Extending a cupped hand towards the passing customer, the
little girl, in what sounded like an Eastern European accent and with the
high-pitched musicality often associated with little ones, said, “See?
Snail.”
We were at the New Happy Laundromat in Flatbush, Brooklyn. The laundromat customer, who was on a return trip to get
something out of her car, screeched to a speed bump of a pause. Glancing at the dime-sized snail shell, she
made a polite but distracted sound of acknowledgment then continued towards the
exit.
By the door, she passed the little girl’s mother in the
process of rolling a cart with two laundry bags up to the Laundromat
workstation.
En route to the workstation the laundromat attendant was
the next one treated to show and tell.
“See?” Repeated the little one. “Snail.”
The attendant shuddered with an accompanying vocalization
of sound, before crossing by in front of her.
Surprised by this reaction, the little girl paused to give
the snail shell in her hand a considering look before making her way over to
the workstation. There, in a tone both
patient and insistent, she explained, “Snails aren’t scary. They’re sticky.”
But the attendant was preoccupied with helping her
mother. After a few more seconds of
waiting, the little girl, her attention back on the snail shell, turned, and
wandered deeper into the Laundromat.
Golden brown hair pulled into a high, side ponytail, I
would place her age around 4 or 5. She
wore a yellow sweatshirt over a pair of blue jeans. The sweatshirt doubled as a canvas for white
polka dots, and what appeared to be a dark-colored cloud stitched across the
front. On her back sat a book bag depicting an enchanted Anna and Elsa standing
amidst a flurry of snowflakes.
While the mother’s singular focus appeared to be getting
the laundry started, they spoke on and off in what may have been Polish. Then the snail came out of its shell, and the
little girl switched to English.
“Aww,” came her cry of delight, “it’s touching me!” True
enough, there in her palm, the shell’s inhabitant was now visible and seemingly
curious about the hand structure surrounding it.
Remembering the attendant’s earlier reaction and noticing
she was now customer free; the little girl went back to her.
“Snails aren’t scary; they’re sticky.” Although her tone was still patient, it was
evident, she really wanted to convince the attendant of how harmless the snail
was.
She continued. “It’s
a baby snail. See, it’s a baby one. It doesn’t have any teeth. I love baby snails. And ladybugs. And butterflies. Aww, he’s
touching me!”
When the customer who had made subsequent trips to her car
was saying goodbye, the girl asked her to say goodbye to the snail, too. To my delight, she did.
By the time she approached me, I knew the routine:
Little Girl: See?
Snail.
Me: Yes, I see.
Shortly thereafter, I learned it ate leaves and that her
mother had found it in the bushes.
Me: What are you going to do with it?
Little Girl: Show it to friends at school.
Me: And then what will you do?
Little Girl: Eat breakfast.
Me: Oh. Okay (clearly not the answer I was expecting). And then what?
Little Girl: Play, then lunch.
At one point, she turned her back to me, asking if I’d place
some items into the front square section of the book bag. “I can’t reach that area,” she explained. Honestly charmed by her from the first, I
agreed, unzipping the section, and putting in the items.
In my peripheral vision, I saw her mom cast a fleeting
glance over at us. But, without saying a
word to myself or to her daughter about the conversation, she turned her focus
back to loading the washing machines.
When mom finally had all their clothes in, they exited with
the little girl saying she was off to feed the snail some leaves for its
breakfast. I had a feeling the little
girl was also headed to school.
Whether the other adults in the Laundromat were conscious of it, that little girl was a teacher. Outgoing and quietly grounded, she showed respect and kindness for an easily overlooked, tiny life form. Then there was her willingness to educate from a place of love and wisdom; indeed, the snail is not actually scary. Finally, simply from being in, as well as interacting with, the presence of such innocence, I was also gifted a lightening of my spirit.