Lavender Glass

The woman walked in cautiously, with messy although fairly clean hair, and with clean clothes, the tag still attached to the shirt on her tired, but now no longer hungry, body. The laundromat had a smell of lavender and mahogany, with a smoky linen scent attached to it. There was an almost familiar feel to the scent, a warm and safe feeling attached to it. Sara looked wildly about, then darted outside to her shopping cart, after her eye caught a set of empty machines. Quickly, she gathered up the mass of clothes in it, and using her foot, reopened the door with a light push of her toe. She walked in, using her shoulders on the door as she rounded the entrance, and went to the machines she’d just picked, flopping the mass of clothes on top of a running machine.

Sara loaded up two of the washing machines with most of her clothes, then dug into her pockets for the money she was just given. Sadly, it appeared that some of it was missing. The ones had fallen from her pocket earlier, unknown to Sara, so she had just enough to wash the clothes. It said nothing about laundry detergent, dryer sheets, or getting her things dry. She would need to make some hard choices. The laundromat took only a quarter for about thirty minutes in the dryer, but it would likely take two dryers, and about forty minutes to completely dry.

China walked out of her office, a tired look in her eyes. Over three whole loads were about the average per customer today, and her phone had already rung three times. This average was including all the people who used the Internet, and while it was just via a form online, it had still pulled in four customers. She moaned as she grabbed a basket that was sitting on the counter next to the office. It was probably going to be a long day. China took the basket across the hallway, and proceeded to load it from one of the dryers.

A rather large round man, with an incredibly brutish and thick moustache (but otherwise clean shaven), looked over his shoulder at her, while folding his clothes. He wore a grey and brown strangely woven sport jacket, over a plain white button shirt with a black unnoticeably plain tie. “Did you see the girl who just walked in here?” the man, named Roger, asked her. He pulled up an undershirt, and began folding it in midair. It looked almost like an origami ballet, as he’d done this countless times. China looked over at Sara, perching herself up on the tips of her toes to get a better look at her over the machines. “She looks like she needs some help,” Roger went on, “but at least she has money.” He nodded at her, as Sara again pulled out the two fives, knowing it would take more than ten dollars to wash her clothes with soap and dry them.

China smiled and finished loading the basket, then walked back towards the office. As she did, she called out to Roger over her shoulder. “I don’t mind helping people, but I’m not running a free service,” she said. She took the basket into the office, and handed it off to a friend who was helping her today. China returned to the laundromat floor with the basket, setting it down near where Roger was finishing up. “I suppose I should go over and see what’s up with her.” Roger shrugged at the comment. “I don’t know Chi,” he said, “but I’ve got her dryer money if you have the sheets. Then she can at least do some of it, maybe all of it.”

China grunted and walked over to Sara. “You have more laundry than money?” she asked her, quite bluntly. Sara smiled and looked sheepishly at her. “I do,” she replied, “but really it’s okay.” Her eyes darted briefly at the back wall, where all the dryers were located. “I have to at least dry some of it.” China smiled and looked at the pile that was still on one of the washers. The machine was in use, and China wasn’t entirely thrilled about it, being the customer was a newbie. “I don’t like people feeling uncomfortable,” she explained, “so we’ll just start these too.” She made a gesture as she picked up Sara’s laundry and loaded the machine on the other side, next to the ones Sara already had her clothes in. “Roger says he’ll take care of your drying bit,” China said, “if you can make up your mind between cinnamon or lemon.”

Sara smiled and really didn’t have a preference, but knew better than to not pick something. Often when people helped, and weren’t openly friendly about it, they’d get a bit annoyed or frustrated with a response of “it doesn’t matter.” She chose the cinnamon, hoping the scent would last a bit longer than lemon.

China loaded the machine with enough quarters to start it, then pointed to the vending machine on the opposite wall from where Roger was finishing up. “There’s soap over there for two dollars a box,” she told Sara. “You can worry about the soap and the two loads you put in,” she said. “I already took care of this one.” She walked over towards the office, and after a smile at Roger, went back inside.

