I opened the lid of the Maytag Commercial, measured half a
capful of Tide with Downy, and dumped into the machine, my shopping cart full
of bathroom towels and rugs. Then, I pulled six quarters out of my change purse
and slid each into the slot. When I heard the tub fill with water, I felt as proud
as if I had just been handed my college degree.
"This is a scene I never expected to witness,"
said Tommy. I had conjured my deceased spouse for this episode because I knew he'd get a kick out of seeing his
Jewish Princess in a coin-operated laundry.
My mother, a neighbor of his in heaven -- who evidently
couldn't resist an opportunity to jibe -- weighed in. "Somehow I thought
your relocation to Los Angeles would move you up a notch," she said. The
tone was familiar, one I recognized from my childhood that usually accompanied,
"Stand up straight," or "Comb you hair."
"Why have you two teamed up to rain on my parade?"
I said. "Couldn't you let my pride sustain for at least one cycle? I'm
pleased I'm not thrown by this humble chore after enjoying in-home laundry for
the past three decades."
"You're right," Tommy said, "but I remember
how sorry you felt for me when I told you I once spent every Friday night at
the Laundromat. I can still see your tender expression after I moved into your
townhouse and you escorted me to your washer and dryer."
I hit pause on this dearly departed dialogue to recall the setting he described. It
was 1996 and we had enjoyed a whirlwind romance. Tommy, only a few weeks after
our first date, transferred clothes and favorite furniture from the apartment
he lived in down the block to my place. We were both singles in our 60's -- he
a long-time divorcé, me recently separated after a 30-year marriage -- and our compatibility
encouraged a leap.
Although we were
compatible, and did have similar opinions in music, television, plays, and pets;
Tommy and I differed in religion and income.
It was these two mismatches that I intended to remedy. I would
groom my second husband to be a Jewish Prince. There would be no more Friday
nights sitting in a chair at the Laundromat with his latest paperback mystery
as companion. With me, came a willing laundress who was tickled to offer this
perk to my sweetie.
Along with the in-home washer and dryer, I pressured my
prince to accept a new suit for our wedding, a set of golf clubs to replace his
vintage batch, and his own Honda Accord. I mention these, not to extol my
generosity, but to emphasize that Tommy didn't request these gifts, didn't care
about money, and would've married me with none of my perks. But, I was so
delighted to be with such a low-maintenance guy, whose only goal was to make me happy, that it brought me pleasure to shower him.
"Such a sweet story," my mother said, yawning at
my exposition. "I like Tommy, don't get me wrong," she said, winking
at him. "But I had hoped that for your second marriage, you would've landed
someone who would spend money on you.
You can't blame me for that."
Then, she wrapped an arm around her son-in-law, and fixed a
red-stained kiss on his cheek. Tommy, who appreciated attractive women -- and Mother
was a knockout -- smirked.
"And now, we find you in a dreary laundry room off of
the garage, feeding quarters into machines. This is not where I expected to
find you," she said.
"Just like you didn't count on a life behind the
counter of a mom-and-pop grocery store," I said. Mother's face changed. I had erred in
reminding her of those years when she struggled to keep our business afloat
while my happy-to-lucky dad steered it into one debt-laden boulder after
another.
"Sorry, Mom," I said. "I know you just want the
best for me. But, despite this laundry room, I'm really enjoying my Los Angeles
apartment and life. I get to see more of your granddaughters and
great-grandchildren, and I don't have to deal with Chicago's winter."
This brightened her; Tommy was smiling, too. Now it was my
turn to grin as he took his mother-in-law's hand and said, "Okay, Min,
time to go back. So, she's down here doing her laundry. If she can live with
that, we shouldn't complain." Then he added, "Love you, sweetheart,"
and faded from my imagination.
"Me, too," Mom said, and before she disappeared, gave
my cheek the red twin of Tommy's.