The Berkeley 2

The Berkeley had a huge sooty grey basement. Along the north wall were coin-operated washing machines and dryers. My first visits there it was just me and my darks and lights. The third time all the machines were in use.

Sitting on top of a washer, legs crossed flipping through Interview magazine, was a young man about my age (I was 24 in the spring of 1987). He had on a white crewneck sweatshirt like the one my Mom used to wear as a councillor at Camp Artaban in the 1950s. I would say he took no notice me if I didn't believe he was doing everything he could to be noticed.

"All the machines are going," I said.

The young man lifted the magazine to his face. His face was now the face of Lisa Bonet. In the voice of Lisa Bonet he said, "You like my shirt? Just like the shirt I wore on Letterman, the WHITEBOY shirt without the word WHITEBOY. A gift from a friend. A white boy."

"I like your face more than your shirt."

"Oh, you prefer the girl face?" he said still holding up the magazine.

"I think Lisa Bonet has a pretty face."

"Yes, me too, if I don't say so myself."

This went on for awhile. Eventually one of the dryers buzzed and the young man hopped down to take out a bundle of dried white sweatshirts, just like the one he was wearing. These shirts, he told me, had to be washed first before they could be decorated. The decorators were a group of building residents who, with indelible markers, made flowery sweatshirts to raise money for a meal delivery program to help those living with AIDS.

Over the next ninety minutes I learned a great deal about the Berkeley, its residents and who this young man was -- among other things, a former "party boy" who, he believed, contracted HIV in the early-1980s and was now spending half the week as a "volunteer washer woman."

"I am the oldest of five," he said pulling out another load. "My mother's from another marriage. I was twelve when my sister was born, fourteen when my brother was born, etcetera. My mother and stepfather worked long hours; I more or less raised my siblings. Laundry is nothing knew to me." Then, for the first time since we'd met, he looked me in the eye. "After ironing, there is nothing I like better than folding. What's your preference, young man? Ironing? Folding? A bit of both?"