Laundromat Diaries Part Four

The further inner journey while doing laundry in laundromats.

   I found myself feeling disconnected and day dreaming as I sat in a laundromat strategically attractive to US Hwy. 94 travelers. Below the sign “24-hour Laundromat” all the facility’s doors were open front and back informing the customers inside of the lack of air conditioning and a temperature pushing 90 degrees. I looked around. Sweat made the back of my T-shirt stick to the plastic chair.  About every age, gender and ethnic demographic available joined me doing laundry. I had a red nylon travel duffel between my feet, zipper top open revealing a crossword puzzle magazine, a deck of cards and a John Updike novel among other items. I felt fatigued from having completed a 600 mile trek that started at 4 am. It was now 3pm. I looked around and spotted the top of my 11 year old son’s head wandering around the outside of the laundromat between parked SUV’s and campers  looking for a snack machine. I checked the progress of the two washing machines filled with our clothes. I wondered for a split second how I got here. 

My son walked up to me and wiped sweat from his forehead. 

     

     “Can I get some snacks from the machine dad?”

     “You know, when we’re done here, I’m gonna get us some pizza to take back to the motel, right?”

     “Yeah, I know. Can I get a snack now? The machine is just outside over there.” He pointed with one hand while scratching at his neck with the other. 

     “Yeah, sure here’s a buck. No sugar though.” 

     “Thanks dad.”

I was too hot and tired to give the “dad argument”. There was a drone of noise all around me, traffic noise from the highway, the tumble and vibrational din from the laundry machines, mumbles and shouts from arriving and exiting travelers. The combined noises sounded like flies around a dumpster. I tried to ignore it all. 

     I looked around again. Spotted my son at the snack machine and then circled my gaze around the laundromat. No one stood out as anything other than anonymous. I was too tired to look for any exceptions. I just wanted to finish up and return to the motel room to eat and get some rest before beginning the last leg of our journey out to Montana to look for a new home. My new wife was waiting for us back at the motel with our Ibazon Hound, Cairo. Sight hounds are lousy travelers. Between urging the dog to settle down and encouraging my son to look up at the scenery instead of playing his handheld game the whole trip, I was burnt. I got lucky the second time around and found someone I could truly share adventure and a future with. My son returned with his snack, a bag of animal crackers. 

    

      “I thought I said no sugar Goose-man.”

     “But I like animal crackers. They don’t have that much sugar.”

     “You’d better eat a good meal.”
     “I will, it’s pizza, right?”

     “Yeah, meats-a-meats-a pizza.”

He smiled and victoriously stuffed a couple animal crackers into his mouth. I drew in a breath and slowly shook my head, a private signal I gave myself as reminder to pick my battles. The heat and noise and my road weariness combined to render me passive. I hoped my wife was taking full advantage of this child and husband respite. After four single decades I had evolved into the cliche “thousand and one things dad.” 

    

     “Is our clothes done yet? I’m getting bored.” My son said standing a foot from my face. A line of sweat slipped from my forehead and trickled into my eye making it wince from the salty sting. 

     “No buddy, not yet. Hey you want to play a game of Casino?” Casino was one of our favorite card games. I taught it to him because it required the players to be able to add and make strategic combination decisions. 

     “Ok.” was his unenthusiastic response. 

     He had left his Game Boy electronic game in the motel room by mistake. I was thankful. I fished the deck from my duffel and checked the washers with our clothes before dealing out a hand. My son kicked his legs under his chair as he picked up his cards. One of our washers buzzed and I told him to hang on a second. He made an impatient noise. He inherited that impatience from me. As I emptied one washer the other one buzzed and I took both loads over to a large capacity dryer. I stuffed four dollars of quarters into the unit for 45 minutes of drying time. I rejoined my son at our table. He had already taken his turn and wouldn’t show me his play. I shook my head again and rummaged in my duffel for a bottle of water. I drank half the bottle before picking up my cards. I hadn’t realized how dehydrated I’d become. 

     “Are we going to move to Montana this time?” He asked me as I dealt out another hand. 

     “Hopefully son. But you will be living with your mother most of the year.”

     “I don’t want you to move.”

     “It’s what Marrisa and I want to do.  Need to do actually. We’ve had enough of the city Goose.”

     “I don’t care, I don’t want you to go.”