“Thank you,” Sara called out to China as she walked away. She pulled out a small book, and went over to one of the chairs that was against the front window. Sara sat down, and opened the pages to a bookmark she’d left, a small ragged piece of paper with what was once an important phone number. Just before she began to read, however, China walked back out of the office, and walked directly up to her.

“Everyone here calls me Chi,” she explained. “You don’t usually come in here I’ve noticed.”

Sara looked down at her feet, feeling a bit embarrassed. “No,” she said, “I came into town several months ago.” She proceeded to relate how she came for a job, that went downhill really fast. She’d been living on the streets for several weeks now, and had no family or friends to support her.

“It’s so frustrating,” Sara said, “because no matter what I do, I keep slipping more downhill.” China placed a hand on her shoulder. “You know everything changes eventually,” she told Sara, “and sometimes, it just takes a little bit of luck.” She smiled at Sara, a strange knowing smile that seemed both familiar and distant. It changed Sara’s face somewhat, as she smiled back at China, but it didn’t change her attitude much. Sara felt lost, and very much like her current situation was a forever one.

“Sometimes a bit of magic too,” China admitted. “Let me tell you a story,” she said. Sara had time to kill, and was slightly intrigued, yet not feeling much like luck was on her side. “I guess so,” she replied, “but I don’t see how it will help.” China looked over at Roger again before saying anything, remembering the afternoon in Harlem many years ago.

“Well you never know,” China said, “maybe it can’t help, but it can’t hurt either.” She cleared her throat, remembering the blacktop, and how while it wasn’t terribly hot, you could see the waves of heat coming off it at extreme angles. Sara adjusted herself in her seat. “It was a later afternoon back in 1984,” China said, “back when I lived in New York.” She began her tale, about what she saw sitting on a summer day at a basketball court, and how things gone wrong, went suddenly right.

An Afternoon in Harlem

Lamar and his cousin Alfonso walked down to the courts on an only slightly sweaty summer afternoon. Harlem would see rain later that day, and there were quite a few clouds in the air, one bundle to the south a darkening, but not threatening, deep gray. They walked down the street, or rather Lamar did, pushing Alfonso in his chair along the littered sidewalk. The chair had seen better days, and so had the two boys, in their late teens, each having seen the cruel poverty of being a resident of that neighborhood back in those days. The occasional tall can of malt liquor could be seen along the gutter, and the chair ambled along over a few candy wrappers, also including one Big Mac box, some lettuce peeking out one of the corners. Humidity wasn’t too bad, and while windy, the weather was definitely a little nicer than it normally was this time of year.

“I hope it doesn’t rain later,” Lamar said, eyeballing the court as they approached. “Yeah, probably will,” his cousin said. “Looks like it at least,” Alfonso mused as his eyes outlined the eastern edge of the cloud to the south. Lamar shrugged as he set Alfonso’s brakes on the chair, and grabbed the ball between his legs.

He turned quickly, making a jerking shuffle with his shoulders. Lamar’s feet planted, then the left foot twisted as he took a step with his right. The left hand seemed to nearly drop the ball, as Lamar shifted his right leg to twist over the ball at the end of his step. With his right hand, Lamar started his dribble, taking only two bounces before palming the ball in his right, moving both arms towards his chest. He leaped up and into the air slightly towards the rim, an ugly menacing chain net thing, one part of it caught on a rim hook. As Lamar jumped, he raised the ball in both hands away from himself and up into the air. With a growl, he switched the ball to his left hand only, and his body flew past the rim, head even with it. If he wanted, he could practically lick it. At the last moment, Lamar reached behind himself with the ball, and tossed it hard into the net, slapping the rim with his hand to break his fall.

“Ahhh,” Alfonso gritted with a gentle click of his tongue at the end. “Tsk tsk,” he said, the clicks showing disdain at what he felt was less than a proper dunk. “You didn’t even pull back on the rim properly,” he added, shaking his head. Lamar frowned at his cousin. “I got some,” Lamar protested, “and besides, that’s a reverse windmill bro.” Lamar had been working on getting above the rim for some time, and didn’t want to hear Alfonso’s criticism. It was a pat on the back he was looking for.

