it all comes out in the wash
July 28, 2004 � 7:03 p.m.

First Entry Today

Today�s Weather: Beaten black and blue by memories

Sunday I went to the Laundromat alone to wash my clothes. I was sitting there and staring at inanimate objects intently, as if my bored stare could possibly make them come to life and make me smile. I don�t know what I was really thinking about, or if I was thinking at all�I was just drifting�occasionally snapping out of my trance to see if the dryers were still spinning�and then drifting off again.

So there I was, zoning out like I was on some sort of acid trip, when a little old lady walked in with her chubby granddaughter. Chubby in the way that she wasn�t fat, but she still had the soft roundness of innocence and adolescence about her�with the dimpled knees and round cheeks and creamy arms. She had long dirty blond hair and an impish little smile. I say she could be no older than 9 years old, and her childish beauty sung out like poetry to me.

I stared straight ahead so that they were in my line of vision, but not my direct line of vision, so they wouldn�t suspect me of staring at them for all the wrong reasons.

The grandmother, as I said, was small�about 5�3��with short curly hair the same color as the girl�s, but with streaks of gray in it. She adjusted her glasses and beckoned the girl to follow her to the dryer, where she explained all of her movements to the girl like a gentle instructor, then sat down the row from me. They chatted about nothing and everything while the girl bopped around doing silly cheers and clapping quietly�sometimes stealing looks at me and smiling because she knew I was watching. I always smiled back.

Their drying cycle was short, and before I knew it, they were back at the dryer�where granny proceeded to give more instructions while the patient girl eagerly watched and helped. They turned to leave and I stared blatantly at them, smiling at the girl�s childish charm and granny�s matronly softness�for it really was such a sweet scene�and the girl waved and smiled at me, and as I waved back, I was ensnared by memory I had tried to lose long ago.

I saw my grandmother hanging clothes on the line outside her house in Clayton. She was singing and smoothing out the sheets on the line, and I was running around between the sheets giggling, calling her by her name and falling into hysterics when she would pretend to give chase. My grandma�my small, loving, brusque, grandma�standing at the most 4�9� with her dark skin shining and her small, weathered hands shaking, hanging, and clipping wet, fragrant clothes onto the line against the blue, blue sky above the thick green grass. My grandma�singing church hymns while merrily bopping her head back and forth and smelling of flowers, detergent, and fried chicken with flour handprints smeared across her stomach and her wig slightly askew. My grandma�the one that had always loved me most of all.

I was trapped in this vision of her�in this memory long forgotten�when a loud crash pulled me from my reverie and I was once again in the desolate, hot Laundromat. I was accosted by a strange sadness then. Sad in the way that you are too sad and weary to even cry. It was just empty and hollow and consuming sadness. I sat staring at the spot the child and granny had been, and I realized exactly what it was that made me so sad.

My grandma never had the chance to teach me anything. By the time I was older, she was too sick to do any real domestic things. I learned all the things I know by watching TV or other people or by trial and error. She died before I was old enough to express to her how much she meant to me�before I could show her my poetry and stories and pictures�before I could do anything to actually earn the pride and love she felt for me.

She is gone. And Nanna is gone and Mom-Mom is gone.

I don�t have any old people in my life to teach me things and regale me with stories of their childhood and admonish me when I�m bad and praise me when I�m good and love me when�well�always.

I don�t have any old people in my life anymore.

Could there possibly be anything sadder than that?