Excerpt from "Five Reasons I Miss the Laundromat"
Short story previously published in The Florida Review
Five Reasons I Miss the Laundromat
#1
Because once I was washing a load of clothes and a midget walked in with long, blonde hair that was almost silver and I realized when I looked hard that it was a man, not a woman. He walked right over to one of the big drum dryers at floor level—-he had a Walkman on——and got in. He didn’t close the door, but lay inside all curled up with his tiny feet ticking time against the metal. I was single then, and very young, and had only the one load to wash. I wore sunglasses to hide my eyes, and leaned against my rumbling washer going at it like a belly dancer.
Before I knew it, it was time for me to dry. I pulled out the wound wet tentacles of cotton and denim and saw the only dryer open was the one above the midget. So that was it. I drove my big square basket over, unloaded into the second story drum, and slid in dimes. The midget was still in the first-floor drum, snapping his fingers along to music nobody could hear but him. When I stepped away, he gave me a thumbs-up. Startled and confused, I did it back. He smiled then, and folded his hands behind his head.
I stood by the bulletin board and read about a lost terrier named Alice, a super new mega-diet that promised fifty pounds off in as many days, and three families in town who were selling it all at a yard sale dated three weeks ago. When my clothes were dry, I pulled them all out in a heap, the metal buttons nearly burning holes in my arms. It appeared the midget had fallen asleep. The television blared high up in the corner, and part of me wanted to stay, part of me wanted to go.
I drove back to my apartment, which was above a butcher shop. No killing on the premises, but lots of blood and fat and bone behind the counter. I bought my bacon there fresh sliced off a slab. I liked it that way. You could see where it came from.
In my apartment, I folded my clothes on the kitchen table, careful to avoid honey smears and milk dribbles. I lived alone, and worked in telephone sales, and had been struggling through a pretty miserable patch of life. I had just broken up with the person I thought I’d marry, and was having trouble bouncing back. I thought about the midget, and wondered why he seemed so much happier than me even though he was a midget and I was supposedly normal.
When I went back to find him, of course he was gone. He had been so tiny, so perfect, so comfortable with himself, I’d wanted to cuddle him in my arms.
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