The 24-Hour Laundromat

Sam Nolting

Miriam's doubts hit her while she was doing her laundry. They wove themselves into the tinny strains of "Satisfaction" and twirled their way along the rows of washing machines, circling like buzzards.

At first Miriam ignored them, cramming more T-shirts into the groaning washer. But in the old-milk light of the laundromat the machines seemed to loom over her, threatening, and the whispers lay siege to her brain.

Why are you here, came the unbidden thought, doing your laundry at one in the morning?

Are you very busy during the day? asked another.

Yes, she thought. No, it replied.

"I have work." She closed the lid of the machine and fished quarters out of her pocket.

Good work? Hard work?

The machine began to rumble and swish. "Sort of."

Boring work. Easy work. Useless work.

"I like my work!" Miriam realized she hadn't added detergent. "Shit."

Your work lulls you. You're drunk on boredom.

"That doesn't make sense," Miriam said, hauling damp jeans out of the washer. You had to put the detergent in the bottom; Miriam always did like it said on the machine lid. She always worried that if you put the detergent on top it would stain the clothes or something. But doesn't detergent remove stains...?

The whisper cut her off. You're wasting your time.

Miriam didn't answer, dashed a cupful of detergent into the machine and began to jam the clothes back in. She dropped quarters into the hopper until the washer clicked into life. She watched the wet cloth swirl in circles until her eyes closed and she slept in the hard plastic chairs.

The next morning the late-morning sun woke her. She was late to work. That's okay, Miriam thought, lugging her clothes to the dryer. I have nothing to wear.