The Basement Written for NYV Midnight Competition Jan 2008 The day had been broken for her by a telephone ringing and that crisp breathlessness that only seemed to happen since she moved to the city. Some time later, the sun streamed through the high dirty windows of the basement, and she busied herself with washing and folding. The steam from the washer speckled her young face, allowing her to wipe away the tears and pretend. She saw his feet first, dirty sneakers dragging along the side of the apartment building, appearing at each window in turn like targets at a shooting gallery. She was not ready for telling him, and she hoped he would slink off up to bed and not bother coming down to the basement when he found she wasn’t in the room. But it wasn’t likely; he was always needy when he came back from the night shift. His majesty would require food, beer, and bed; which she would provide and endure in order to win the rest of the day to herself. In preparation for battle, she scooped the long johns from the washing machine with the wooden tongs and slapped them down beside the cast iron ringer. After a few minutes, the outer door to the laundry basement clattered, signalling his clumsy approach. She busied herself with some underwear. “Hey Gil, can’t you do that later?” He hadn’t even washed his face yet. “I’ve started now. Can’t you make your own supper, just once?” He kicked at the door like a schoolboy. “I could. But I don’t see why I have to. I’ve been out working all night…” “And we all know how hard it is stuffing envelopes into pigeon holes.” He gave the door an extra hard kick, rattling the frame. “Damn it, Gil. You know I hate that job. But it’s all there is. I could stay at home all the time, would that suit you?” He glowered at her, embarrassed and angry. “You spend the paychecks, don’t you?” “I’m sorry.” She closed the washer door and jabbed the start button. For someone who wanted to avoid a messy argument, she wasn’t starting well. “I’ll be up soon, Rick. Just one more wash then I’ll be all yours.” But she could see he was still smarting. She saw it in the way he made no attempt to leave; he wasn’t even looking at her. He was in deep conversation with himself, deciding what he should do next. When he shut her out like that, she could do nothing but wait; wait and see what was decided. And today, she wished the waiting could go on forever, because whatever he decided, she had no stomach for it. He could stay there, one hand and one foot attached to the door until the caretaker came and painted him into the woodwork. “You’re doing his clothes again. I told you to stop doing his damn clothes.” She sighed. “Not today, Rick.” His voice had changed, and that signalled nothing but trouble. “Not today, not tomorrow. You don’t listen to a damn word I say, Gil. If my mother had tried anything like that with my dad…” She folded. “And you hated him for it. Or you used to.” “Yeah.” He kicked at the door, back in thought. “I used to think a lot of things.” Grateful for anything that wasn’t a question and didn’t require her to walk the minefield of his wounded pride, she moved the folded clothes from the counter to the plastic washing basket. The touch of her father’s things were giving her a clarity of sight that morning, and a bravery she didn’t normally feel. She could almost see Rick’s strategy for this argument, spread out like a shopping list: appeal, anger, entreaty, and more anger. Last on the list was always a storm, either to be directed at her or to blow away out to sea, leaving her adrift. He wasn’t a stupid man, but sometimes he just stopped thinking, and went on his checklist for getting his own way. But, this morning she didn’t feel like playing. “Let me do this one thing for him, Rick.” It was more a statement than a request. “I promise after you’ve slept…” “Damn it! You put everybody ahead of me these days. Seems the harder I try, the less I mean to you.” First comes the anger, then the self-pity, she thought. Then after that comes the schmooze. He had been becoming so predictable in recent months, but in her morning clarity she saw the various conversational gambits he had to use, and dismissed them all before he even began. All she wanted was for him to go upstairs and make his own food, and go to bed without her having to be there, using herself up to bandage his ego. She looked at him. “Can you stop making a big point over this? I’m not putting him before you. He’s old.” Her voice caught. “We owe him.” “We’ve paid.” She shook her head. “I’ll never stop paying, Rick. If it hadn’t been for him when…” He came over to the other side of the counter. “Why does everything have to go back to that? I thought we decided we were over that.” “I lost a child, Rick; our child. I will never get over that in a million years.” He closed his eyes and put both hands flat on the cold porcelain surface. “You know what I mean. We decided that talking about it was just hurting everything we tried to do. Just because we don’t mention it doesn’t mean we don’t care.” He took her hands and for a moment he was the old Rick. “I’m sorry about the kid, Gil. I really am.” She pulled her hands away and started folding again. He sensed rejection. “I just don’t see why you need to wash your old man’s clothes every week. He has a nurse that comes round and does that. It’s not your problem.” “It’s not a problem, Rick. Only to you.” He made a fist in the air. “The old man hates me. He always has.” He started walking in circles, shaking his head. “I could live with that, but I wish you wouldn’t take his side in things all the time. I’m your husband.” The constant switching between his anger and pathos, his usual technique, was starting to irritate her. “Just go, Rick. Let me finish this laundry.” “And