Wind chimes ring softly through the open window. Sun streams through the curtains. A day like all others. A hard day’s work lies ahead of you. Eager, you smile.

You can fix anything. Smooth out the wrinkliest shirt and remove any stain. You wash clothes. That is your passion. This is your home. The business was your mum’s and before that your Nana’s. Washing clothes was what made them happy and now it is what makes you happy. The simple shop sits directly beneath your home. In one corner is a small ironing table, in another the wash bin. No washing machines, no dryer. Bamboo rods hang from the ceiling for the clothes. An old fashioned washboard and homemade soaps are your tools. In the spare time between customers you make teas, remedies, and foods. You live alone with only your two cats for company. But you are happy. You have few customers, mostly old folks who miss the care and quality of hand-washing clothes.

Your first customer walks through the door. He is hunched over with pearly white hair. In his arms he holds a wicker basket filled with clothes. They are all folded neatly and labeled. He wears his best shirt and a new tie around his neck. He looks sad but he smiles and hands you his basket. He is a simple man of few words. He trusts you to make him look his best. Without a word he turns to leave the shop but you stop him.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea before you go?” you say to him. He pauses and turns around. He smiles and nods. You help him into an old rocking chair and begin brewing the tea. He sits there rocking back and forth slowly. He seems content in the silence. You bring over two cups of steaming tea and hand him one. He sips it slowly. He is a peculiar person. A tear begins forming in the corner of his eye. The smile stays frozen on his face but the tear falls down his cheek. His shoulders begin to shake timidly. He rocks gently on the chair. You reach your hand out to comfort him. When your hand meets his, something changes.

He freezes. A humming sound fills the room. You feel more awake than ever. A shimmery object floats out of his chest. His soul. It is glowing softly but covered in dust. It is wrinkly and crumpled as if someone had balled it up and thrown it away. It is small but you know it holds great importance. It has small tears on the edges and stains covering it. It looks battered and broken. The rest of the room has gone silent. You lean into it and reach out to touch it. It feels like silk. It floats into your arms. It flows between your fingers as you smooth it out. It is battered and broken. It hurts you to look at it. How could something so beautiful be so broken? It ripples like water and you see glimpses of memories woven into it. But they are hazy. Patches of it remain blank and empty. You know what you have to do.

You move to the bin and run the water. The tub fills with crystal clear water. Gently, you place it in. It sinks to the bottom. Pieces of dirt and grit begin leaving it. With each piece that floats away you feel the pain. Loss, grief, loneliness. It hurts you but you reach your hands into the water, tears streaming down your cheeks. You swirl it around and more and more rubble escapes it. It flows out of every seam, darkening the water. You hold it in your arms, dripping wet and place it in the next sink. Bubbles shimmer on the top of the water like crystal balls. Cautiously you set it in the bath. Vapors begin to escape it, like little wisps of smoke. They carried soft voices with them as they arose from the water. It feels as though you got punched in the chest. Each cry you hear pierces your skin like a dagger. You grab a brush and plunge it into the water. In one hand you hold it gently and with the other you begin to scrub at the stains. Pain shoots up your arm but you continue to work. The brush begins to smoke as you press harder. The stains begin to fade to ash, dissolving in the water. You grasp it in your hands and begin to wring it out. Final pieces of rocks fall from it, some into the water and some piercing your hands. Every bad feeling you’ve ever felt comes rushing back to you all at once and some even worse that you have yet to experience. With shaking hands you place it on the rack to dry as you collapse in a heap on the floor.

Echoes of your past creep up on you. Your mama’s face as she took her last breath. Nana wailed in agony as she fell to the floor. Every horrible thing that has happened to you all at once. It comes rushing to you in a wave, ready to drown you. But you stand. You ball your fists and watch this wave towering over you, ready to crash. Mama’s face appears in your mind again, but it is different. The echo of her laughter as you played in the park. The smell of nanna’s cookies coming out of the oven. A warm glow surrounds you as you stare at the mass of pain. It rushes through your veins filling you with strength. They keep coming. Swinging from the drying racks as a kid, playing in the tub. Learning how to make soap just like Nana. Standing on the balcony two floors up watching the sunset. The wave starts to shrink and recede. Back into the depths. The light surrounding you grows until it is almost blinding. Your eyes shoot open.

You look up. It is dangling above you from the racks. It seems to glow faintly. You reach to grasp it but it slides into your hands by itself. Smiling, you walk to the table. Picking out the gentlest needle and the softest thread you begin to work. Each stitch you make jolts you, but in a good way now. The needle guides the thread through the rips and tears mending it stitch by stitch. The thread mends it seamlessly. As the holes are sewn shut the scenes begin to return. Though still hazy and cloudy they were there. Satisfied, you grab the iron. It glides over it softly, removing all the wrinkles. As it moves over the scenes and memories it wipes away the fog. Just like wiping away the steam that fogs the glass of the shower. The scenes become clear as day as they ripple and change. A tear forms in the corner of your eye. But it is not from pain. A different kind of tear. It trickles slowly down your cheek, down to the edge of your chin. It rests there for a moment. As if in slow motion it slides off your face and falls. Your single tear lands in the center of it. It sinks in and dissolves weaving itself in through the threads.

It rests in your arms as you move back over to the chair opposite him. You sit calmly and look at him. He is frozen. His face wore a smile but eyes showed pain and sadness. With a deep breath you lean in closer to him and release your arms. It floats towards him slowly, glowing brightly. It enters his chest and disappears. He sighs deeply and looks at you. His eyes no longer hold that pain. They sparkle with hope and joy. He smiles at you but it is different this time. He actually means it. Without a word he gets up and moves to the door. He no longer hunches over or shakes while he walks. He stands tall and steps with confidence. Reaching the door he pulls it open. A fresh spring breeze blows through, ruffling his hair. He pauses briefly and looks up. He sighs contentedly as the sun touches his face and steps out the door.