My mom used to always give the same advice to me and my brother when we were bored and complained there was nothing fun to do. She hoped that we would take the heading well, store it in our little brains, and do exactly the opposite when we grew up. Somehow I remember the words verbatim, yet I never really understood them – not until later.
She said “Life is short. Your happiest days are as a kid, then once you waste those it’s all over. Life is about having kids and then working until you die.”
She then added later on, “Unless you’re well off; the poor have no choice.”
Dead right she was.
She passed away, much too early.
Life got worse.
I ended up with a kid of my own at seventeen not helped by a school system that did not value sex education or the value of waiting until a person is ready to raise another sentient being. My girlfriend was burdened with more responsibility than she could bear in a place that does not respect bodily autonomy, and then from the same local government that refuses to fund safety net resources for their community.
Somehow grief-stricken lives bequeath more grief-stricken lives.
Funny how that happens…Ain’t it?
“But I want to go to the monsta truck show Saturday!” My son complained.
He almost started yelling, but I glared at him. He crossed his arms, pouting as we walked in the drizzling rain. If I had been my dad I would be screaming at him with a red face and threatening to beat him with my belt.
I held the overstuffed laundry basket with weak arms and a sore back. We had to walk from our apartment on the third floor to an exterior building to wash clothes. It was an unknown inconvenience to those who did not have washers and dryers installed in their places of dwelling. Consequently, it was cheaper as our water bill was a flat rate, but I still had to go get quarters at the gas station to my local bank. Another trip just to do a chore that I put off until the last pair of underwear.
“Unfair!” my son exclaimed, stomping in a puddle.
He was more than fine to go without clean underwear, but I at least needed something to be clean and fresh. Our apartment was not. When could a single dad clean a house?
Hell, I never had time to clean after I moved out with my parents and my ex-girlfriend took care of my son. There was never any time for upkeep for her who also worked part-time.
“Unfair…” my son mumbled as we reached the wooden shed with a beat-up metal door.
I found out he calms down if I don’t react to him strongly in anger, although if I ignore him completely then he just cries more, and at that point, I feel really bad.
“Life is unfair. Something you will learn as you grow up. I hope I can do my best to make yours a little easier. Now. Please open the door for Deddy.”
He was still upset about not being able to go to the monster truck show that I had told him that we – probably, maybe – could go to. My mistake was believing too much that we could when the future was far from certain. He was angry, yet he had some vague idea that I needed help and that I had been trying my best.
“Ok.” he said, opening the door with a hard tug.
My son ran inside and turned the knob on the light switch, which made a clicking sound as it rotated since it was on a ticking timer. The room lit up to a yellow sedated color and I stepped up inside, thankful to be out of the rain as thunder grumbled and the flash of light became closer.
It was a small space enough for two people to stand side by side with six washers and four dryers on either side of the walls. Trash and lint filled the corners and undersides of all the machines.
“Not that one.” I said, putting down the clothes hamper as a towel began to tumble out.
My son was on his tiptoes trying to open the lid on the washer on the far left wall.
“Second washer from the wall. That’s the only one that works.” I stated.
“Oh! Ok! I always forget!”
He jumped sideways and flipped open the right one. I sat the hamper next to him and he immediately bundled the clothes up into a ball, ran to the door, and threw it into the washing machine, pretending it was a basketball game. He happily tossed the clothes in the air, missing sometimes, but tried again. It took longer than if I had simply tumbled the basket in there, but I taught him to get him to think of this chore as something fun. It helped me out and made sure he wasn’t getting into trouble when not supervised. He was six and he was a lot more mischievous than me at that age.
I collapsed down on the dirty floor against a dryer having no energy for the long day at work. Every time I did laundry, I could not believe this is how I lived. An apartment filled with bugs, water leaks, a gas heating system for the fifties, and a laundry facility with six washers, and four dryers, and only one washer and one dryer worked. Some washers did not properly spin and the clothes would come out soaked. Some of the dryers would not dry, others also ate quarters.
I had to tape my own “broken/don’t use” signs on them because the landlord was never going to. This was a nightmare that could not be made up – it was a crappy reality that people lived through.
The weak have no say in things.
“Deddy it’s soapy time!” my son shouted.
He finished playing stank ball and was ready for me to pour the detergent, which sat at the bottom of the basket. I picked myself up leaning against the washer and groaning from a headache I had since this morning.
I picked up the value-sized bottle of laundry detergent that could have been bought for a couple of fast food meals.
I finished pouring, took out the change from my pocket, and inserted the quarters. Of course, I chose the light wash option as it was the cheapest option. The machines already went up one quarter in price this year.
I pressed start and heard water flowing inside right as the crackle of lightning overtook my ears.
“Junior.” I said to my son using his nickname, “let’s stay in here for a while. At least until the storm stops.”
I lifted myself and sat on one of the broken dryers.
“Oh! But Henry Hinkins, Legendary Magician is going to come on soon!” my son shouted, shaking my leg.
He loved that cartoon series. I grew up with a great many animated shows that gave joy to my life.
“We have it recorded. You can re-watch it later.” I said, thinking back to how hard it was to record shows using a VHS tape that could only last for four hours.
“But then I have to go to bed soon!” he raised his voice.
“I’ll let you stay a little later than usual. But right to bed afterward. And make sure to brush your teeth this time.” I warned him.
Cavities were expensive.
He thought about this for a few seconds, then sat down on the floor.
“Ok!” he said with a smile, then asked for my cell phone.
I gave him mine so that he could play some puzzle games on them. It was something to entertain him for the rest of the wash cycle.