it’s all about you, isn’t it?” She opened the washer door and removed the washing with the tongs. “Yes, you’re right. Today, it’s all about me. Later it can be all about you again, if you would only let me be for just one hour.” But she knew that wasn’t the right way to handle him. He exploded. “So you lose a kid you didn’t even know, and spend the rest of your life treating your own father like a baby.” He picked up a pair of work coveralls, saggy and paint-stained. “He can’t even walk any more, what does he want work clothes for?” She took them out of his hands, the touch of their warm thick cotton a spark of pure energy. “What happened to you, Rick?” “What happened to you?” It was a pathetic response, just a way to avoid accepting that he had changed so much since they got married. It wasn’t all to do with the factory closing. He hadn’t been the type of man who felt himself worthless because he didn’t have a job. Not back then… She put the coveralls gently back into the basket and returned to the wet clothing on the counter. “I wish you wouldn’t put me in the middle all the time.” And then the bravery returned. “The only reason you think he hates you is guilt.” He froze. “That’s not fair. You know I don’t have any reason to be guilty.” He shifted from foot to foot, nervously, waiting to gauge if further justification was required. “That was an accident, you said so. And the doctor said you could have lost that baby at any time. I’d be in jail right now if they thought there was any connection….” “You’ve told yourself that so many times, haven’t you?” “Damn it, Gil. If you thought I meant to hurt you or the baby, you should have left me at the time. I haven’t laid a finger on you before or since.” “No, you haven’t.” But she made it sound like a lie. “It’s always the same. I’m always wrong to you. I can’t do anything right, even when I’m trying my damn hardest.” She felt a flicker of pity, even though she saw through his battleground tactic. “I know you try, Rick. And I know you work hard at a job you despise. But what’s it all for, if the effort eats you up and spits you out? I don’t want the pieces left over; they’re no use to me.” “So what can I do?” His posture was aggressive. She shrugged, regretting pushing him so far on the very day she needed him to just disappear. “Nothing to be done.” She saw his face fall. “Look, it’s not just you. I found out this morning…” He slammed the worktop. “Well that’s just dandy. Tell me I’m doing it all wrong, then don’t tell me how to do it right. That is typical of you. Set it up so I can’t win, and I’m always the bad guy…” “I was trying to tell you something.” “Forget it. I’ll tell you something. You want the bad guy, that’s what you’re going to get. I want you to phone him right now and tell him you can’t do his laundry any more.” “I can’t do that, Rick.” “Well I’m going round there and tell him myself.” “You can’t.” “Can’t? I can see I’ve been doing this all wrong. All this time, I’ve been trying to prove how gentle I am with you because of…. That. And all this time you’ve been spoiling like a little kid. I thought I was letting you get over things in your own time. All I’ve been doing is letting you get away with things.” “Rick, can you just stop. You’re tired, go to bed. We’ll talk later. I can’t deal with tantrums right now.” “Oh, I see it now. Every time something goes a little bit wrong, you turn it around so it’s me having the tantrum. How could I have missed it for so long? I’m going around there right now and I’m taking this laundry with me.” She grabbed the basket. “You do, and it’s over between us. I’ll go and you’ll never see me again.” He glared at her. “You need me.” “I need you today.” But it was too little, too late. “Well, if you need me, you’ll be here when I get back.” He tugged at the basket, but she wouldn’t let it go. He gave up. “I can tell him without it. He just won’t get his damn clothes back.” “Don’t go, Rick.” “The time you could tell me what to do is over, Gil. I’m going.” He stormed out through the inner and outer doors of the basement laundry. She watched his feet march along the side of the apartment building, getting faster as they went. A long time later, she moved. The long johns folded neatly, the socks balled and laid in a neat pile on top. The large cotton underpants, one pair for each day of the week, folded once across the middle. The shirts, some check some plain, thin at the elbows but with some life in them yet; she folded the sleeves across the chest. She imagined Rick across town, banging on the door of her father’s house. Who would tell him, she wondered? A neighbor, perhaps. She was sure a couple of her aunts were at the house. It was unfair to let him storm in on it, but then he hadn’t given her any choice. And they were country girls, and could give as good as they got, even while grieving for a brother who had passed away quietly in the night. Rick would never have it out with her father ever again. She took the folded clothes out of the basket, and imagined her father dressed in each one of them. Fixing the creaking lantern hinge on the front of his clapperboard house, turning and smiling as she came up the path from school. Laughing with her as they looked over old photographs in the swing chair out back. Being there for her, always, in a way she wouldn’t have ever again. She held the precious clothes close to her body, trying to squeeze the last drop of her father from them. Breathing in deeply, she made her choice. She dropped the clothes into the trash bin near the door. Pausing, she removed her wedding ring, and peered through it, as if to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead. But all she could see was the dusty laundry. She dropped the ring into the trash and walked out.