In Passing

She sits against the wall of the laundromat, watching her whites spin in the dryer for the umpteenth time. She sighs and looks around, noticing that she is the sole denizen of this place when normally there are at least two or three other people in the same laundry predicament as she. The rain spatters the window to her left and she shifts her gaze out through the reflected rows of washers and dryers into the deluged street beyond and thinks, Tonight. Maybe it will happen tonight. She gets up, moves the remnants of her wet clothes from a washer to a dryer and takes her final coins out of her pocket to feed the ever-hungry machine so that she can get out of here and return home.

He sits in his customary corner against the wall at a run-of-the-mill Chinese food restaurant, staring down at his mushu pork and wondering for the umpteenth time what is really in it. He hears a clatter near the door and looks up, but it is only the lone waitress mopping the wet footprints away from the front door. He comes here to get out and be away from his own domicile and to share company, even if it is the company of strangers, but tonight there is no company to be found. Tonight, he thinks, maybe it will happen tonight. He shifts his gaze to the picture window at his right, out through the reflected visage of empty tables to see the sodden streets beyond and wonders if the streets feel clean after a rain like this.

She wonders where the people are. I'm sure the rain is keeping them away, she thinks to herself. She comes to this place out of necessity but secretly looks forward to the times when she can be around other people, even if she will never interact with them. There are no other people in her apartment and tonight there are no other people in the laundry either. She silently wills the dryers to hurry up and finish her clothes so that she can leave and head home to the silent halls of her apartment, where she can expect there to be no company. Expecting company when there is no company around makes her nervous and only serves to magnify her disdain for herself at not making company happen more often on her terms.

He pushes the plate away and looks ahead, wordlessly signaling the server that he is finished with his meal and expects the check. Normally this meal would satisfy both of his cravings - that of food and interaction - but not this night. Perhaps the cook was a little off his game, he tells himself, knowing full well that the food is not the issue. His attempt to assuage his own loneliness by his usual methods has fallen flat and left him wanting. I'm sure the rain is keeping people away. Yeah, that must be it. He finds himself drifting into thought eddies unbidden, riding the current of consciousness to places he would rather not go. Thoughts of a stifling job, dreams put away on the back burner while more practical concerns come to the forefront, and the crushing realization that his life is the very definition of mundane. I just need someone to notice me. That would get things started. Just....notice me.

She feels the frustration welling up inside, knowing that tomorrow will just bring a repeat of the same attempts as today to gain someone's attention, someone to see the person inside and spark her creativity, someone who can breathe life into her all-but-dead dreams that have been put away carefully in a box so that she can pay her bills with a job she hates. She starts to chuckle to herself as her thought processes move into the realm of the absurd, piecing together slices of movies in her head. I know, I'll just stare out the window and will run out to the very next man I see and ask him to sweep me off of my feet. The chuckles subside, a wistful sigh escapes her lips, and she sits back down in the chair. The dryers stop. She stares out the window.

He pays his bill, gets up, and moves to the door. Maybe a walk in the rain will do me some good. Wash this funk away, and maybe I'll know what the street feels like. The solitary bell over the door tinkles a quiet goodbye and reminds him that no one is around to hear it and wish him a pleasant journey. He steels himself for the liquid onslaught and heads out into the night. As he goes on his way, he looks into the window of the laundromat and sees a beautiful woman staring out into the night, appearing to look right at him. He stops.

She sees him. Tonight? Maybe?

Is this her? Tonight?, he wonders. The thoughts from the restaurant slam into his brain like a tsunami and his sails go slack and listless. He's been here a hundred times before. No, not tonight. She's beautiful. I'm sure she has someone, and I have no idea what to say. I'm getting wet. I really should go home. Things to do, you know. Yes, lots of things to do. He turns away.

Her thoughts come slowly as he turns away. She's been here a hundred times before, and always the outcome is the same. No, not tonight. He has things to do, and I have no more coins to offer him dry clothes. I really should go home, this laundry won't fold itself. She turns away.

When will it happen for me? When will someone notice me, he asks no one in particular.

She mumbles to herself, When will it happen for me? When will someone notice me?

In passing....