Fiction: Wash Hut, A Novel, Chapter 5

Mary Elizabeth was lecturing Alice about the virtues of phosphorous. "I know it causes cancer in lab rats! Who cares! A dime says I'm dead in another decade anyway. Skin cancer, lung cancer, laundry cancer-it's all cancer. No, just put me down in a clean pair of whites, and when they're singing Amazing Grace no one will accuse Mary Elizabeth of going to her grave in her dingy greys."

Alice listened to Mary Elizabeth's rant as she always did, half way. When Mary Elizabeth's volume adjusted back to normal, Alice heard her say, "And anyways, I'm just getting too old to go out on a date. I thought on it, mind you, but I'm no spring chicken any more. But poor Jo Beth, did you hear what happened to her?"

No, but I'm sure I will, Alice thought, shifting her weight in the day-glow orange plastic seat that was nailed to the filthy floor. Mary Elizabeth was her mother's best friend in the whole wide world. And when Mother died, Mary Elizabeth quickly moved in to take her place, sticking to Alice like a struggling fly to flypaper. So Alice had a companion, a glib, talky, cratchity one, whether she wanted one or not. And every Monday was the same.

At first, Mary Elizabeth called her up just to talk, then casually mentioned how she had a few loads of laundry to do, over at the Wash Hut, and as long as Alice was going that way, and no, no, she didn't need her to stay, and of course she wouldn't think of imposing on Alice, who had her own washer at her place. No. Just drop me off, is what she said.

But inevitably (and each Monday it was the same) Mary Elizabeth would still be talking, and Alice's car would be idling in the parking lot, and the temperature gauge would start to creep up, until Alice would follow Mary Elizabeth into the Wash Hut, holding her powdered soap and pink softener. Then Mary Elizabeth would continue talking, freakishly, without taking a breath, until finally Alice would drop the coins in the washer and take a seat, for the long duration.

After the fifth or sixth time, Mary Elizabeth stopped calling, and Alice just came over to her place. And after that, it was simply customary. And what, with her limited income and her advanced years, Mary Elizabeth just expected Alice to pay. It was her right and her privilege.

It was a warm day, and Alice's eyelids had started to grow heavy from the heat and the constant rhythmic tack tack tack of metal and denim meeting in centrifugal force in the old yellow Maytags. Well, actually, they were more goldenrod than yellow, and as dirty as they were, maybe they were brown. Anyway, It was Monday's rhythm, an almost pleasant one really, and the dryer sheets smelled good.

".... So then I called over to Johnson's and they weren't home, so I just thought, why not? So I called that fellow. And would you believe some woman answered the phone."

Alice jerked awake, and turned herself around to watch Mary Elizabeth, who stood smirking at her, folding her three pairs of tan polyester slacks, which she wore a little too long on her navy blue boat shoes, like the captain on the Love Boat. The creases were well, well, worn, but didn't need ironing. "Well, are you, or aren't you?"

"Aren't I what? You called that fellow? Which fellow?" Admittedly, Alice was dazed, and since she was rarely called upon for any kind of response, she hadn't followed the conversation too closely.

"Haven't you been listening to a thing I've said? The fellow who's looking for his little lady."

"Oh, pulleese. I can't believe you. You called that man? I thought we agreed..."

"No, we didn't. You didn't anyway. You just rolled your eyes like you always do and bribed me with a latte, remember?" Guiltily, Alice did remember that conversation. She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Well, it turns out, he isn't dating anyway."

"Then why'd he put up that ad?"

Mary Elizabeth paused to open the yellow Maytag, put in a dryer sheet, and slammed the door shut. "He didn't, that's all."

Alice picked up a dog-eared copy of People from 1989. It had been here every time she brought Mary Elizabeth to do her wash. She pretended to read about what the Germans were wearing as they tore down the wall.

"...She said ‘nevermind, it was a bad idea,' and I said ‘you're just doing right by him.' And she said he had called her an interloper, whatever that is."

Funny Mr. Harold looked up from his well-worn crossword magazine and said, "fascinating word choice," then, aware he was being patently ignored, he licked his finger dramatically, and noisily turned the page to a clean grid.

Alice looked furtively over the magazine at the bulletin board where the ad had been, last week. Mary Elizabeth continued "She said he was all torn up since his wife died and how was she to know what to do for him. All he does is work, work, work."

Alice shook her head in disbelief. "How do you do it? Do you know this woman from somewhere? Who is she?"

"I don't know," Mary Elizabeth jawed, "His sister. Just some desert dweller from out near Congress. She can't be half bad; she was putting up preserves when I called."

What a shame, Alice thought, involuntarily sighing. Some thoughtless ninny is airing her dirty laundry to the biggest gossip in town.