Fatima

Two people, Brian Miller and Maud Berdeck responded to the Craiglist solicitation that I authored while sitting on the toilet at the store. My name is Tilden, and I’m a Dry Cleaner. I hated telling people that because, inevitably, they would ask how I got into the business and if I didn’t feel like lying, I’d have to tell them the truth; It’s the family business and I was spoon-fed the job just like everything else in my untroubled life. The Craiglist post offered the reader a chance to leave their old lives behind. I wrote, I can help you become a different you. A better you. A you that, if you wish, is removed from your past. It was all a lie for I had no real experience in providing a service like that. All I knew how to do was clean, press, iron, mend, sew, and complain. 

People have told me I was handsome since middle school. While everyone was going through puberty and developed acne and wispy mustaches or sideburns, I shot up to my current height of six foot three, maintained clear skin, and developed muscles just from doing the exercises that our PE teacher instructed. It was wonderful being better than everyone else. Looks were all that mattered back then. Now that I’m older, much more matters, like where you work and what you do while you’re there. People who were wallflowers in middle school have blossomed and surpassed me to have titles with the words Director or Manager appended to them. Sure, I could update my LinkedIn to say I was the Manager of Reinhardt’s Dry Cleaning, but it was still Dry Cleaning, and the people who knew me would know I was still being spoon-fed. 

There are two locations of Reinhardt’s, both are in the Bay Area (East Bay). My parents work at the original location, whereas I mostly work in the smaller Berkeley store. Their location had five stars on Yelp and people would leave reviews talking about how nice my parents were and how the store was a staple of Old Town Oakland. My location only had three and a half stars. I was in the family business but I wasn’t as good at it as my family. 

It was Glen who instigated me to do the Craigslist thing. He and I were the same age but completely different in the same way that a dead person and a living person are both people, but different. He was going to UC Berkeley and was just finishing his BA in business. He loved to tell me how important it was to have an education knowing full well that I’d dropped out of community college to come and work for my parents. He only worked part-time, but even working beside him those three or four days a week got underneath my skin. I don’t like people who are too proud of themselves. That type of nonsense was acceptable in middle school, but not in the real world. I tried to get him to quit by being the most miserable coworker one could be without bringing on a lawsuit, but it didn’t work. He seemed to be aware of my desire to remove him, which only made him dig his feet in even more. I also tried to get him fired but that didn’t work either. My parents made it clear that I worked for them and even though I had the keys to open and close the store I wasn’t in charge. What stung the most about it all was that my parents referred to the Yelp reviews as reason enough to keep Glen onboard, “He’s getting five-star reviews. People mention his name when they talk about the exceptional service we provide. When was the last time your name was in a positive review?” My mom or dad said - I don’t remember which, they’re practically the same person and I was always on speakerphone with the both of them. There is no good cop and bad cop in my family, there is only cop. 

So I threw a fit and lied to Glen. He and I were in an argument again about the importance of college. He must have eaten a sandwich for lunch because he had mayonnaise on the corner of his mouth. It disgusted me. Everything he did from the way he picked at his nails to his hairy forearms turned my stomach and yet he seemed to have no idea that he was off-putting in the slightest. It was the worst and fueled my drive to prove him wrong. I told him that you didn’t need college to be smart and cited Bill Gates and Steve Jobs as points of reference. 

“Great examples.” He said, “They’re entrepreneurs who started their own tech companies. Obviously, your parents are entrepreneurial, but what about you? What type of business are you looking to operate?” 

He was a clever bastard, who always found a way to turn my thoughts against me, but at that moment, I couldn’t admit to him that I was doing nothing other than working at the store. I needed to prove myself something better. “You think you know me, but you don’t know anything about what I do outside of this store.” I said. 

“Tell me, then. I’m fascinated.” 

“I help people.” I said. The words left my mouth too soon, I hadn’t even considered the lie I was going to spin. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I’m a fixer.” I stated, sounding like a mob boss. 

“What do you fix?” 

