The Midnight Laundromat

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At one in the morning, Jo still could not sleep. It was the night after her last exam, and she should have been celebrating, yet her mind refused to switch off. She looked at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of her room and sighed. There was no better time to do laundry than an hour when nobody else would be awake. It was also a good excuse to leave a room that had begun to feel like a waiting room.

The laundromat on Fairfax Street was open all night, lit by harsh blue lights that made everything look slightly underwater. The washing machines rumbled along the wall like a row of sleeping animals. Jo was surprised to find that she was not alone. At the far end stood an old man in a flat cap, folding clothes with extraordinary care and matching the corners of each shirt as if he were wrapping a gift.

She loaded her machine, sat on a plastic chair, and opened a book that she had no intention of reading. After a while, the old man looked over. "Long day?" he asked. "Long week," she said. "Exams." He nodded, as if this explained everything. "I'm Mr. Abadi. I come here every Wednesday, when the machines are free." He smoothed the last shirt and added it to a pile which, she noticed, was far too small for a man of his size.

Jo couldn't help asking. "Those aren't yours, are they?" He smiled, a little shyly. "No. They belong to Mrs. Reyes, from the second floor of my building. Her hands hurt, so she can no longer carry the heavy bags downstairs. She would never have asked for help, so one day I said I was going anyway and wondered whether she would mind if I took hers along." He shrugged. "That was two years ago."

"Does she know you fold them like that?" asked Jo. "I think so," said Mr. Abadi. "She never says anything. But every Thursday, when I return them, there is a little plate of something on my doormat. Sometimes cake, sometimes just bread and cheese. It has never been mentioned between us." He looked at the shirts. "Some arrangements are best left unspoken."

The dryer buzzed. Mr. Abadi opened it, took out a towel, and, without a word, handed it to Jo. It was as warm as a living thing. Only then did she realize that she had been shivering in her thin sweater, and that she had not felt warm all week. She pressed her face into the towel and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Mr. Abadi was wrapping another towel around his own shoulders, and they both laughed quietly. They sat side by side in the blue light, two strangers with two warm towels, while the machines turned and turned and the night outside slowly gave way to morning.