This was my life.
I heard the sloshing of the washer, the buzzing of game notifications, and the headache-inducing lightning snapping the air – all of it ate away at me. I spent fifty hours a week working my bones and joints sore for slightly above minimum wage, only to come back to listen to the symphony of mundane madness.
I lived a life I never wanted.
I worked a job I hated, split from a relationship that was never going to work, and ended up with a child I never desired to have. Of course, I could never tell Junior that feeling. I would rather die, then ever repeat it to any soul.
Junior deserved a better world.
It was never going to be his fault he was born into these circumstances.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
I glanced up from my daze and saw my son jump up as the washer sang. I moved over to the machine and started taking clothes out. My son took them from my hands and ran over to the third dryer on the right.
The only one that worked – that thought was still bitter in my mind.
“Check the lint trap. No one ever bothers to clean it out and one day it is going to cause a fire.” I say, almost hoping there would be just to get the machines replaced.
But it took only a second thought to assume the landlords would make excuses and never replace the machines.
After cleaning out the lint, Junior started playing with it by tossing it up in the air and throwing it around. Something so simple could entertain a child.
I was truly envious of that spirit of his as I could barely remember how childhood was, somehow memories slipped away while under chronic stress. More than six years of constantly being on edge. Fear of checks bouncing, having no vacation, and dealing with loved ones dying off faster than I can visit them.
I tried going to college but had to drop out due to the logistics and price of raising a child.
My situation was made worse with student loans that did not help me in the slightest. Pell Grants only lasted for so long and the higher education system is ludicrously expensive to go on a whim.
Adding to the pain of this terrible year, my father was now in hospice and needed help being cared for.
And my brother…
With a slam of the door, Junior finished loading the laundry and knocked me back from a dark mulling corner of my mind.
“Hurry! Henry!” Junior begged, running around and pointing his invisible wand like Magic Henry.
While he was playing about I reached into my pocket and pulled out the quarters. I slid the first one twice since it got stuck and I had to hit it loose. Finally, I put the last quarter inside and pushed the button.
It made a beep but did not start.
I pressed the button again.
The same thing happened.
I was tired and knew nothing made sense.
I looked at the coin display screen and realized I still lacked one quarter.
At that point, I clutched the machine and cried.
“Ded..dy.” Junior uttered.
He came to my side and hugged me.
“What’s wrong?”
I let my breath stutter for a few seconds, wiped my nose, and cleared my throat.
“It’s – sorry – sorry Junior. I just felt overwhelmed for a second.”
He looked at me, having not heard of that word, although understanding the situation.
“I felt stressed.”
“It’s ok. You feel less sad when I hug you right!”
I bent down and gave him a good squeeze.
“Of course I do. Always.”
After what felt like the longest hug I ever had, I sat back down on the floor. It was still cold, a little wet from the rain, and for some reason, I just now noticed it was covered in all of human and pet hair.
“I just need one more quarter. One more.” I said, thudding my head against the dryer.
“I can look for one in my room!” Junior exclaimed.
I smiled.
“I already took your stash. I will repay you with interest later, but right now. There’s nothing there.”
“The couch!”
“Already checked this evening.”
“The bathroom!”
I considered it, then shook my head.
“I took the last bit of fallen change from there out two weeks ago to fill up the car tires. Right before it stopped working too.”
I bought that car for cheap online, knowing it was worthless, but it was all I could not at the moment. Now I bum a ride of a co-worker until it can be fixed.
“What now?” Junior asked, sitting down next to me.
He laid his head on my shoulder while I gave thought to my exhausted mind.
“What if we steal a quarter? That’s not a lot right?” Junior said suddenly.
I almost burst out sobbing again.
It took a mighty force of will to calm myself.
I had to say the correct thing – use the correct words.
In these times the small things mattered.
“No. No Junior. Don’t think like that. Even if it is just a quarter.”
He looked at me a little hurt, knowing he said something he was supposed to, but it made sense in his mind. After all, a stolen quarter was nothing much to a kid. Kids take things all the time without giving a damn.
“Your Uncle. He did something like that.” I said, being open for the first time about why my brother never visited anymore.
“He stole someone’s quarter?” Junior said, confused.
I cracked a smile, but it faded quickly.
“I wish it was just a quarter. He stole a few hundred dollars. But he did it with a gun. He went to jail.”
“Why did he do bad things?”
“He was just scared like me. He was behind on bills, he couldn’t get hired at companies, and couldn’t even get a car loan to go to interviews because he had bad credit because he too was poor. He made some bad decisions and ended up with a lot of debt. Someone helped him rob people. I was told by him it worked at first, then, this year they were caught. And he is going to be there for a long time.”
“So we wait til next week to dry the clothes.” Junior reckoned.
I gave the option a quick reflection.
“No. I got told by your school that your clothes had smelled moldy from trying to save quarters by washing three weeks worth of laundry at once. Plus those underwear sitting in the dryer are your new ones. We will finish tonight.”
At that moment the light flickered off.
The timer ended.
“Where are you getting the last quarter?” my son asked me in the dark.
I stood up, stretched my neck, and then turned the light back on with a twist.
“Same as anyone else in this world can do. I will ask someone.”
Mr. Evens was a next-door neighbor that more than once helped me with loaning an interest-free payment. I repaid him every time, but it always hurts to ask him. I would rather be self-reliant and one day I will.
That’s the thing about asking for help. Very few want to do it, but they have to because pulling yourself up by the bootstraps is utter bullshit.
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