CNL: Stories
reprinted from the Compost NewsLetter
Spring 1994:
Olga Moe
OUR LITTLE SECRET
The building looked exactly the same. Now, if it still had that identical lock for the laundry room, Nick would find shelter from the rain.
His fingers were sodden, pinching the old metal object he had carried in his wallet for the past two years. The key slipped into its keyhole. It was going to work. He shivered and pushed his way through the door.
It was dark, but he dare not pull that old familiar cord above the laundry sink and illuminate the naked bulb. Still quaking from the cold, he crawled along the floor and felt the wall. He found the latch. He turned the smooth, metal protrusion, and a rectangular door opened. Gratefully he stuffed himself through it.
Now, he reached for a piece of cardboard in his pocket, and he crammed it into the hole where the latch was supposed to go. Then, he closed the door.
It was warm in here. A furnace pumped out heat for the entire apartment building, just on the other side of the wall. It was completely dark. He had a flashlight with him, in his pack, but he was too tired to feel around for it right now.
He tucked the pack up under his head, trembling, and curled into a fetal position. Then he went to sleep.
When Nick opened his eyes again, he still saw nothing. But he was dry now, and warm. And he knew where he was. He was finally inside that silvery, insulation-lined storage crawl space in the laundry room.
He had always wondered what it would feel like to live in here. In all the five years he lived in this apartment building and did his laundry here, he had never actually crawled inside this little space. Of course, back in those days he had a job, and he lived in the apartment with the bay window, up on the third floor.
Last night Nick had walked over twenty miles in the rain to get to this laundry room. Now, he could smile. He felt like he had finally come home.
He clicked his flashlight on. Maybe with the small wad of soggy bills in his pocket he would be able to go out soon and get more batteries for it, along with some crackers and milk. He would get a paper, too. Maybe some kind of temporary labor job would be available.
He heard a noise. Someone was coming. He would have to wait in here until this person was done doing laundry, he supposed. He did not mind. He was happy just to have a private space like this where he could hide and stay warm.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a shriek, and then a clatter. Nick heard a groan. It sounded like a woman had slipped and fallen and needed help. He waited. She whimpered now, as though she could not get up.
Without thinking, he poked his head through the tiny trap door.
"Ma'am, are you all right?"
She jerked, and her aging eyes widened.
"Don't be afraid." He squeezed his body through the rest of the way. "Here. Need some help?"
He stood up, bent over her and lifted her back to her feet. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"Who.." she stammered. "Who..."
"I live in there. Just for awhile. No one was supposed to know, though. Just until I can find a job. You won't tell anyone, will you? Here. Sit down. On this chair."
He led her over to a rusty vinyl and chrome chair in the corner.
"Please don't tell anyone. I won't make any trouble. I just can't afford any rent right now. Are you doing okay?"
"You don't have a home?" she said finally, out of breath.
"No. Just for awhile."
"And you live in there?"
"Just staying there. For awhile."
"Oh, you poor, poor boy. I would let you stay with my husband and me, but Dirk would not hear of it. Oh, you poor boy."
"It's not so bad, really. I used to live here. I used to do my laundry in this room all the time. And that little door over there," He pointed to the tiny trap door, "I used to stare at it when I sat right where you are now, and I always told myself that if a person really got down and out, that little room in there would be a chance to start over. "
"What is it like in there?"
"Cozy. Nice. Especially when you've been walking around in the streets all tired in the rain."
The woman's face took on a look of enchantment. "Is it soft?"
"Sort of. It could be, I mean. I didn't really notice last night I was just so happy to be there."
"May I look inside?"
"Sure."
The woman limped over to the trap door and peered in. "No light?"
"Sure. I'll show you." Nick squeezed back inside the room and picked up his flashlight. "See?"
"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed.
"And you won't tell anyone?"
"Of course not. I'm proud of you for trying so hard to make a go of things like you are.." She leaned in to look once more. "My name is Mrs. Dench, by the way. What is yours?"
"Nick."
"Well, Nick, I think this is just wonderful."
Much later that evening, while Nick was reading the paper by flashlight and nibbling on crackers and an apple, he heard a timid knock.
"Nick?" It sounded like that Mrs. Dench lady, the one he met in the afternoon.
He pushed open the tiny door.
