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.
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What do you think the guy is doing there?
What do you think happens next???
YOU ARE READING
The Ballerina Tree
General FictionA three part short story of a young woman's observations one night at a laundromat (emphasis on short). Imaginative and thought provoking. COMPLETED