About this time, a few other people from the neighborhood were starting to show up, along with a rather large man with his own basketball. Nobody had ever seen him before, but that wasn’t unusual; the neighborhood had quite a turnover rate. He introduced himself as Carlos, and said he’d moved into the projects around the corner, just last week. “You guys mind if I play some rock?” he asked. Carlos spun his ball into the air, perching it on the tip of his index finger. It spun wildly, wobbling slightly but clearly balanced. The others were already shooting at the other side of the court, a game of horse setting in.

“Yeah, I guess,” Lamar said. Alfonso was admiring Carlos’ ball, it being considerably newer than the one they had. “You guys should play one on one with that,” he said, pointing at the nearly new looking basketball. “It’s hardly broken in though,” Lamar countered. “I don’t know,” he added, “how’s it handle?” He handed his cousin their ball, taking Carlos’ and giving it a few dribbles. It seemed to have a strange quality to its bounce, almost forgiving, as it appeared to somehow seek Lamar’s hand. “Yeah,” he said, a smile on his face at Carlos, “we can play.”

After a few possessions, Lamar noticed something definitely different about Carlos’ basketball. “So what’s with this thing?” he asked Carlos, passing the ball at him. Carlos effortlessly took the ball and started a dribble with his left hand, switching it to his right as his path changed from not quite towards the rim, to an arc aiming directly for it. In six bounces, which included a step back move, he screamed, and leapt into the air. With his left arm alone, he easily dunked the ball. Carlos was over six feet, but barely, and more than a little heavy in his build, more bulky than anything. It seemed unreal that he could dunk in such a manner, and Lamar wondered if the basketball had something to do with it.

“It’s a special ball,” Carlos said with a grin, “solves problems.” He shrugged, and bounced the ball hard against the court with both hands. Carlos grabbed it with both as it bounced back at him just as hard, and lifted his arms in the air in a shooting motion. He whistled, and let go of the ball at the perfect time. It sailed through the air, making almost no sound as it both went through the net, and finally released where it’d been caught against the rim hook. Carlos’ whistle stopped just as the ball freed the metal net. “Like that,” he said, smiling at the two cousins.

They stared with jaws dropped, it almost looking like Carlos intended it. The net had been stuck like that for two days, it happening quite often on both rims. On this side, it was common in that one spot, the hook twisted slightly making it an invitation for extra parts of the metal rings. Alfonso shook his head after a moment. “Timing,” he said. “You got lucky.” Carlos smiled back at him. “If you say so,” he replied. Carlos took a few more shots with the ball, every one of them going in. The last shot, he said splash as the ball went through the net. The net swooshed perfectly up and down through the rim, not catching the hook again, also looking quite intentional.

Just then, a few younger men came up, a ball in the larger one’s right arm. They were exceptionally muscular for the most part, and all clearly in great shape. Two of them had white undershirts on, one shirtless, and the other four with varied tee shirts. A rag was on the leader’s head, the one with the ball, and his teeth sported two shiny silver fittings. He addressed the two cousins gruffly. “You got the money yet?” he asked Lamar. One of his crew yanked the ball out of Alfonso’s hands, while another bopped him on the side of the head, a not so playful maneuver.

“And who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Carlos. Lamar wished they maybe hadn’t even left the house this morning. The leader, named Jabal, had given them technically three more days to come up with his money, but still harassed the two. What made matters worse, was that this time would be different. It was a hundred even, but they’d be lucky to have fifty before it was time. Lamar wished he had a solution to his problem. “I don’t know,” he told Jabal, “he just showed a little bit ago.”

Jabal sized up Carlos, noting his flabby out of shape body. “What’s up homie?” he asked. He made a give me gesture towards Carlos, looking at the basketball. “You wanna play some?” Carlos passed him the ball and shrugged. “Sure man,” he replied, “just go easy on me.” He smiled as he continued. “I’m a little out of shape.”

