Gypsy

Chapter 5

·Zara·

I haven't been run off yet, so that's a good sign. I've also watched a number of people drop bills into the can at my feet. That also is a good sign. I adjust the capo on the neck of my guitar, then strum a few notes to make sure I'm hitting the right pitch. I nod, satisfied, before I pluck the notes for my next song from the strings, watching my fingers curve and stretch from one fret to the next, creating the familiar chords with my calloused fingers.

I hum a few bars before I let the notes drift from my mouth through the words of an old Gaelic folk song. I tap my foot along with the melody.

"There were three old gypsies came to our hall door
they came brave and boldly-o

And one sang high and the other sang low
and the other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o..."

As I sing and strum, several people stop to listen while others pass by. Those who stop stay for the entirety of my song, tapping their feet in time with mine. Several smile while still others nod in approval. I fill the street corner with my favorite Irish folksong, the song that earned me my nickname.

As I come to the conclusion of the the folktale, I slow the notes, giving it a melancholy feel.

"What care I for my house and my land?
What care I for my money-o?

I'd rather have a kiss from the yellow gypsy's lips
I'm away wi' the raggle taggle gypsy-o!"

I hold the final chord until it fades then nod my appreciation to my impromptu audience. Most just walk away, but a couple drop a donation into the can. As I prepare to launch into a new song, the door opens behind me. A burly man appears in the archway and I know my set is done...on this corner at least.

"Thought I told you to get your ass outta here!" The man's voice is a familiar one, and just as hateful as ever. "You've got about ten seconds to move or I'm calling the cops."

I turn and give him my most innocent smile, even as the music from inside the club spills out and curdles my good mood.

"I'm going. See? This is me going." I bend over and snatch my can up off the concrete. I sling my guitar over my shoulder then hold up my hands in apology. "Can't blame a girl for trying to make a buck. Gotta make a living somehow."

"Then get a job like a normal person." His sneer is familiar, too, as is his advice. "Don't come round here beggin' no more, or I swear next time I'll have your ass hauled outta here."

I nod then turn my back on him. Get a job, he says. That's harder than he thinks for someone like me. Jobs require valid addresses and IDs ... I have neither. I can't prove that I'm a citizen of this great country, nor can I give them the random address of Southside, the most rundown district in the city. That would get me laughed out of any interview, if not arrested for loitering. Someday I might have those things, but it's so far in my future I can't even see it from where I now stand.

Putting the man's ignorance from my mind, I check both ways along the street then dodge my way through oncoming traffic. On the other side, I set up again and launch into a song that is both sad and sweet.

This how I spend most of my nights, shooed from corner to corner, scraping up tips that I'll buy food with for me and my adopted family. If there's anything left after that, I'll sock that away for distant plans I've made for my future. But first I have to make it through tonight. I'll be tired again tomorrow when I show up for my work detail, but a girl does what she has to to survive.