A small, brown skinned boy, maybe age 6, with bright eyes and a soft looking, curly fro, held hands with his guardian as they entered the laundromat.
Above their masks, they had the same shape to their dark brown eyes and the way they interacted made me think of strong, comforting mothers and initially shy, but gently spirited, inquisitive sons.
As she loaded up the washing, he sat on a stool next to her, playing with the door of the machine, alternating between watching her and glancing around the long expanse of room.
When she poured in the liquid detergent, he stretched up to see; his shoes on the tiny ledge jutting out from the platform supporting the row of washers. When she visited the change machine, he turned around on the stool. Wherever she went, without fail, his eyes followed.
When she finished loading up the machine, they had to walk past me to access the tiny backyard of the laundromat.
The temperature was muggy inside as well as out, but Mother Nature was providing a little relief through the caress of a warm breeze.
“Good morning”, the guardian said, making eye contact as she passed. “Good morning”, I responded in kind. Then, looking at the young boy, I said, “Hello!” “Hello!” came his reply; bright in tone to match the sweet smile I could feel him gifting me behind his mask.
Moments later, the guardian came back in, picked up the stool and exited again.
Through the window, I saw her sitting on a section of the yard’s rock ledge boundary. He was back on the stool, his attention now on something on her phone. They were the only ones in the yard, and over time, I heard him laugh, refer to her as, “Mom”, and even sing a tune whose lyrics were too low for me to make out.
But as relaxed as he seemed out there, every time his mom came back into the Laundromat, he would get up from the stool, stand near the entryway and lean a little (or a lot) to keep her in his line of sight.
And each time she returned to him, he grew more sweetly animated; confident and comfortable in the spotlight of her presence.