The Laundromat

(A Laundromat.  KELLY is sitting down waiting for her clothes to finish.  She’s reading a magazine.  DEB is folding.  DEB waits a minute, and then speaks.)

DEB:  I don’t know why I’m bothering to do laundry.  If the world ends, what do I need clean clothes for?

                (KELLY looks at her, and then goes back to reading.)

DEB:  You come to this Laundromat often?

KELLY:  Yes.

DEB:  This late at night?

KELLY:  Yes.

DEB:  There’s hardly anybody here.

KELLY:  I know.

DEB:  You should be careful.  Girls your age shouldn’t be out this late at night.  This area used to be nice, but it’s really gone downhill.  I wouldn’t be out on my own.

KELLY:  You are out on your own.

DEB:  Oh, nobody’s going to bother me.  Besides, I keep a knife in my purse.

KELLY:  Oh.

DEB:  I usually never do laundry this late anyway, but I was sitting at home, watching the news, you know?  And I thought—God, I cannot watch one more minute of all these scientists talking about the comet and what’s going to happen—it was driving me nuts.

KELLY:  Oh.

DEB:  I hope it misses us, but if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.  Can’t do much about it, can you?

KELLY:  Nope.

DEB:  I guess I seem weird, being so cheerful.

KELLY:  Yup.

DEB:  Well, this is how I am all the time.  All bubbly and bouncy.  Can’t help it.

KELLY:  Are you sure?

DEB:  (Ignoring her.)  When I was younger, I had five sisters and they were all downers.  All the time—moping around, sulking.  They all wound up dead before sixty from one cause or other, but I think they just wore themselves out being sad all the time.  I never had that problem.  I smiled and smiled and smiled and here I am—still going.

KELLY:  How can you be so happy when you have five dead siblings?

DEB:  Well, they weren’t much to be around.  We weren’t very close.  And you can’t focus on the negatives like that.

KELLY:  Sure you can.

DEB:  Well, I try not to.

                (A moment.)

Do you have any brothers or sister0s?

KELLY:  I ate my twin in the womb.

DEB:  Oh.

                (A beat.)

Well, that’s unfortunate.

KELLY:  Eh.

DEB:  What’s that you’re reading?

KELLY:  People.

DEB:  I hate that magazine.  All those promiscuous women.

KELLY:  I’m promiscuous.

DEB:  You are?

KELLY:  Maybe.

DEB:  You don’t seem like you would be.

KELLY:  Because I’m ugly?

DEB:  I didn’t say that.

KELLY:  You know what?

DEB:  What?

KELLY:  I’m teasing you.

DEB:  Oh.

KELLY:  I’m not good with people.

DEB:  That’s all right.  Do you, uh, not get out much?

KELLY:  This is pretty much my weekend.

DEB:  Doing laundry?

KELLY:  Sometimes I get breadsticks from the Little Caesar’s.

DEB:  Why don’t you try going to a bar or something?  I used to love going to bars.

KELLY:  You did?

DEB:  Honey, getting drunk wasn’t invented last week.

KELLY:  Sounds wild.

DEB:  Not really.  I just used to go sit, listen to music--nothing like what you read in those magazines.

KELLY:  Dance?

DEB:  Sometimes dance.  I wasn’t a very good dancer.

KELLY:  Where did you go?

DEB:  There used to be a bar downtown called Sammy’s.  Everybody would go there—Well, everybody I knew anyway.  Then when I got older, I just…stopped going.

KELLY:  How come?

DEB:  (Shrugs.)  Silly reasons.

KELLY:  …Like?

DEB:  Personal stuff.

KELLY:  Sorry.

DEB:  It’s all right.

KELLY:  I don’t usually bother anybody.

DEB:  You’re not bothering me.  It’s just…things I haven’t thought about for awhile.

KELLY:  My laundry’s almost done anyway.

DEB:  You still have fold it.

KELLY:  I fold it at home.

DEB:  Fold it here.  Or I can fold it for you.  I like folding.  Good therapy for the hands.

KELLY:  Okay.

DEB:  I stopped going to the bar because I liked the bartender, and then he started dating somebody else.

KELLY:  Really?

DEB:  I told you it was a silly reason.

KELLY:  Who was he dating?

DEB:  Just some girl who…Well, she was a very good dancer.

KELLY:  Did you miss going there?

DEB:  I did, but—To be honest, I miss it more now.  When I think about the fact that one boy kept me from doing something I liked it’s—Well, it’s one of those retrospective things I guess.

KELLY:  Yeah.

DEB:  When you get older, the thing that frustrates you most is remembering all the times you ruined your own fun.  Not when somebody else did it, you get over that, because forgiveness, in most cases, becomes a little easier, but—When it’s you setting yourself back—When it’s you that you have to forgive—it’s difficult.

KELLY:  Yeah.

DEB:  I think your clothes are done.

KELLY:  Huh?

                (Looks out at where the machines are.)

Oh, right.

DEB:  You know, if I’m bugging you—

KELLY:  No, no.  It’s fine.

DEB:  Don’t want to take you away from your magazine.

KELLY:  Really, it’s fine.

DEB:  Or your alone time.  I know some people like being alone.

KELLY:  I, uh…I don’t.  Not really.

DEB:  Well.  You should do something about that.

KELLY:  Yeah.

                (A beat.)

Yeah.

DEB:  You know, maybe I’ll start coming at this time more often.  It’s nice when it’s not so noisy.  You said you’re usually here on Saturday nights, right?

KELLY:  Yeah.  As long as the comet—

DEB:  Right.  As long as we’re still here.  I just want to make sure if I come back next week, there’s somebody to keep me company.

KELLY:  Yeah, I’ll be here.

DEB:  Good.  It’s nice to have something to look forward to right?

KELLY:  Yeah.

                (A moment.)

Yeah.

                (DEB folds.  KELLY watches.)