"I brought you some things," Mrs. Dench said. "Look. Here's a cushion for you from the porch lounge, and here's a sleeping bag. And see? I brought you a little lamp. And a portable TV. They just run off this battery box here. You can charge up an extra one in that cupboard over there. No one will be the wiser."
"Oh, Mrs. Dench. You didn't have to..."
"Fran, Dear. Call me Fran. Now don't be silly. And see? Here's a little plate of dinner I brought for you. Nothing much. You must be getting hungry. Spread the blanket out over the cushion, okay? And set up the TV. I want to be able to picture you in there."
Nick did as he was told. Then, when he propped himself up cross legged against a pillow with her plate of dinner held in his lap, she clasped her hands up to her chin and sighed. Her face was ecstatic.
"May I come in a minute, please?"
"Sure. It's kind of crowded, though."
She grunted slightly, squeezing her body through the door. Then, she wheezed and sat back to look around.
"Oh, Nick," she sighed. "I envy you. I wish I could live in this little room like you."
"Why?"
"Oh, because it's yours. No one can pick on you and tell you what to do. You're so lucky. "
She looked at her watch. "Oh, I guess I had better go. My husband will be wondering what happened to me. He's such a fuddy duddy, always keeping track of what I do. It's not because he really cares that much about me, you understand. It's just some kind of habit of his, like he's guarding his property." She sighed again. "It's really hard to break old habits when you get to be our age, the kids grown and gone, and all."
"I'm sorry Fran, if you're not happy."
"Oh, I'm happy." She pushed her body back out through the small rectangle. Then, her head popped back in. "I just wish I lived here like you, that's all."
She stood up to leave. "Well, good night, Nick. Good luck finding a job tomorrow. I hope you are more comfortable now."
"Good night, Fran," called Nick, softly. Thank you. I am."
He heard the heavy outer door of the laundry room close, and the footsteps of Mrs. Dench faded as they traipsed up the outside stairs.
Nice Lady, he thought, stretching out on his fluffy new bed.
The following evening, Nick heard another woman's voice outside his door.
"Knock knock," it sang.
"Fran?" he called. "Is that you?"
"No. This is Blanche. Are you the guy that lives in the wall?"
Nick pushed open the door.
"Hi," the woman said, beaming. "Fran told me about you. She's my sister. This is really cute, could I look inside?" She poked her head through the door and surveyed the tiny, silvery space. "This is darling. Don't tell Fran, okay? She would be mad if I came to see you. It's always been that way, even when we were girls. She always had little secrets going on in her life that she wouldn't share with me. May I come inside?"
"Sure, I think."
The woman wriggled her body through the open rectangle, huffing, with her long earrings bobbing.
"There," she said finally. "Whew! Oh, I like it here. It must be so peaceful just to live like this."
"Well, it's really just temporary. . . "
"You ought to see what it's like living with a teenage daughter," Blanche went on. "Care if I smoke in here?"
"Uhh..."
"Oh, that's right. I didn't bring any with me anyway." She looked around.
"Is that the TV Fran brought you? I could probably bring you a bigger one. Don't tell Fran, okay? She just wants to keep you to herself. She's older than me, you know. Her kids are all grown. My daughter and I live just down the hall from Fran. Sometimes, I wish I had a place like this just to get away from my daughter. Boy oh boy, it sure is peaceful in here. Any luck today finding a job?"
"I think they're hiring down at the fish cannery."
"Oh, boy you are lucky to be single and not have any kids. You just live in a wall, go out and find a job..." She shook her head and her earrings swayed. "Boy oh boy."
Nick slid up next to one corner, trying to find a place to stretch his legs.
"Well," Blanche said, abruptly.. "I guess I'll go. I brought you something." She reached out through the opening and pulled in a paper sack. "Sweet rolls. I can bring you things too, you know. It's not like Fran has a monopoly."
Then, with a thrust, Blanche pushed herself through the door. "Good luck on that job tomorrow, Nick. And let's just keep this little visit to ourselves."
After the clamor of a few clumsy thuds, there was a retreat. And then there was silence.
It was another evening. Nick's body was sore from putting in a second day at the fish cannery. He tucked the sleeping bag up around his neck, turned on the tiny TV, and settled back to enjoy a comfortable stretch of time before going to sleep. Suddenly, he heard a knock on his door.
"Nick? Is your name Nick?"
