The Last Night in the Laundry Room
Written on December 4, 2006
“Contrast,” I thought, “I’d heard that word repeatedly since our arrival.
China was full of contrasts. Sometimes they were broad and dramatic: rich verses poor, old verses new, etc., but sometimes they were unobtrusive and easy to ignore. A bright coral rose against a grimy and stained tile wall, a beautiful lane of willows masking a factory belching chemicals into the air. Some chose to look only at the roses, others focused on the pollution, but I wanted to take it all in. I wanted to understand how a country of such abundant contrast could survive. It at once stunned and amazed me… And nowhere else in China had I yet seen the theory of contrast present itself more sharply than within RongJun’s behavior.
I had trouble comprehending how her smile could exude such genuine joy while her eyes seemed haunted by uncertainty.
She was an amazing person, smart, funny, compassionate, but at times timid to the point that her mannerisms suggested that she feared assailants lugging bamboo canes to appear unexpectedly, wanting nothing more than to beat her to death.
Though I could not place myself fully in her shoes, I knew that the foes were far from invisible. They were mingled amongst the wait-staff, Housekeeping, Management, residents and transient guests alike. Most pretended she didn’t exist. Those who couldn’t ignore her made no attempt to hide their disgust and disapproval. It was a silent killer, this form of psychological abuse, and I had been expected to play into their hands, but I couldn’t do that.
When I first met RongJun, I had identified a friend. The readily apparent disapproval of others hadn’t frightened me. I didn’t care what they thought and couldn’t see much wisdom in wasting time thinking about it. I was far too afraid of my own emotions to carry the weight of social pressures which didn’t suit my code of ethics.
RongJun was a good person. She was honest. She didn’t make excuses for herself. I was proud to call her a friend. It was as simple as that. Only months after the fact did I fully realize how much room Misinterpretation had to run rampant around the relationship she and I were forging.
I had underestimated her. Not in the sense that I though less of her than I did myself, but I had taken for granted the breadth of the divide between our income levels and perceived social status. These things didn’t matter to me, so I hadn’t factored them into the equation. She was a very brave person. Very brave… And the Laundry Room on the campus grounds was finally ready for use. She’d be leaving Saturday morning. When we’d see each other again, I couldn’t be sure.
“Shoot.” I thought, wishing I could somehow ease the uncertainty behind her eyes, knowing it wasn’t my decision to make, feeling helpless…
“Have you told her how you feel about her?” Rod asked with his mouth half full of pizza.
He had walked in the door at five forty-five bearing dinner and looking very tired, but I had spared no time accosting him with the day’s revelations.
He sat there listening, chewing, keeping one eye on the children at all times as I poured myself out to him, but the moment he sensed I was becoming wrapped around the proverbial axel, he interrupted me.
“You’re complicating things too much. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”
“I can’t,” I protested, “I don’t know how to say it in Mandarin. She won’t understand me.”
“Her?” he half laughed, half choked on his food, “She’ll understand. I mean, come on Hon, you two can practically read one another’s minds. Half of the time at least…”
He tore another bite from his wedge of pizza, an impish glint in his eyes.
“What about the other half?” I ventured.
“You’re completely lost.”
***
I hadn’t picked up the day’s laundry yet. Josh had fallen down, cutting his forehead open on the tile ledge in the back hallway and in the ensuing chaos, I had completely forgotten about it, so here it was seven o’clock Friday evening, and here I was, standing alone in that very hallway, wracking my brain for any and all Mandarin I could employ in an attempt to say something of substance with a language in which I could barely manage a decent “Hello”.
“What’s the worst that could happen Elizabeth?” I asked myself. “No,” I thought, as floods of depressing scenarios lapped eagerly at the thin walls of the emotional damn I had erected to help bolster my courage, “don’t answer that.”
Quietly, slowly, I made my way past the faded armchair and the dark blue bicycle to the back room were RongJun stood, leaning heavily on the ironing table, reading a book.
To make my presence known, I tapped my knuckles on the heavy, red-lacquered door, but I did not force a smile on my face.
RongJun had obviously not expected to see me there so late, but grinned widely and waved me into the nearest of the rickety old chairs crammed into the nooks of available space which lined the walls here and there.
I plopped down, landing harder than I had intended.
This particular chair was in the habit of sinking about an inch or two at the hint of supporting any weight, hence I always seemed to crash into it, rather than seat myself gracefully.
RongJun, who had known me long enough to realize that if I managed ten minutes without taking part in a minor collision, it was a minor miracle, simply arched her eyebrows, shaking her head slowly.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“You’re going to the new Laundry Room tomorrow and we’re going to move to Shijiazhuang in two weeks… I’m going to miss you…”
She rested her eyes on the two uniforms and hoards of empty hangers hanging on the clothes rack which leaned against the far wall. “Tomorrow…” she muttered, slipping away into her own world of thought.
“RongJun?” I murmured.
She didn’t acknowledge me, but I wasn’t willing to say this to the side of her head.
“RongJun?” I repeated at a slightly higher volume.
“Eh?” came her reply as she shifted her focal point just enough to make eye-contact.
“You’re a good person. You know that don’t you?”
She swallowed hard, and then began to examine her shoes, silently.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
“Do what?”
Crud. I hadn’t learned these words yet.
“This:” I said, rising from my seat, leaning my weight against the ironing table and, in the exact same manner which I had often witnessed her employ, began staring at my feet, pensively.
“Kanbian wode ziji ma?”
“Umm… Does that mean this?” I said, repeating the act of staring at my feet.
“Yes.”
“O.k. then, why do you look down on yourself?”
She returned her attention to her shoes.
“I… I’m not very intelligent.”
What?! She was one of the most efficient problem solvers I’d ever met. She was a natural teacher who was also in possession of a wicked wit and an ear for sarcasm.
“RongJun?”
No response.
“RongJun, look at me please.”
“Eh?” she all but whispered, catching me momentarily unprepared for the level of vulnerability within her eyes.
“You’re not stupid.”
Here eyes flashed nervously, but she did not turn away.
“You’re a good person. You have a good heart. You’re not stupid… You’re friendship means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me…”
I knew my own eyes were full of intensity, but she held my gaze. We were speaking in a language devoid of words, and I found myself reminded of the happier moment at the house in XinChengPu, but this time there were no distractions, no interruptions and slowly, very slowly, I watched as the uncertainty drained from her expression to be filled with something which looked incredibly, like joy.
“Thank you.” She whispered as, to my complete surprise, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me, enfolding me tightly in a hug!
This, I knew, was uncommon. Chinese rarely, if ever, gave out hugs. It simply wasn’t a part of their culture. They showed friendship in other ways.
“Oh God, RongJun,” I exclaimed in English, returning her embrace, “I am going to miss you so much!”
She pulled away for a moment to look at me, then, biting her lower lip, drew me into a second, more confident, embrace.
“Well,” I murmured, blinking away unexpected tears, realizing that it must have been getting late, “thanks.”
She nodded knowingly, pointing towards our sack of laundry.
I picked up the bag and headed towards the exit as she pulled on her jacket and tuned out the lights.
“Zai jian.” I said.
She looked up from her bicycle lock, smiling warmly.
“Goodbye.” She said.
Kanbian wode ziji ma? - Look down on myself?
Zai jian - Goodbye