I remember the question well. I balked at it for a moment as one often does when they’re creating a fabrication. My mind served up a memory of a pamphlet offering the services of a life coach. I’d received it while walking by campus earlier that month. It would work, I decided. Who had their life more together than a life coach? Surely, it would make him jealous. I stared into Glen’s eyes with false confidence, “I help people leave their old lives behind.” 

He laughed at me. It was one of those laughs where he threw his head back with his mouth wide open so I could see all the cavities he’s had. I hated him even more.

“O.K.” He said turning around to keep pressing the button-ups laid out in front of him.

My hands opened and clenched into fists entirely on their own. I wanted to cuss him out or fight him or somehow just make him feel pain. It was a fantasy I often had when he pushed me to my breaking point. However, any of those things would have been bad for my parents' business so I couldn’t do it. Instead, I stewed for a couple of moments staring at the back of his greasy head. I knew what I had to do to win this battle, and that’s when I went to the toilet and wrote the ad. 

I met Brian and Maud at the same Starbucks one after the other on a weekday evening. I was so nervous they’d call me out for being a fraud that I tore at a brown napkin and by the time Brian arrived, it was in twenty or more small pieces. I quickly wiped them off the table as he sat down. He’d just come from his construction job. He did drywall and had a thin layer of white powder on his clothes. He was just a couple of years older than me. He told me that he had a controlling girlfriend that he was trying to get away from. He’d tried to break up with her five separate times but Fatima wouldn’t let him leave. They shared an apartment and she knew everything that he did. Even over coffee Brian kept glancing at the door whenever the bell tied to its handle jingled. He was paranoid.

“I’ve tried everything.”He said. 

“Why don’t you just move out?” I asked.

“And go where? Also, moving out takes time. I mean, I’d have to look for a place. She’d find out that I was looking. It wouldn’t work.” 

“You could cheat on her? Is that messed up to say?” I asked.

“I told her that I cheated on her! She forgave me without asking for any detail. I don’t know if she didn’t believe me or if she’s just crazy. I’m telling you, man, I need help. I can’t get away from her.” 

Maud Miller was much older than me, even older than my mom. She told me her life story like I was an inquisitive grandson at her hospital bedside. She grew up in Berkeley. She studied abroad in Europe on an exchange program. She had a Master’s in poetry from UC Berkeley, where she met her husband. They got married. They both got jobs teaching at Cal State Hayward. She wrote poetry but rarely published. It was just for her and her husband. They didn’t have children. They got tenure. They retired. He died. She was alone. 

“I don’t want to abandon my past.” She said, “I just want to make the most of the rest of the time I have. There is no one left for me. Is it possible to have a fresh start at my age?” 

I told them both that I could help and to give me a couple of days to come back with the next steps. When they asked what my fee was, I told them they didn’t need to pay me a dime until their desired outcomes were met. Desired outcomes was a word pairing that I’d heard Glen say. It was the only thing that I’d taken from him that ever came in handy. 

 I found plenty of articles online that offered advice on how to leave things in the past. Forgiving yourself and others was nearly always the first one listed. Changing your daily habits or something similar to that, like ‘reframing’, came in second, and things like getting out of your comfort zone and focusing on the present rounded out the pack. It was sound advice, I’m sure, but none of it was applicable to my clients. A day passed by, and then another. I was struggling to figure out how I could help them. On the third day, Glen was working with me. He asked, “How’s the business going? Do you ever find that just starting something is sometimes the hardest thing?” 

I knew he was trying to extend a sympathetic olive branch to get me to complain. I didn’t waiver from my lie. I couldn’t let him win.

“Actually, it’s great.” I said. “I have two clients. I’m helping both of them, obviously.” 

“How are you helping them?” 

“I’m helping them move on from their current life to a better one.” 

“How?”

“What difference does it make to you?” I pushed back.

“I’m curious. I want to know.” 

My blood started to boil. I set down the iron I was using and walked away from him without answering. I took out my phone and texted my mom, which was also texting my dad since we only communicated via group chat. I asked if I could come and work at the other store today, I told her Glen was here. 

“Sorry honey.” My mom wrote, “Need you there today.“

I looked up to find Glen picking his nose with his thumb and shuddered. I couldn’t wait for the day he would graduate and stop working at the store. 

