Читать книгу Broken Slippers - Deborah Sue Crews - Страница 3

I still don’t understand why my mother brought me with her on that trip to the city. My life could not, under any circumstances, be worse. I believe that the trip was Mother’s attempt at making it up to me for moving us out to the country and forcing me to attend a new school this fall. Seventh grade is hard enough to start when you have grown up with your classmates, but it is even harder to start when you barely know anyone.

I liked the city. I don’t know why she thought a move to the country would change anything. In New York City there was so much to do and see, not like the country where everything was so quiet and still. Guaranteed: no shopping malls, no amusement parks and especially no dance theater. Mom believed that somehow she could bring back a part of me that I had lost after the accident.

I had fought with my mother for days before the move. I didn’t want to move to the country, I wanted to stay in the city. When I wasn’t dancing I attended movies and Broadway shows with my grandmother, Nana Anderson. Nana told me stories about the times she took my mom with her to the shows when Mom was a little girl, and they would watch the ballerina’s dance. Nana would always get this dreamy faraway look on her face when she spoke of the good old days. There was always a lot of activity going on in the city and the excitement of it all was exhilarating.

I thought that I had seen all of the areas of New York City, but somehow Mom and I had ended up in a quiet section that was not familiar to me. The streets were narrow and there was no traffic whizzing by. It almost felt like we were in a different time era, the buildings were a little bit more worn looking, kind of old and lonely. But maybe that was because of the sad mood I was in, so things were looking just a bit sadder.

I’m not sure why it caught my eye, but there it was—a glint of light coming through the window of the tiny pawn shop—barely noticeable from the street. As I steered my wheelchair past the shop, the light seemed to move along the large front window as if it had a purpose of its own. The huge, looming buildings surrounding us and across the street were a contrast to the smaller setting of the pawn shop. The outside of the little shop needed some paint and repair to draw the attention of the world going by it. If it hadn’t been for the light, I might have overlooked it and wheeled right on by. The shop appeared to be closed, even though the sign hanging on the outside said “open.”

I peered inside the front window to see if I could pinpoint where the light was coming from. There it was—so faint, but yes—definitely there.

“Mom, come here and see,” I called. “I really want to go inside the pawn shop and take a look around.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it looks like they may be closed,” she replied. “Besides, I don’t think that your wheelchair will make it through that tiny door.”

It was a tight fit getting my wheelchair through the front door of the pawn shop. The owner had not made proper adjustments to the building to accommodate the handicapped. Once inside, the unfamiliar smell hit me immediately, a mixture of dust and cherry cigar smoke lingering in the air. The lighting was poor, making it hard to see all the items on all the shelves inside the crowded store. Its only light came from the large front window and a small skylight shining down onto the glass counter below it. There was a small crystal lamp on an oval table in the corner next to the counter, but it wasn’t turned on.

“Jenny, I told you I don’t think they are open,” Mom said with her right hand cupped over her nose and mouth.

“Can I help you?” asked an old man. “Or are you lost, like most of the people that come in here?”

“Oh!” I squealed as the old man startled me. He blended into the shadows like the rest of the antiques hidden from the outside view.

Mother walked toward the old man, extending her hand out as a friendly gesture and quickly said, “My name is Lisa Miller, and this is my daughter, Jenny Miller.”

I jumped into the conversation and said, “I saw a light from outside and came in to find it.”

The old man glanced over at me, but turned to my mother while studying her as a potential customer, “We have many hidden treasures inside here. May I help you find one?”

I looked up at the small sliver of light dancing across the white shelf that was nailed up on the wall behind him. The light glanced off of an old box, but it was too far away for me to see the box clearly.

“What’s that up there on the shelf up in the back corner?” I said pointing up to the shelf behind the old man.

“Oh, that’s just an old music box, it doesn’t work anymore. It’s been up there for as long as I can remember.” The old man continued, “you don’t want that one, I can show you nicer music boxes in the glass cabinet, and these ones work.”

But for some reason that tiny old music box intrigued me, and the dancing light kept tugging my eyes toward it. It wouldn’t let me go. I had to see more.

“No, I would like to see that one up there on the shelf,” I insisted.

The old man hesitated, but reached up and took the old music box down from the shelf and blew away the years of accumulated dust with several puffs. He then handed the box to me so that I could take a closer look at it.

The tiny music box was a little worn, but it still had a beauty to it. It was made of a deep brown mahogany wood, and it shimmered in the sunlight coming in from the skylight above it. I opened up the lid to see what treasure I would find inside it.

“Oh look Mom, it has a ballerina inside,” I whispered. “I want it, Mom. She is broken just like me.”

So, my mother purchased the music box, then we left the city and went back home to the country.