Dry Cleaning
Chase finished his yogurt and threw the container in the trash. It balanced precariously on the pile of frozen dinner cartons, sports drink bottles and pizza boxes. He smashed it down and made a mental note to toss it when he went out.
He glanced around his apartment. Nearly every item had come from Ikea. Even then, he felt anxious with each purchase. His entire life felt temporary to him. He lived in fear. Fear that they would discover that he was a fraud. Fear that no one would love him. Fear that they would deport him. Most days it was a free-floating anxiety, a throbbing feeling of doom. On bad days he worried about each individual fear in a particular order. Deportation, fraud, love. Working from smallest to largest. The only thing that kept him from indulging in some kind of medicinal palliative was the ever present example of House and the memory of his mother. Every minute of his life was a battle not to succumb.
He went into the alcove that served as his bedroom. Although he made good money as a doctor, he felt uncomfortable with luxury. Even the luxury of a separate bedroom. He went into the closet and gathered his cleaning. Every Saturday he took his laundry into the Kims.
Chase drove to the strip mall where the laundry was. He walked through the glass door and waved at Mrs. Kim as the bell rang. "Hi Dr. Chase!" She said enthusiastically.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kim. How's Mr. Kim?" He asked as he piled his laundry and cleaning on the counter.
"He took the girls to soccer." She said, while tallying his clothes. "He's proud of them."
Chase nodded and watched as her fingers flew across the computer. A minute later a receipt ground out of the slot and she handed him his copy. "Next Saturday?" She asked.
"Yeah." He drawled. "You got last week's for me?" He took a few bills from his pocket in preparation for setting his bill.
"Sure. Sure." She said, disappearing into the back for his fluff and fold. She laid the paper package on the counter and went to the rack to search for his cleaning. "Oh, I almost forgot. You want to look through some unclaimed laundry? I'll make you a good deal on it."
Chase's eyes lit up, "Yeah, anything good?" He asked as she reached for the rack behind the counter.
"You like this jacket?" She held up a pink Lauren dinner jacket.
He vaguely remembered something like it on 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'. "How much?"
She considered for a moment, "Ten dollars?" He nodded, waiting for the next item. She held up three shirts. "Good quality."
"Ten for all three?" He asked.
"Eleven?" Mrs. Kim was no soft sell.
"Okay, Eleven. Anything else?" He peered over the counter in anticipation.
She shook her head. "No, just some pants. Ugly." She made a face.
"Let me see them." Chase said.
"No. Not for you." She shook her head.
"Come on, they can't be that bad." He smiled at her, infusing it with as much charm as he could muster.
She shrugged and reached back for them. "See. Ugly." She laid them down on the counter. They were mostly synthetic, with maybe a fraction of wool or cotton. "Besides. Too big."
Chase checked the size and saw that she was right. He ran his hand across the fabric, it crackled with static electricity. Reluctantly he let them go. "Yeah. Okay. So twenty-one for these and here's for last week." He gave her the bills which she put in the till.
"Doctor?" Mrs. Kim started to ask.
"Yes?" Chase gathered up his belongings.
"Can I ask a personal question?" She looked down at the linoleum floor.
He waited, not really wanting to answer a personal question; he nodded, encouraging her to go on.
"Why do you buy our things? You can afford nice, new clothes."
Chase thought for a moment. How could he explain to her about why things like clothing and furniture and cars weren't important to him? Should he tell her about the seminary? No, she didn't really want to know about any of that. He shrugged, "They're just clothes. I wear a lab coat over them anyway. No one notices what I wear."
"Oh. Thanks. See you next Saturday then." She waved as he exited the store.
Chase opened the back door of his sedan and hung his shirts on the hook in the back. He heaved the package into the back seat. He glanced up and down the street, deciding where to go next. He decided the grocery store could wait until after he had a cup of coffee.