Roma Therapy
By Stephen Signor
Jofranka Ferguson loves Carnivals. For most nine year olds it is a haven for adventure. It is here that the
imagination comes to life. All her make believe friends gathered in one venue. As she wanders from tent to tent she
is welcomed. Carnies and freaks alike greet her with open arms, an open mind and an open heart. She is a living
testament of their purpose and a reminder of their success.
The smell of greasy food lingers in the heavy humid air. Even while little Jofranka chews on the last bite of her
candy apple she is planning her next course. Money is no object. Children like her learn at an early age to fend for
themselves, particularly at the expense of unsuspecting victims. She is in her comfort zone today and has no fear of
failure. She had been taught her well. Her mother had been the biggest influence.
But she was just a memory now. Three years ago they had been separated. How or why that memory too escaped
her. Since then she has grown accustomed to working alone.
Among the many guests seen during the festivities she stands out. Her brightly colored front-laced vest covers a
white shirt. Customarily it has a scooped neck with puffy sleeves that gather at the wrist. Around her waist is a
brightly colored sash. A matching bandana complements the long tiered calico pleated skirt that hangs below her
knees just above black leotard stockings. She is proud of her Romani heritage and the gold hoop earrings, beaded
necklace and bangles on her arms she has collected in her short little life.
Rain clouds begin to form. She was focused on the newly acquired cotton candy, licking the crystals from her
fingertips, when she felt the first raindrops. She joined the other scattering visitors in a race for shelter as the drops
turned into an early September afternoon torrent. She ducked into the nearest red-and-white striped tent.
Inside, it was darker than most of the other tents. In the back a small table is visible. On it, a crystal ball lies waiting
for the unsuspecting. Around it, tarot cards are meticulously laid out. The lingering smell of incense fills her with
memories. A sense of familiarity begins to warm and console, replacing the damp chill outside.
She never saw the woman approach behind her. But she heard the footsteps and turned to stare at a face whose
makeup had apparently been applied with a putty knife. The face at first was devoid of expression, age somehow
buried deep beneath the layers of cosmetics. To avoid a collision the woman placed her hands on Jofranka’s
shoulders. Large ornamental rings adorned every finger.
She started to offer an apologetic smile but the large looming figured had silenced her thoughts. As the woman
looked down her distorted face registered instant recognition and she screamed, "It's you!" No other words would
follow.
The little shaking fingers let go of the half finished treat. The candy fell and rolled away after bouncing off her little
black shoes. She never flinched. There would be plenty of opportunity to replenish. But nothing would fill her in the
way she felt at this moment. No longer alone Jofranka was secure
Three years of wondering the country side passed before her huge green eyes like slides from an old projector.
Those bony fingers that now held her shoulders felt more than familiar. Then the old woman looked deeper into her
eyes and drew her close. It was good to feel the body of her daughter again. Sugar coated lips parted as Jofranka
whispered “Momma!”
As they held their embrace the storm outside passed and the sun once again began to shine.
By Stephen Signor
Jofranka Ferguson loves Carnivals. For most nine year olds it is a haven for adventure. It is here that the
imagination comes to life. All her make believe friends gathered in one venue. As she wanders from tent to tent she
is welcomed. Carnies and freaks alike greet her with open arms, an open mind and an open heart. She is a living
testament of their purpose and a reminder of their success.
The smell of greasy food lingers in the heavy humid air. Even while little Jofranka chews on the last bite of her
candy apple she is planning her next course. Money is no object. Children like her learn at an early age to fend for
themselves, particularly at the expense of unsuspecting victims. She is in her comfort zone today and has no fear of
failure. She had been taught her well. Her mother had been the biggest influence.
But she was just a memory now. Three years ago they had been separated. How or why that memory too escaped
her. Since then she has grown accustomed to working alone.
Among the many guests seen during the festivities she stands out. Her brightly colored front-laced vest covers a
white shirt. Customarily it has a scooped neck with puffy sleeves that gather at the wrist. Around her waist is a
brightly colored sash. A matching bandana complements the long tiered calico pleated skirt that hangs below her
knees just above black leotard stockings. She is proud of her Romani heritage and the gold hoop earrings, beaded
necklace and bangles on her arms she has collected in her short little life.
Rain clouds begin to form. She was focused on the newly acquired cotton candy, licking the crystals from her
fingertips, when she felt the first raindrops. She joined the other scattering visitors in a race for shelter as the drops
turned into an early September afternoon torrent. She ducked into the nearest red-and-white striped tent.
Inside, it was darker than most of the other tents. In the back a small table is visible. On it, a crystal ball lies waiting
for the unsuspecting. Around it, tarot cards are meticulously laid out. The lingering smell of incense fills her with
memories. A sense of familiarity begins to warm and console, replacing the damp chill outside.
She never saw the woman approach behind her. But she heard the footsteps and turned to stare at a face whose
makeup had apparently been applied with a putty knife. The face at first was devoid of expression, age somehow
buried deep beneath the layers of cosmetics. To avoid a collision the woman placed her hands on Jofranka’s
shoulders. Large ornamental rings adorned every finger.
She started to offer an apologetic smile but the large looming figured had silenced her thoughts. As the woman
looked down her distorted face registered instant recognition and she screamed, "It's you!" No other words would
follow.
The little shaking fingers let go of the half finished treat. The candy fell and rolled away after bouncing off her little
black shoes. She never flinched. There would be plenty of opportunity to replenish. But nothing would fill her in the
way she felt at this moment. No longer alone Jofranka was secure
Three years of wondering the country side passed before her huge green eyes like slides from an old projector.
Those bony fingers that now held her shoulders felt more than familiar. Then the old woman looked deeper into her
eyes and drew her close. It was good to feel the body of her daughter again. Sugar coated lips parted as Jofranka
whispered “Momma!”
As they held their embrace the storm outside passed and the sun once again began to shine.
New Hampshire Writers Flash Fiction
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