Jabal laughed and dribbled out onto the court, making a handful of flashy moves as he bounced the ball several times between his legs. “Check,” he said to Carlos, bouncing the ball to him. “Check,” Carlos said back, bouncing it back with one fist on its side. Jabal tried to crossover dribble on Carlos, making not one, but two dodges to the opposite side. Jabal’s ankles seemed to go almost sideways as he tried to outmaneuver Carlos.

He expected little opposition from the portly Carlos, thinking himself much quicker. Carlos gave him quite a surprise, however, and nearly blocked his shot and generally stayed with him. Unfortunately, Jabal did get around him, and the ball glided smoothly into the rim. “You’re a bit faster than I expected,” Jabal told him. “How about we make it interesting?” he asked. He was clearly looking to hustle Carlos, and made no effort to really hide it.

“Sounds interesting already,” Carlos countered. He took the ball from him, and began what looked at first like he was going to copycat Jabal’s moves. Instead though, after only two foot jabs, he coiled up and jumped straight over Jabal, fooling him with the fake. The ball sailed in a perfect arc, and landed in its target with ease. “What did you have in mind?” Carlos asked.

Jabal explained the idea, a simple game for money. Carlos thought about it for a moment, taking another shot before giving any answer. It looked good, but bounced off the front of the rim to one side. Fortunately, it didn’t fly far, and Jabal easily collected it. “Well,” Carlos said after a moment, “how much do these guys owe you?”

Jabal laughed as he saw what Carlos was thinking. He also expected to be able to beat him, if not easily. Jabal had been playing basketball his whole life, and made quite a bit of money on that very court over the years. Instead of drugs or gangbanging, Jabal played basketball, and while he’d held a few jobs, that court was pretty much it. “Yeah man,” he said with a sneer, “let’s do this.”

He passed the ball forcefully back at Carlos. “It’s a bill fool,” he said to Carlos. “I’m gonna guess you can cover that?” he asked him. Carlos nodded, taking the legal tender picture of Benjamin Franklin from his front pocket. He tossed it to the ground near Jabal’s crew. “No trouble with that man,” he said to Jabal. He made a wave towards himself. “Check the ball,” Carlos said to Jabal, “I win they don’t owe you; you win there’s your money.”

Jabal smiled and checked the ball to Carlos, and the instant he reclaimed it, scored in nearly a single second. It was an incredibly showy dunk, after getting around what looked like an almost not moving Carlos. “That’s one,” Jabal said, passing the ball to him.

The game looked like a runaway, with Jabal on top, until the sixth time Carlos had the ball. He finally scored, faking out Jabal with a pump, but the ball barely went in. Jabal missed the next few shots however, and Carlos seemed to have a little bit of luck. Three in a row went in, although the last barely did. “You probably think you’re catching up,” Jabal jeered at him. Three more possessions each went by however, each one putting Carlos up and Jabal appearing to struggle. Two shots seemed to just barely miss, and he erred on a dunk at the last second, causing the ball to jump out and fly almost into the street.

“I still got this,” Jabal said, down two baskets. He tried to cross Carlos up again, but this time it was as if he knew exactly where Jabal was headed. He stumbled some, as Carlos gave just the right amount of ground to make Jabal lose his balance. Carlos stole the ball just as Jabal tried to recover, attempting to bring the ball up to shoot a jump shot. He scored again, placing Jabal down a total of three points.

The game got considerably more intense, with both players struggling to make a shot. No dunks were attempted, only moves designed to ensure an open shot, a clear sight at the basket without the other’s arms or hands in the way. Eventually, Carlos scored again, and Jabal missed the next chance. He checked the ball angrily at Carlos, not wanting to lose to what he thought was a few lucky shots.

“Better not miss,” Jabal said. He poised himself on defense, hoping to steal the ball and score himself.

Carlos started a shooting motion almost immediately, the fake looking so real anyone would assume he was shooting the ball. As he reached the tip of his toes, right before the start of the jump, he started to fall back flat footed. While his heels fell back to the court, his hands shimmied the ball from one side to the next. He released the ball, and the clever move was followed by what at first looked like the ugliest shot ever.

