Short Story 25: Loose Change
Funny how fast time goes when you keep doing the same thing
The laundromat I went to was old and run down, but I’d been going there since I moved in. It was the closest one to my apartment, just a 5-minute walk. Today marked two years of coming to the same place. Every Sunday—laundry day. Funny how fast time goes when you keep doing the same thing. A newer laundromat opened in the opposite direction, also about 5 minutes away, but I kept going to the one I knew. I felt a sense of loyalty to old man Tom, the owner. He was in his 80s but insisted on working. “Staying active is the key to life,” he’d say. “If I stop moving, I’ll probably die.” He had a morbid sense of humor.
I didn’t see Tom today. Or last week. I’d asked a guy I often saw around if he knew where Tom was. He’d heard Tom was in the hospital—routine checkup, should be back next week. When I first moved here, Tom would spot me if I was short on coins. I wasn’t broke, just didn’t carry much cash. He’d wink and say it was his good deed for the day. Knowing the other laundromat was more popular left me with a pinch of guilt—like I owed him after that, so I kept coming back.
While loading my laundry, I overheard two elderly men talking.
“The doctor told me to drink more water, and I gotta say it’s working!”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, yeah, my daughter and wife kept telling me to drink more, but I always took the mickey out of them for drinking so much water!”
I smirked while turning my clothes inside out.
The next week, there was still no Tom in sight. A few new people—early 30s, dark circles under their eyes—weren’t sure what they were doing, so I helped them out. The machine they picked had a bit of a personality. The door wouldn’t shut unless you waited 30 seconds after closing it. If you waited a few minutes too long, though, it wouldn’t work at all. I’d figured this out after a huge fight with my then-girlfriend. Not knowing where to go but needing to leave the apartment, I grabbed my laundry bag and went to Tom’s. I sat on one of those hard plastic seats for 4 hours, calming down enough to go back.
Tom’s laundromat was a practical place. Washing machines on the left, dryers on the right. On the walls were posters advertising gigs and shows around town.
Charlie’s Circus - 7 nights only!
Trad session in O’Flannery’s every Wednesday, starting at 7pm.
French language exchange: Hi, I’m Alex. You teach me English, I teach you French!
The posters with dates were months out of date. I didn’t know if Alex ever found his language buddy. I took down stray posters that were past six months old; it was the least I could do for Tom. I jiggled the change in my pocket, knowing I had the exact amount for the machines. The prices hadn’t gone up since last decade, and I was glad I didn’t have to bring detergent; it was supplied. The quality was questionable, but I still had a frugal streak from my student days.
The only other person who worked at Tom’s was Kim, his granddaughter. She had big brown eyes and toned legs. She was 19, in her second year of college. I graduated a few years ago. At 26, I felt a bit creepy stealing glances at her. Half your age plus seven, I reminded myself. She’s too young. Don’t try anything.
When I waited for my clothes to wash, we small-talked while she cleaned lint out of the dryers. She was obsessed with volleyball and kept asking me to play with her and her friends. I always made an excuse not to go.
“How’s your granddad, Kim?” I asked.
“He’s alright, just a routine check-up. He should be out by next Tuesday.”
“That’s good to hear.” There was a long pause.
It felt awkward, so I asked her about volleyball. She smelled like strawberries, her lips glossy.
“Are you still playing volleyball every Monday and Wednesday night?”
She perked up after hearing the word volleyball.
“Yes yes I do! Why? Do you wanna play with us!?”
I blushed and didn’t answer.
The laundromat smelled of lavender and chamomile. Someone must have used extra detergent in their load. The washing machines whirred in unison as they neared the end of their cycle. I could tell from the sound when they’d finish. Around ten more minutes, I thought. I looked above the washing machine; there was a new poster on the wall.
Heavy Metal - Death Scream - One Night Only
The hum of the machines filled my ears.
The sweet smell lingered in the air, reminding me of my first love. Six years later, I still wasn’t sure I was over her. There had been dates, flings, “situationships,” but certain songs would play at random, and I’d think of her.
“Hello! Earth to Johnny! Anyone home?” Kim pouted, drawing out the words.
“Sorry, there’s a lot going on at work at the moment. Uhh… changing how we organize clients.”
Not a complete lie. We were doing that.
“What’s it like working at a bank? It sounds so… hmm… responsible to work there.”
“It’s as boring as you can imagine. Not a volleyball in sight.”
Kim laughed as I went to collect my clothes in my hamper to transfer them to the dryer.
I picked out pieces of lint stuck in the mesh on the front of the machine, gray balls of fuzzy fur with a streak of color here and there.
When you ran the dryer here, you were encouraged to open the front door—unless it was pouring rain. Signs covered the walls at Tom’s, instructions on how things worked around here. I’d read them all by now, memorized every quirk. They were just wallpaper to me now. The linoleum floors were freshly mopped but still a bit sticky underfoot.
A week went by, and this time Tom greeted me at the door. He looked like his old self, stooping as he walked, his full head of hair white as snow.
“You’re looking well, Tom! How’s it going?”
“Mighty! Feels good to be back! I missed the warm, cloying air here! Hospital food is as bad as you can imagine!”
I laughed as I went to put my clothes in old reliable, washing machine number 5.
As I threw my clothes into the machine, Kim snuck up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. I jumped but relaxed when I saw it was her. When I saw her mischievous smile, I jumped again, flashing a panicked smile, hoping I played it off cool. I wasn’t sure where to look, so instead of looking at her face like a normal person, I focused on her T-shirt: Penn State University.
“What are you looking at?” Kim asked coyly, like she already knew.
“Wait, no! I wasn’t, umm—just reading your shirt!”
“Kim! Help me load this detergent, will ya?”
She winked and ran off to help her granddad.
At home, I replayed my last interaction with Kim and felt the urge to hide under a rock. I imagined her shirt, the way she looked in it. I imagined her without it.
The next time I went to the laundromat, neither Tom nor Kim was there. I took down all the old posters, careful not to leave any sticky residue on the walls. Then I slipped a 20 in a nook where I knew one of them would find it. Tom always loved finding loose change under the machines. As I left, I felt lighter.