I awoke today a woman on a mission. I wanted to go to the Post Office to mail a friend, musically like-minded, some music from a section of time in my past.
The memories these songs evoke bring a smile and take me back in time to a younger me. A stronger, bolder me. A me more open to compromise, wildly in love, certain of my future, defiant toward the unkindness of a life that seemed to behave as capriciously as the cancer now growing in the blood that flows through my veins. A me who sometimes challenged fate.
As ever, the Post Office was busy for a Monday morning and as usual, there was only one person waiting on customers. I ask the universe for something I can count on . . . something I can rely on and this is the answer it gives. And fate chuckles quietly in the background.
The next stop was the laundromat. I wanted to wash my comforter and my washer/dryer combo is too small to handle the load. I crossed the parking lot and smiled as a mockingbird in the tree in the yard next door cheerfully chatted away to no one in particular. The sun was shining in a baby blue sky adorned with few clouds, just for show. And I thought, as I have many times since my move, that there's something different about the clouds here. They're almost surreal, with a dreamlike quality that whispers Monet. "This day just might have potential . . . ", I thought.
I entered the laundromat and the young lady who works there greeted me as though we know each other well when the truth is, I've only been there once before and we've only ever exchanged smiles and said, "Hello."
She's a lovely young thing with the body of a dancer, long and willow-like. A wild child at heart, I suspect, that she masks as well as she's able, with pale blue-green eyes that'll stop you dead in your tracks and a smile that's genuine. The piercing below her lower lip and tattoos on her calf and neck give away the fact that she and I are like, if only in this way. And I smiled in spite of myself.
I asked her about the one on her neck, Frankie, done in beautifully flowing English Script that looked as though it could've been done by quill in a far more romantic place and time. She spoke to me gently of a friend who'd passed away.
Everyone I know with ink has a story behind the mark. Whether we share it or not depends on the person asking.
I emptied my comforter into one of the larger, stainless, more intimidating-looking machines, and asked a woman nearby, about my age, if she knew how this machine worked. I was grateful that she did and after she explained, I followed her instruction, then sat down quietly to watch what might come next.
I took in the nine or more ceiling fans circling lazily, moving moist air highlighted with the scent of Downy and the water stains on the worn acoustic tile that lined the ceiling.
I watched my comforter go through a wash cycle that reminded me of what it was like, as a child, to be sitting in a car as it went through a car wash. The woman I asked for help sat down 2 chairs over. She was attractive woman, her hair in a fashionable bobbed cut just past her chin. She was tan, in shorts, with freckles on her legs. She made a very audible call to someone who, obviously, does her grocery shopping for her. She needed an order for 3 days: Donuts, cream-filled or chocolate glazed, 6 packs of cigarettes, milk, the cereal with nuts and strawberries, roast beef, American cheese, hot dogs, buns and Progresso soup. The list sounded complete by my estimation.
As I put my comforter in the oversized dryer, I read the sign over to the right.
Notice to Customers: For added protection these premises are under surveillance 24 hours a day.
Good to know, especially if I'd wanted to do something completely out of character or in garishly bad taste, I thought.
I sat back down as my comforter began to dry and watched the man in his late-30s, wearing still wet-stained shorts that made me embarrassed for him. He smiled to himself at something that may have been playing on his headset. I noted the stretched argyle socks sagging sadly around his ankles and how they looked oddly out of place with his sandals and I felt kind of sorry for him.
I also took note of the the doleful and odious homeless man, sitting about 8 feet away, shirtless, with dried grass in his hair and shoes removed, washing all of his meager belongings in one large load. My heart went out to him, too.
And I marked my place with all of these people. All of us, just trying to coexist and get by. These days I try hard to do as little damage as possible to others along the way. If I can, I try not to hurt myself either. Oftentimes, it feels like I'm walking a tightrope without a safety net . . . . this life. No rewinds, we get this one chance to shine. Or not.
I left with my freshly cleaned comforter. I'd decided to walk the distance between the laundromat and my apartment; probably not one of my wiser decisions, but the day was too beautiful not to. I walked the city blocks, past government buildings, banks, and offices.
About 4 blocks from home, a warm breeze carried the intoxicating fragrance of still-blooming hibiscus to me and I was glad that I'd decided to walk.
I passed the entrance to a high-rise apartment building where a woman was just crossing with the most adorable little pup I'd seen in a while, fur the color of wheat. I asked her what breed this little cutie was and was told she was a puggle (half pug, half beagle). And Puggle smiled up at me happily as though to say, "If she'd let me off this leash for a minute, you and I would have big fun." And I smiled back. "Yes, Sweet Thing, we sure would."
I was tired and fevered by the time I reached my apartment. I changed my clothes and freshened up a bit. I stood in front of the mirror, taking my temperature, looking at the soft skin of my upper neck, the crow's feet around my eyes, the white and silver in my hair, and the lines etched across my forehead.
"You're looking your age, you know. And right now, you're looking a little more than piqued. You won't be able to do this kind of thing often before too long. Your body and immune system will only stand so much. One of these days, they'll have to pick you up off the sidewalk or you'll wake up in an ambulance."
And for a second, I saw the me from years ago, waist-length hair hair long and loose, arms folded across my chest, unwavering, "Yeah, maybe so . . . but not today."©