The Dancing Girl

The sound of the accordion was filling the cold air as a gypsy girl was making her way down the narrow street. She was wearing a light poncho that did not help the cold winter wind. Although she felt the freezing breeze and the snow falling onto her long and curly hair, she was smiling as she was playing music. A small girl with the coins filled in her yellow skirt was dancing beside her and the rhythm of her skirt was in sync with her hair. It was obvious that they has a dream, a dream that kept them warm against the brutal winter air. The gypsy girl was eyeing the young boys of the street with her eyes black as the night as she was turning around herself along the jolly melody she was humming, making her skirt flow with grace. She was not wearing any shoes because her sister and her had to share a pair. They would take turns to keep their feet cold but she could never let her sister get sick in this weather. So along the way, she was stepping on the muddy pools of snow but she seemed to not care at all. The bangle she was wearing on her ankle was making a jolly sound as if it was casting a spell, challenging the cold weather. Nobody liked strangers in this neighborhood. Neither guests from other parts of the town, nor relatives, nor beggars, nor gypsies. The women sitting in front of their doors were looking at the gypsies as if they were a piece of garbage. Some were openly cursing and some were grumbling with hate in their tongues. The girl with the chanting bangle lifted her head up to the sky. She was freezing as the white crystals from the sky were falling onto her cheeks. But she had to earn money, even she had to count each dime and give them to her grandfather and if he was not satisfied, she would have to take a beating for it. Nevertheless, the gypsy girl had to smile. It was the only way she could reach the stars, just like she did every night when she went to sleep after being beaten by her grandfather. She hated the man but he was the only family they had and there was no way she could find a shelter for her sister and herself if he banished them. She looked up around her and she could see that the people of this neighborhood never once knew what being happy was. She felt that she had to dance to let these people how beautiful life was regardless of what happens and hoped that she could make someone smile, even by accident. This street was one where young girls sat beside the window and did embroidery to forget about themselves. They dreamed of reaching the stars, running away from this neighborhood, felling the sun and the blue sky on their n***d skin when the elders went to sleep. The men would go off to work in the morning with great trouble, and returned home with many more trouble added in the afternoon. Children would build castles from mud in these narrow streets. "These people..." thought the gypsy girl, "they are all born here and they have to die here. All have the same fuss, the same troubles and dreams. The mistrust on their face is even colder than the winter itself. They don't want us, our joy in their street. Hell, that green house with its faded color seems jollier than them! ------------