This time, the voice sounded like it came from a very young woman.
"Yes."
"Can I come in and see your place? Please? I heard my mom talking about you to Aunt Fran."
Nick sighed, then slowly he pushed open the door. Crouching outside of the portal was a teenaged girl.
"Hi. My name is Kiki. Short for Katherine."
Her long hair fell forward in her face.
"Wow. Cool!" she exclaimed, lunging through the door. "I'd give anything to have a little place like this. Then I could get away from my mother."
"I don't think this is a good idea..."
"You are so lucky! I can't believe it. I saw that little door a million times when I was doing the laundry. Why didn't I ever think of something like this? Are you gonna be staying here long? Can I have this room when you're done with it?"
"Sure, but..."
"Upstairs, my Mom's always saying do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that. " She blew out air. "And you get to just sit down here and watch TV. What are you watching?"
"I don't know, really. But I think I should be going to sleep pretty soon."
"Oh." She looked startled. "Oh. Okay. Sorry. I just had to see what this thing was all about. Aunt Fran told my mom, like it's a big secret, and I just had to come see. Don't tell her I came here, OK?"
She flipped her head and a ripple of hair slithered across her bony shoulder. "Well, here I go." Then, in one graceful undulation she was once again standing on the outside.
"Your place is really cool," she squeaked, ducking her face back in. "Well, don't tell my mom I know, Okay?"
"Okay."
She made barely a sound as she departed.
It had been another full day of work. Tomorrow, Nick would even get paid. There would not be much, but it would be a start. He felt satisfied and achy, very tired, as he curled up on his cushion and closed his eyes. He hoped that no one would come in to do laundry this evening. He did not want to be bothered by all that sloshing and clanking around. In a few minutes, he might even turn off the small lantern Fran had given him, curl up in this warmish, intimate region and go to sleep.
Suddenly, there was an urgent banging on his door.
"Nick? Are you there?"
It sounded like Blanche's daughter, again.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Lemme in. Quick! I'm running away."
"You're what?"
She yanked open his door, slipped in and frantically clutched at it to pull it shut. Her face was blotched with tears, and swollen. "Doesn't this thing have a lock?"
"Kiki, wait. What's going on? This isn't right."
She flung her body against one corner of the chamber, folded her arms in front of her and stuck out her lower lip. "I'm never going out there again."
"Kiki, wait a minute. What happened? If they find you in here with me, they'll think I kidnapped you or something."
"Well I knew about this place before you did," she whined. "You don't have anything to do with it."
"You've got to leave. You've got to go talk to your mother."
"No."
Nick sighed. He started to gather a few things. Maybe he could find an extra bed at the Mission tonight, or something. At least tomorrow he would get paid.
"Then I'm leaving," he said.
"Go ahead."
He grabbed his pack and started to crawl through the door, when a pair of rigid, denim-clad legs slammed up next to his face. He looked up.
"You the dude who's been messin' with Kiki?"
Nick crawled back into his room.
"Come on out, Punk," the voice went on. "I know you got her in there right now. You come out or I'm comin' in. I'll cream your ass!"
Nick sat frozen to his spot.
"You comin' out, or am I comin' in?"
At that moment, someone else entered the laundry room.
"Rodney Treeker!" Blanche roared. "I told you to stay away from my daughter! What in the hell are you doing down here?"
"She ain't with me. She's with that dude in there."
"I am not!" Kiki squealed.
"You're wrong, Rodney," snapped Blanche. "She's in there just so she can get away from you!"
"I am not, Mother. I'm in here so I can get away from you! You never like any of my boyfriends. You're always telling me what to do."
"Katherine Jane Simpson, you come out of that place right now."
"No."
"If you don't come out this instant," threatened Blanche, "then I'm coming in. "
"Er, excuse me," said Nick. "I'll just get out of the way, here."
Cautiously, he crept out the door of his cubicle and on along the wall of the laundry room. He remembered he had seen a mouse do this once.
Then, in a reckless leap, he jerked open the laundry room door and tore out into the open air.
He ran for a while, awkwardly, with his legs aching and his pack tottering around on his shoulders. Finally, he rested. He hid behind a tree. He looked back at the apartment house from which he had just fled. He saw Fran walking in the yard, heading toward the laundry room, carrying a pillow and a large plate of food.