the palm of her hand. She looked down and then back at the machine that read, $1.00 WASH AND $1.25 DRY.

The child, around the age of three, wandered through the rows of machines as if dancing to their rhythms. Her mix and matched pink socks were blackened on the bottom and she had a light purple skirt that was two sizes too big. As she pranced through the isles her mother sat on the bench near the window watching her daughter giggle and run by the strangers in the Laundromat. She had a look of nostalgia as she watched the girl dance freely.

 Ten minutes into the load lights shone through the window from the street. An old green Chevy with rust spots and a partially detached fender pulled up to the building leaving the engine running and lights on as a man walked up to the door. With one rough hand holding a bottle and the other in a tight fist, the man approached the bench near the window. He had a pair of old jeans with an outline in the pocket and two torn knees. His cement covered work boots had laces that dragged up the steps and as he opened the door it went off with a ding.

Distracted by a ladybug that flew through the door, the little girl had roamed out the side building and towards a park next to the Laundromat. I followed at a distance, not trusting this part of town. The park was new, but had an old tree in the middle which the ladybug had landed on. 

The girl looked up at the huge old tree that's limbs looked like a dancing ballerina with one leg kicked out and arms stretched up towards the stars. I watched quietly as she imitated the tree, teetering on one leg while stretching her arms high and looking up at the sky.

In the background there were faint sounds of yelling between cricket chirps and leaves rustling in the breeze until a loud bang went off and all was silent. Scared by the sound the girl fell to the ground near the base of the tree and began to cry. 

I knew the cops would be there soon and I needed to grab my laundry and run, but before I left I looked back towards the girl. She was looking up at the tree and it was almost as if she were imagining its arms wrapped around her. There were still tears running down her face while she looked up at the stars that twinkled in the sky like lights from a stage as I turned around and left.