Among a low-pitched, hypnotizing hum of stainless steel washers and dryers, next to a dingy neon light, he sits in his usual pea-green plastic chair and waits. His grey hair and beard rub along the collar of his wrinkled thrift store jacket, making a soft brushing sound when he turns his head.
His observations alternate between frumpy women, dryers that hug the wall, and the uniform lines on the tile floor beneath annoying fluorescent lights.
He’s keenly aware and notes that a worker has taken away a plant on the line of washers beside which he sits. A sadness comes over him. And if he turns around and looks outside, he’ll see a timid fall of rain has begun to sway in the streetlights from soft winds. It’s 8:05 PM.
In full dryers, he stares at clothes that whirl, spin, and fall, implying in his mind the heated passion of youthful lovers. But the empty dryers feel more like kindred spirits. They seem more relatable—empty, lonely, and seemingly of no use.
He visualizes being back at home, placing his wife’s downy-scented shirts in her drawer the way she likes them. But when harsh reality slips back into place, he’s painfully aware that no one is waiting at home. He knows this laundromat is an asylum to pass time in an ugly, lonely plastic chair.
On this night, as on countless others, he’ll have too much time to think and to ponder, while that time will slip away bit by bit before he hoists his sack to trod the long walk home. He lives a conflicted and disturbed existence.
At 9:17 PM, after leaving, he passes a young, carefree couple that run past him under a streetlight, laughing loudly while smacking their feet in the gathering puddles. He remembers doing that when he was younger.
As he walks, he realizes his sack is lighter than it used to be.
Switching it from one shoulder to the other, the couple’s voices fade to sounds of distant thunder. Lights glow in the windows of houses. And his mind finds isolation in each slow step.
When he gets home, it will be dry. Two recliners will be in front of the TV.
He’s sat in one for decades. The other is going to be empty now… forever.
This is so sad, and I can feel how much he misses her. Even the everyday mundane things stray to thoughts of her. Very good story,
Thank you, Fia.
Well, now, this is just a butt-kicker. You set the scene brilliantly, then proceed to serve up dose after dose of sadness. I feel this poor guy’s pain, and want to buy him a beer or something. I didn’t know you had this kind of writing in you. Hopefully, there’s more.
Thank you so much for the comment, Sam. There’s just a couple more. 🙂
Deep resonance of emotions here. Compelling literature that captures a night at the laundromat that is anything but ordinary. Original captivating and powerfully rendered. Your attention to detail of the scene and the character emotional response to the event unfolding before him is as touchingly developed as it is strong. Truly gifted prose writing.
John
Thanks very much, John. 🙂