River Teeth

Last Quarter

For the McCormicks, before Saturday dinner, there was Saturday laundromat. Besides school, this was one of the most stable things Kenny had. It was attached to an old-time ice cream parlor. Sometimes, Kenny would look in the windows and watch the workers scooping in pinstripe shirts and hats, but he never went in.

He knew the inside of the laundromat so well, he could recall almost every inch still, even after years of it being shut down. Near the front sat a nice woman with smile lines and purple bags under her eyes, surrounded by dry cleaning bags and rags. Her two Pomeranians sat in a blanketed basket in the chair behind her. In the corner was a green mat with a T.V. and toys, two rocking chairs, and a bench. There was a Coke machine with fading yellow lights. The ceiling fans were always spinning, gently blowing the leaves of the fake potted plants.

Kenny's favorite thing was the Terminator 2 pinball machine. Half the lights didn't work and Arnold Schwarzenegger's voice sounded strangled but Kenny adored it. All week he would search for quarters in sidewalk cracks and parking lots so he could play it. He wasn't very good, and he desperately wanted to get better. Sometimes he saw the blue outline of Arnold's head when he closed his eyes after a night of playing.

Tonight, he and his father needed to wash extra bedsheets, and he relished having more time to practice. The laundromat was mostly empty, save for the chip tunes of the pinball machine, and the laugh track of whatever sitcom was playing on T.V.

A large woman with a shaved head and flip-flops paced back and forth, watching her circulating clothes and crying into her phone: "I don't have time for this... I am so tired. All I do is work."

Distracted, Kenny watched her pace. She looked at him once then looked away. He wanted to help.

His father's voice floated behind him: "Don't stare, Kenny. It's rude."

Kenny shrugged and went back to his playing. How much would an 11-year old help, anyway? The problem seemed to be much bigger than laundry.

He was especially off his game tonight. Round after round, the little ball slid past the half-flashing lights and between the little levers under the dirtied glass and Kenny's hopeless face. He was almost out of quarters. The Terminator laughed at him.

The door chimed, and a young couple came in with dress shirts to be dry-cleaned. Kenny blew cold air into his sweating palms. With a deep breath, he positioned himself as if he would dive over the machine. The door chimed again. He ignored it. No distractions this time.

He inserted another quarter and zoned in. The sound effects and lights faded from his thoughts. Concentrating on the small silver ball now, he followed it as it zipped over robot skulls and mechanical limbs.

Change lane.

Across the metal rail like a bullet train.

Change lane.

The ball headed toward death but he caught it, just barely with the tip of the flip and lets it rest there for a few seconds before launching it through blaring red lights that read "Security Pass."

It hurls into a winning slot.

Lights dance all around the machine. Music plays. Kenny stepped back, palms up, grinning.

"Nice job," came a voice from the fake fern.

Kenny jumped and turned around. "Holy shit, Kyle!"

"Sorry, did I scare you?"

"A bit." Kenny looked over and saw Gerald loading a basket. "What are you guys doing here? Don't you have a washer and dryer?"

"Our washing machine just broke." Kyle walked toward him, hands in his coat pockets. "And I'm pretty sure my dad doesn't have any clean underwear."