A Life On Spin Cycle

Not moving, yet moving.

Abandoned storefronts. Sun-bleached signs sit as tombstones to failed businesses. One remains, surrounded by failed dreams. A laundromat. Because even dreams need cleaning.

I toss a pair of duffle bags over my shoulders, a denim leg trying its best to kick its way out, and tug open a glass door. It sways, buckling under the lack of grease and shock of an entering customer. It doesn’t close all the way.

Signs in 50s font cling to peeling walls. The displays aren’t retro. All original. Much like the equipment. Coin-operated devices lacking countdown timers on the front, soap scum cascading from the rear like frozen waterfalls. There might be more moisture in the brown, sagging ceiling tiles than pumping into the machines.

Life on the road doesn’t always offer options more than “stop or don’t”. Zero options. Infinite options.

I could have driven past the laundromat holding on by a finger. But it seemed as good as any.

Broken down machines sat stacked along the far wall. Lids open, some rusted, others busted, a few without lids. Open mouths taunting the other machines. Calling out which would be the next to join.

I loaded up a machine and pumped it full of quarters. Pressing “Start” defibrillated it back to life with a jump. It rocked and vibrated and swayed before regaining its composure. A sign above the machines, not in 50s font, warned to not sit on the machines.

With a row of machines spinning towels and underwear, I sat on a backless bar stool, wondering. Wondering what I should do.

Not after cleaning clothes. But in life. Alone with a pair of dogs after four months on the road, I had hoped I’d have an answer. A clue. A direction.

Does life on spin cycle know what direction it’s going? Or that it’s only going in circles?

On a tube television near the window, women of a talk show discuss life. They seem to have all the answers, just not the one I’m looking for.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter. I’m looking for direction to a destination I have not yet decided on. A location on the map. A location in my mind. If I don’t know where I’m going, it doesn’t matter which direction I take.

The best direction to another location is any.

The first washing machine shutters like a wet dog, ridding itself of any remaining water, and dies, it’s cycle complete.

I couldn’t tell what direction it spun. But with its goal complete, it ended up where it needed to be in the end.

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