Out with the laundry

The serendipity of life can be amusing at times. 

These days, many of us live our lives, silent and separate from those who surround us every day.  We wander the streets confined to cars, or close ourselves off by creating concerts in our heads by plugging our ears with iPods. 

We miss potential connections all the time. Instead of opening up, we construct false stories to fill the void.

There's a woman in my apartment complex I have considered my "laundry nemesis." Every time I even think about doing laundry, there she is,  already in the laundry room using the one washer and dryer we have for the building. Even when the door is closed and I walk up thinking it had to be free at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, there she is, this wizened white woman with reddish tufts of bird-feather hair inside the room just waiting for me to open the door.

The septuagenarian parks two spots down from me, and in the three years I've been here, we've exchanged maybe 10 words total, usually only in pairs at a time. Most of the the words I've wanted to say have been in my fantasy conversations telling her off for hogging the laundry room. I have assumed she has nothing good to say to me either.

Today as I was getting ready to go on a fairly ambitious bike ride, I passed the laundry room on my way out of the complex. My Laundry Nemesis was using a cane, so I asked her about it. 

"You're using a cane. Are you OK?"

From that seemingly innocuous question came an amazing moment, a totally unexpected exchange of one human being with another. 

She went from telling me that she had just gone through arthroscopic meniscus repair surgery to telling me about her wonderful family. We both stood in the carport outside the laundry room exchanging family stories. 

She told me about how her daughter Diane, who was in the military at the time, shared with her that she had met someone else in the military -- but "Mom, don't freak out," she said. "He's black."

Without a flinch, I just let her tell her story. 

Iris -- her name, which I found out after three years of being secret rivaling neighbors -- went on to say that he cherishes her daughter as the love of his life. When her daughter Diane was giving birth to their first child, she nearly died. Her liver was practically "ground beef," she said. And after delivering the baby by Caesarian section, the doctors had to put her in a controlled coma for several weeks. Iris told me this through tears.

A few weeks ago before Iris' surgery, 18 years after the child's birth and Diane's miracle recovery, Iris was in Texas visiting her beloved biracial granddaughter, her pride and joy, for graduation. Today, this man she was skeptical about for her daughter is a beloved son to her, devoted husband and dedicated father to her two grandchildren. 

Today, we laid down the dryer sheet. I stood with my laundry nemesis for about an hour in front of the site of our imaginary battles, sharing tears and tales.

You never know how you're going to connect with people when you ask them how they are and listen to what they say.