Hanging Laundry
Abuela yells, ¡Ojo! as she opens the window in our seventh-floor walkup. Cold wind blows in. I watch from across the room, body pressed against the wall.
My aunt has a man’s belt looped around Abuela’s waist, securing her as she leans out to pin a corner of a sheet to the clothesline strung between two buildings. It is hard, dangerous work. Tía Luz used to do the hanging, but she is pregnant and Abuela won’t allow her near the window. Many women fall while hanging laundry. A big belly makes one more apt to lose balance.
A bird! I point to a yellow flutter on the clothesline.
Abuela grabs it. No, mi amor. Just a note from La Loca.
La Loca is a crazy woman who lives at the other end of the clothesline. She sends Abuela notes. Abuela and Tía Luz feel sorry for her, but they laugh because she hangs her bras and panties on the clothesline for all the world to see. Abuela only hangs the men’s boxers because no one is interested in them. The women’s underthings are secret and dry on a rack inside.
Tía Luz reads the note. She thinks someone is inside the television set watching her again.
¡Aiii, Dios Santo! I will take her some food and pray with her this afternoon, says Abuela.
Mami says La Loca is unbalanced and needs a psychiatrist, not prayer. Mami dresses pretty every morning and goes to work in an office downtown. She balances on high-heeled shoes. On Saturdays, she takes me to dance class and shopping at Macy’s and to get ice cream in the park. I wear a pink tutu when I dance. Abuela washed it and now hangs it on the clothesline. She shuts the window and locks it.
I sit on the floor and study the pictures in my ballet book. I cannot yet read, but Mami has read this book to me so many times I know everything that is happening. A girl stands on one leg and her other leg is raised behind her. That is arabesque. That is good balance.
A pigeon is outside the window. I lean on the sill and watch it balance on the clothesline as my pink tutu dances in the breeze.
Is La Loca watching me from her window? ¡Aiii! I don’t want to be unbalanced. Good balance is important. Without it you fall out of windows, people laugh at you, you need prayer … or a psychiatrist.
I raise a leg behind me, let go of the sill.
Balanced!
The pigeon watches me with a cool eye, cocks its head, then shits on my tutu.
My aunt has a man’s belt looped around Abuela’s waist, securing her as she leans out to pin a corner of a sheet to the clothesline strung between two buildings. It is hard, dangerous work. Tía Luz used to do the hanging, but she is pregnant and Abuela won’t allow her near the window. Many women fall while hanging laundry. A big belly makes one more apt to lose balance.
A bird! I point to a yellow flutter on the clothesline.
Abuela grabs it. No, mi amor. Just a note from La Loca.
La Loca is a crazy woman who lives at the other end of the clothesline. She sends Abuela notes. Abuela and Tía Luz feel sorry for her, but they laugh because she hangs her bras and panties on the clothesline for all the world to see. Abuela only hangs the men’s boxers because no one is interested in them. The women’s underthings are secret and dry on a rack inside.
Tía Luz reads the note. She thinks someone is inside the television set watching her again.
¡Aiii, Dios Santo! I will take her some food and pray with her this afternoon, says Abuela.
Mami says La Loca is unbalanced and needs a psychiatrist, not prayer. Mami dresses pretty every morning and goes to work in an office downtown. She balances on high-heeled shoes. On Saturdays, she takes me to dance class and shopping at Macy’s and to get ice cream in the park. I wear a pink tutu when I dance. Abuela washed it and now hangs it on the clothesline. She shuts the window and locks it.
I sit on the floor and study the pictures in my ballet book. I cannot yet read, but Mami has read this book to me so many times I know everything that is happening. A girl stands on one leg and her other leg is raised behind her. That is arabesque. That is good balance.
A pigeon is outside the window. I lean on the sill and watch it balance on the clothesline as my pink tutu dances in the breeze.
Is La Loca watching me from her window? ¡Aiii! I don’t want to be unbalanced. Good balance is important. Without it you fall out of windows, people laugh at you, you need prayer … or a psychiatrist.
I raise a leg behind me, let go of the sill.
Balanced!
The pigeon watches me with a cool eye, cocks its head, then shits on my tutu.
Sandra Cimadori was born in New York and grew up in South Florida in a multilingual home. She graduated from Florida State University. She teaches and writes, dividing her time between North Carolina and Florida.
Art: Creative Commons