We met on the outskirts of Kalamazoo in a laundromat, hers tumbling in a dryer, mine still swirling in a washer. She had a boy with her, a runt with blond curls playing a video game on his phone. He didn’t look up when she introduced me. “Say hello to the nice man,” she said.
The boy grunted like a wild animal but stayed glued to his game.
“That’s okay,” I said.
“He’s really a sweet boy.”
I knew she was probably lying to put a good face on it. She wasn’t wearing a ring, and I figured the boy was a royal handful for a single mother. An anchor dragging behind her if she wanted any kind of a life.
“No real harm done,” I said, forcing a smile.
“He’s usually such a proper little gentleman,” she said; “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
“That right, son? Are you a gentleman?” He cast me a quick side glance, like a wary animal, before locking eyes back on the phone screen.
“Baby,” she said sweetly, “Maybe you could put the phone away for a while.” A low sound, pretty much a growl, seeped out of him.
“Where’s his father?”
She folded a pink towel, placed it neatly on a pile of them, and looked at me, “He ran off.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. He wasn’t a good man.”
I nodded.
She smiled at me. It wasn’t a half bad smile. Her auburn hair was tied up in a bun. She probably cleaned up okay but likely didn’t have many opportunities and might wind up resenting the boy if she couldn’t find someone decent to help get it all straightened out. “That’s yours,” she said when I was startled by a washer clicking off loudly. She probably knew how long washer and dryer cycles were without looking.
“You’ve got a good ear for it.” It was all I could think to say.
“It doesn’t take long to get into the rhythm of the place,” she said.
“I can believe it.”
She held out her hand, “I’m Alice.”
“Ryan.” I didn’t want to shake and make it more personal, but reminded myself it was too rude not to. There was no call for poor manners. Her small hand was soft and warm. I figured she was a decent woman barely treading water with that boy.
“I haven’t seen you here before, Ryan.”
“My first time,” I said, opening the washer door.
“Yeah? You live nearby?”
She sounded hopeful. I decided vague was the best way to go, “Oh, up the road aways.” I pulled clothes from the washer and put them in the basket on rollers. A welcome distraction.
“Which road?” she said.
“Oakland Drive.” I immediately regretted it. But I don’t care for lies. I’ve been lied to more than I care to remember by my ex-wife.
“Hey — I’m on Oakland Drive, too, Ryan. Just a few minutes away, really.”
“How about that,” I said, avoiding eye contact as I dumped wet clothes in the basket.
“So, do you live right around here?” she said.
“No, I’m a lot further up. Toward downtown.” I looked around for an empty dryer. She pointed at one whose door hung open.
“That’s a good one,” she said; “More heat than the others.”
I looked at it and nodded approval, like maybe I was a dryer connoisseur, “Heat’s good. You’ve got this place scoped out — Alice.”
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
“I suppose. But maybe I’ll buy a washer-dryer. Saves on gas, too.”
“Sounds like you’re way up there on Oakland, then.”
“Pretty far, yeah. A real drive.” I looked around to see where the boy had gotten to. He was in a chair, head low over his phone, thumbs whirling away. His own little world. Maybe the only one that made any sense to him. “What’s the boy’s name?”
“Ronald.”
I felt that was an unfortunate name to hang on a dorky kid. A Ronald could get eaten alive at school. A Ronald was a sitting duck for bullies. He’d be better off as Ron or even Ronnie and especially if he ditched the pretend world of video games and learned to look folks in the eye. But I knew better than to give free advice to strangers. I loaded the dryer and pushed the button. After a moment of watching clothes tumble, I pressed a hand against the glass, “Pretty good heat, alright.”
“Best dryer in the house,” she said, smiling; “I guess I warmed it up for you with my stuff.” It wasn’t lost on me what she implied. I smiled back and looked in the whirling dyer again, at tumbling towels and leaping Levi’s. The Levi’s danced as they tumbled, like they had lives of their own. Something small and red flashed several times among them. I didn’t have anything red.
When the dryer stopped for a moment to change tumbling direction, I saw a pair of red panties sandwiched between the legs of a pair of Levi’s. I glanced quickly at Alice, who was loading towels in a laundry basket.
It was probably accidental, the panties. People are always leaving things behind in a dryer – a sock, a hand towel. But panties? Red panties? I felt like they would be hard to miss. A woman surely always knew where her red panties were. My wife – ex-wife — had red panties. Black ones, too.
When Alice stepped over to me, I stood in front of the dryer, feeling its heat. It was as if I could sense those red panties every time they circled behind me.
“Well, Ryan. I guess we’re off.”
“Lucky you.”
“But you’ll get faster at it,” she said; “I’ve got all kinds of tips for you.”
“I bet you do. The voice of experience.”
“That’s me. I know a thing or two.” She flashed me her version of a coy look and I knew she wasn’t talking about laundry anymore.
“Do you now?” Then I noticed she’d let her hair slip down, dusting her shoulders. Like I figured it would; it improved her looks. Alice wasn’t a bad looking gal at all. She stepped closer. My back was against the hot glass of the dryer and its spinning red panties. Right then the boy sidled up, his phone held in both hands. He kind of half-hid behind his mother’s hip. He put the phone in one hand and clutched her belt with the other.
“Well,” she said, and I heard the reluctance, “We’ve got to run, I suppose.”
“All good things must come to an end,” I said, thinking it was a dumb thing to say.
“Tell Ryan bye bye,” she said to her son. The boy made a squeaking noise, like a mouse. She picked up her basket and I held the door for her. “Maybe we’ll see you on another laundry day, Ryan.”
“Well, you just never know.” I added my best smile.
“Okay, then,” she said; “Bye – for now.”
“Have a great day, Alice.”
Before she got into her car she called over, “Remember – dryer thirteen is the best one!”
I waved one last time and went back in. I sat until the clothes were dry and I put them in my basket. The red panties were still inside the dryer. I looked around. There was only an elderly couple left in the laundromat. I grabbed the panties and hung them over a clothes rack. Streams of amber light filtered through the windows from the setting sun.
On the way home, I tried not to think about Alice and Ronald. It would be best if their faces faded quickly. There was no sense in getting involved. I knew that ultimately, I would not be able to handle the boy and that would only add to the disappointment that hung about her like an odorless gas. There would be conflict. Hard feelings. I’d already lived enough conflict with my ex-wife. That was recent, vivid. I was sure I was doing Alice a favor by moving on. A favor to us both – to all three of us, really.
On the way home I remembered that there was another laundromat on the other side of town. It was quite a drive out there, but I’d just have to get used to it. I would go there the next time and remember to keep to myself and not get into conversations. And if I did, I would remember that it was only laundry day. Just a couple of hours to kill. I would take a book next time. Or maybe sit in the car and listen to music. I would tell myself that maybe a day would come when I could take a chance on a stranger.
There are worse desires.
Michael Loyd Gray is the author of eight published books of fiction and nearly sixty published stories. He earned a MFA from Western Michigan University and a bachelor’s from the University of Illinois. He lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan with three cats and twelve electric guitars.