That night in the basement of my parents' house, which had been converted into a little apartment for me, I paced back and forth wondering what was to come of it all. I didn’t owe these people anything, I hadn’t taken their money, the only thing I’d wasted was their time. I thought of how I could go back to working in the shop lying to Glen, who would eventually stop asking his irritating questions, and after a couple of weeks, maybe a month or two tops, I could go back to my normal life without the pestering. It could be like none of it ever happened. And in that pacing and self-doubt that I had, it struck me. The idea came to me as if dictated from the heavens and I grinned. It was obvious; Brian was to move in with Maud. I was so proud of myself. The solution would satisfy all parties; Brian would get away from his evil Fatima, Maud would get the company she’d wanted, and, most importantly, I would be able to rub it all in Glen’s stupid face. 

Maud liked the idea and even offered to allow Brian, who I told her was a guy looking for a fresh start of his own, to live there rent-free. He would be the son she never had. Brian was harder to convince. He warned me that Fatima would find him no matter where he went and that it was pointless. He was almost on the verge of giving up, but I threw his caution to the wind and persisted, “No she won’t.” I said, “Maud’s house is far enough away. You’re going to move out and she’ll deal with it. Sure it will be hard for her at first, but she’ll get the picture. It’s going to be fine.” 

“I’m telling you, man. Fatima’ll figure out away.” He said.

“It’s going to be fine.” I assured him over and over again. I beat him into submission with my persistence and with hesitation in his voice he finally agreed to the plan. In hindsight, I should have trusted his judgment. 

Fatima found him on the very first night he was at Maud’s. I got a call from Maud around 7 pm and she told me that a crazy woman that Brian knew was on her front lawn yelling for him to come outside. She told me that she didn’t like the situation, she didn’t think that Brian living with her was a good idea, and she wanted me to get him out. For a moment, out of pride, I thought that I could still navigate my way through this, but Maud’s pleas won in the end. I drove over there to end it. When I arrived Fatima was in her car in the driveway. The driver's side door was open and I could see her for all she was; scary. I hesitantly approached the vehicle.

“Hi, are you…uh, Brian’s girlfriend?” 

 Fatima was startled and dropped her phone to the car’s floor, “Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m, um. I’m. Well, I’m just a guy.” 

“Oh yea, well just a guy. Howa bout you just get the hell outta here?” 

She got out of her car and though she was much shorter than me, she was broad. She had a massive tattoo on her left arm that was impossible to decipher. She looked like she’d been in fights before. I was terrified. I backed away from her.

“Please, I don’t want any trouble. I just think you should leave.” 

“What are you going to do about it?” She shouted. “I’m not leaving without my Brian. Tell his ass to get out here.” 

“I don’t know if he wants that.” I said. 

She ran towards me with her arms extended. She wanted to grab me or push me, but I evaded her. Soon she was chasing after me. We were running in circles around the front lawn and driveway until Brian, finally, came out. Her attention to me ceased to exist.

She shouted at Brian, “What do you think you’re doing!? You’re trying to leave me? Get your ass in the car.” 

Brian was standing at the front door holding all of his things. He looked at me. His eyes said I told you so. 

After they left I told Maud how sorry I was. She didn’t invite me in the house. She was short with me. She told me that maybe she was okay with her old life after all. 

The next day at work, Glen again asked me how my business was going. I was putting plastic covers on the laundered shirts. I decided to put an end to my lie, “Actually, I’m not doing that anymore.” 

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me with a wide grin on his face, “Why’s that?” 

He’d won, we both knew it. I looked at his stupid face and told him, “It was doomed to fail. No one can help another person leave their old life behind. The only thing that creates distance between you and your past is time.”

Glen laughed. It was a laugh only for him. 

“What are you going to do next?” He asked. 

“What do you mean?” I shot back.

“Don’t you want to get out of this place?” 

It was fair of him to assume such a thing as I frequently complained about the work. However, after my failed attempt, I had taken the advice from the articles online and reframed.

“No.” I replied. “I’m a Dry Cleaner.”

The steam from the iron hissed and we didn’t say another word.