     “Buddy. You are part of this journey, picking out a property, all parts of this move. If you lived with us, you’d be moving too. I can’t change the legality of custody.”

     “I don’t care about custody. You shouldn’t move.”

     I took a long deep breath through my nose and played my hand. I collected three card points. Zero points from my son. This was a bittersweet time for him. He enjoyed the vacation, the new sights and experiences but he didn’t want the change to his familiar patterns. Such is divorce. No one likes it. No one wins. Hopefully the lucky ones progress from there. Even a road trip adventure couldn’t distract from his frustration and bewilderment.  I watched my son study his cards. The feelings inside me knotted my jaw muscles. My cellphone rang. 

     “Hi Hon. What’s up?”

     “How’s the laundry, you and C. coming back soon?”

     “About halfway through the drying cycle, another twenty minutes or so.”

     “When you pick up the pizza, don’t forget to pick up a roll of paper towels.”

     “Ok, there’s a convenience store just across the street. How are you doing?”

     “Oh, I’m a bit tired, hungry, you know. How’s C. holding up?”

I looked across at my son who wasn’t paying attention to the call. He had laid his hand down and was looking under the table. 

     “He’s ok, fidgety. Tired and hungry too. We’ll be back to the room as soon as possible. Bye.” I was happy and fortunate that my second wife and my son genuinely got along. There are blessings that can be counted. 

     “Let’s finish this game buddy and we’ll load up our clothes and go get some pizza. What do you say?”

     “Yeah, it’s hot, I want to go watch some television back in our air conditioned room.”

My son ran hot and cold like that. Didn’t matter where we were, at home, on the road, in a laundromat. I had to stay focused with him.  I didn’t know what else to do. 

     The dryer buzzer sounded. I felt like a Pavlovian dog.  I got up to shovel our clothes into a couple plastic garbage bags. My son skipped out to our SUV and jumped into the front passenger seat. I followed and threw the bags into the backseat. As we drove to the pizza joint, I reflected that I hadn’t worked any crossword puzzles, hadn’t noticed anyone special in the laundromat and that I only looked forward to returning to the air conditioned motel room, eating and then flipping through some cable channels before crashing into unconsciousness. 

Author's Note

Part four hopefully shows some changes in the narrative of this saga. Not sure if all the parts are flowing in a concerted direction. Heh, more editing and streamlining on the way. Critiques and comments most welcome.

Reviews

[Gibbons]

These have the makings of a nice anthology. It has scope to really expand with different instalments showing us various stages of life for the characters. Is the narrator the same character as the first LD? You reveal details of your character's lives with a nice light touch.

[roarke]

Hi G. I guess it is an anthology of sorts. I was trying to show a evolution of stages, an inner "coming of age"?? Using a laundromat as that random-esque vehicle of "life-pause" as the catalyst.... a catalyst for what, I dunno. I think what I'm trying to do in one way is bring about a Salinger-esque introspection... but I'm not that talented. I think all of these LD parts are going to have to simmer for a few more years.. Thanks again for your read and comments, much appreciated.

[barleygirl]

I'm back to your Laundromat series! I've been reading these too far apart to compare one to another. But all in all, this one is more like an everyday experience with the kid in tow. I like your "everyday" writing when you aren't being artful or funny or displaying an attitude or crafting a clever storyline. You pick up on some excellent details here that define every Laundromat session! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[roarke]

hm, believe it or not, I don't really like writing about myself or past. The few of those kinds of pieces here are hard to write. As for the other kinds of pieces you mention, and I'm happy you've read, I like creating things that go beyond life and society and personal issues. I try to illustrate other planes, other perspectives, twists and turns that might work the readers mind and imagination. But then that's the influence of a lifetime of an artist and musician. The rest is just doin' the chores.

[barleygirl]

I probably could not write without embellishing for shock or chuckles! *smile*

[angel]

Guess I'm reading out of order... which Updike novel? One of the Rabbits? Run, Rest,Rich, Redux?
I remember motels and laundromats, but I was alone. My kids were grown by then. I stopped wandering while raiding them.
On to your next piece, buddy.

[roarke]

heh, actually I dislike Updike's rabbit novels... too depressing. I much prefer his many short stories. I have a great hardbound of his, an anthology of 50 yrs of his assorted writing, mostly short stories. My laundromat series hopefully shows a five decade transition/evolution of the character.... thanks for the read and comments A.