Hope for a Tired Crank

I stand in the corner, head tilted to one side, unblinking. People in. People out. No one glances my way. Boredom is a way of life. Once upon a time, friends cheered when I came out to play. Onlookers merrily sang my song at the top of their lungs, eyes glued to my door, anticipating my lively dance. Over and over again, they sang and I danced. One might think I tired of such repetition, but this is not so. Those who watched smiled and laughed. Laughter brought me joy…a joy that is now a distant memory. My mind refuses to recall the words to the song…my song. The tune is shrouded in a foggy haze. Snippets tease me in my dreams, but then disappear with the dawn.

I’ve spent hours wondering why I’ve been discarded, tossed aside like a ragged shirt or a holey pair of socks. I miss entertaining an audience. Maybe, it’s time to retire…at least rest. I need assistance to my room and no one stands ready to help. I miss my room…my hideaway…my refuge. However, going there alone is not an option. I need a gentle nudge and then off to sleep I go.

Voices in the hall, grab my attention. The door cracks open, two people slip inside to investigate the room’s contents. One I know well, the other, a young pig-tailed girl, I have never met. The stranger scanned the room, eyes darting from one novelty to the next, lingering on some, ignoring others. Then, our eyes met. Did I detect an attraction? Her gaze sped on, hesitated, and drifted back to me.

“Would you like to play?” the little girl asked, smiling.

My smile answered ‘yes’.

She playfully scooped me up and swung me round and round. This is not my conventional manner of play, but I don’t complain. Smiles and giggles turn my despair to cautious hope.

“Let’s sit on the floor,” she said, dropping in a dizzy heap.

She pushed me into my room but not for sleep. She knows I am most fun when I make a grand entrance. Memories of the melody, fragments of the lyrics swirl in my mind, and then I hear my song, almost forgotten. My anticipation builds, but I must wait for the right time. When my excitement can be contained no longer, I dance. The pretty little girl cheered and clapped and we lost track of time, replaying the routine over and over again.

“Sara,” someone called. “It’s time to go home.”

She stood up, cradling me in her arms, placing me on a cluttered dusty shelf.

“Bye, little Jack,” she said, waving over her shoulder.

And then if knowing the longing in my heart, she turned and burst into song:

"All around the Mulberry Bush

The monkey chased the weasel

The monkey stopped to pull up his sock

Pop! Goes the weasel"

“Good night, Jack,” she whispered, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Good night, little one,” I thought, smiling. “Good night.”

"Pop Goes the Weasel" is an English language nursery rhyme and singing game. It has a Roud Folk Song Index number of 5249. Despite some assumptions this song can only be traced back to the mid-nineteenth century, when a music sheet acquired by the British Library in 1853 described a dance 'Pop Goes the Weasel', which was 'An Old English Dance, as performed at Her Majesty's & The Nobilities Balls, with the Original Music', which had a tune very similar to that used today and only the words "Pop Goes the Weasel". There is evidence that several people tried to add lyrics to the popular tune. (Compliments to Wikipedia)