The ball was clearly, as it left Carlos’ hands, aimed a bit short. Further, it was far off track, and even at the right distance looked to miss the rim completely. Lamar groaned as the ball fell towards the ground. Carlos was not giving up, however, and suddenly spun around Jabal and towards the ball. He caught it as it bounced up and almost off the court with his left hand. He flicked it into the ground, and it bounced again slightly higher than his waist. With a tremendous, unexpected jump, he grabbed the ball and violently slammed it into the rim.

“Game,” he said to Jabal, flicking the ball to Lamar after it bounced up again. He studied Jabal, hoping there wouldn’t be any trouble.

Jabal wasn’t quite a thug, and didn’t give Carlos a hard time about it in the slightest. He was in all reality, thoroughly impressed. “Game,” he said back. He looked over at Alfonso in his chair. “I guess you guys are clear this month,” he said. He collected his ball, and waved to his crew. “C’mon,” he said to the others, “court isn’t any good today.”

The cousins watched as Jabal and his crew left, then looked at Carlos with smiles of gratitude. “We really appreciate it man,” Alfonso told him. Neither had any clue what to say or how they could repay the benefit. “Well, you can do me a favor someday,” he told the cousins. “Something little but important. Something always comes up,” he continued. “Sure,” Lamar told him, glad to be ahead fifty this month instead of having Jabal and his crew giving them trouble.

A few months later, when Lamar and Alfonso were hanging out on their step, they saw a basketball rolling down their sidewalk. It had a piece of paper stuck to it, and stopped right against Alfonso’s chair, the paper flapping in the slight breeze. “What’s this?” Alfonso said as he reached down and pulled the paper free from the ball. It was a note, and one that made Alfonso nearly choke when he read it. He stared back down at the basketball, reading the note again out loud.

“Hey you two, thought you might need this. Remember. It solves problems, but remember, you gotta put in work too.”

A single name was penned at the bottom, the whole note scribbled hastily, the lines uneven. It simply said, Carlos.

Epilogue

Sara liked China’s story, but felt only marginally better afterwards. It was time for her to put her things in the dryer, the machines buzzing almost exactly as China finished her story. “That’s cute,” she admitted, “I could use a magical anything myself.” She went to the washing machines, and proceeded to load the dryers. China walked up behind her, putting a few sheets into three of them. “You should be good with these,” she told Sara, “let Roger know if you need more time.” Roger had showed behind them, and he inserted two quarters each into the dryers.

Sara thanked both, and completed drying and folding her laundry without incident. She loaded up the folded, clean clothes, and waved at Chi as she pushed her cart out of the parking lot. Roger had left a little while ago, after making sure she had almost dry clothes and collecting a zillion thank yous. China watched as she left, and Roger suddenly drove back into the lot, jumping out of his car and into the laundromat.

“Hey Chi,” he practically shouted at her, “did I leave my phone here?”

China giggled and walked to the office. “You almost always do,” she told him as she walked in to collect it for him. She picked up the small, older flip phone, and brought it out to him.

“Here you go,” she said.

Roger whistled and exhaled a sigh of relief. “Yay Chi,” he gleefully said. “I can always count on you.” As he walked up to the door, he noticed something strange about the homeless woman’s cart. A basketball was in the bottom, something he was sure wasn’t there before.

“Hey I heard part of that story,” he told her. “Did you give her that ball or something?” he asked. China smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know where it came from,” she told Roger. He looked back at her not completely certain she wasn’t pulling his leg or something. “Whatever you say,” he said as he turned back and opened the door to leave. He went to his car, with a glance in the direction Sara had gone. China smiled and waved at him, and Roger pulled the car out of the parking lot.

China thought about the ball, wondering herself where it came from. “I hope it solves some problems Sara,” she said as she returned to folding one of what would be many shirts that day. Later on, Sara finally noticed the ball under her cart. Someone else had too, and taped to the ball was a hundred-dollar bill.