Earnings

Earnings

Her wheels are crushing my cap lying on the ground.

It doesn't matter, I think. There were only a few coins in it.

I watch as she clutches the microphone, singing for her clan. They are clapping and looking around for support from by-standers. I start to chuckle. At the beginning I had held the microphone for her, but I quickly learned that she wanted the microphone for herself, and wasn't shy.

She is triumphant as she rolls away in her wheelchair. She knows exactly where she is going, where she wants to be. I had thought to do our duet from where she was watching me, but she had quickly joined me on my makeshift stage. She was sure of herself. Had I ever been that sure?

I shake my head and look down again at the cap. I hadn't made much that evening, maybe even less from the time I had taken to arrange the impromptu duet.

Why am I doing this? I think. 

I can't lie: money is always welcome. But I had decided to do it so that I could measure myself with my audience, to feel the connection a close performance can make. What better connection than what had just happened, adding to that girl's day as well as mine? She was glowing, as well as her family.

I could stop right here, having reached my goal, but I decide to finish my repertoire. Afterward, the head of the outdoor market where I had been singing hands me a bag of fruits and vegetables, worth more than what I had earned in more ways than one. I feel like I won a prize, clutching the produce to my heart. I had earned it.

What is the measure for earning?

I go home full...maybe not in my pockets, but in my hand and head.

Text and photo: Kristen Mastromarchi