Free Mind Lies by Harlow Stone

body, I say, “I appreciate that Cory, thank you.” Looking at Portia I ask, “Do you mind if we get going now? I usually get tired in the afternoon, and I’m hoping we can cover as much ground as possible today.”
    Portia and Cory share a glance. “Sure thing, lady. Let’s go. I’ll call you later, Cory.”
    “Wait,” I say. “I feel like an ass now. What’s happening with this place? Am I supposed to work? Should I close this down for a bit until I’m well enough to continue working?”
    Portia loops her arm through mine and continues pulling me toward the door. “It’s all good right now, Jerri. Cory’s working a little overtime, and we have a part-timer art student who we just moved to full-time while she’s on spring break. Everything’s taken care of.”
    I clear my throat, avoiding the sting, and kick myself for earlier “ill” thoughts regarding these caring people, who obviously just want what’s best for me. The afflictive feeling in my gut has not completely abated, but I choose to focus on what’s important and where we’re headed. My feelings can be dissected and analyzed later when I’m in the haven of my bedroom.
    Once in the car, Portia types “laundromat” into her GPS. It lists fifteen laundromats within a ten-mile radius, so she says we’ll start with the one closest to where we went to night school and branch out from there.
    Looking out the window, I watch people on the street pass by, going about their lives. A mother tries to catch up to her son, a toddler, who chases a pigeon. A man in a suit pulls angrily at his tie as he argues into his cell phone. All these people take for granted the moments surrounding them, the moments that make you feel whole at night. They take for granted the importance of remembering.
    The significance of smells, the influence of a breathtaking smile, and the value of those closest to you are all the things that should make your days feel significant. But once you lose that time, it has the power to break you.
    I notice that Portia’s tiny frame and short blonde hair does make her look like a pixie. Caught in that train of thought, trying to place my mind on more important things, I tell her, “I appreciate you doing this with me.” I clasp my hands together, squeezing them hard enough that my knuckles turn white. “The fact that I can’t remember a single thing about you, and yet you’re still doing this with me—well, just . . . thank you.”
    She turns down the radio and adjusts her hold on the steering wheel. “Nine years ago, I showed up at school with a busted lip and a black eye. I made a stupid decision, one of many. His name was Matt. We hadn’t known each other very long, but you were the first to see past my bullshit excuses. You offered me a place to stay. You may very well have saved my life, Jerri.”
    She clears her throat, shaking off her emotions before continuing. “Regardless of what you did for me then, I would still be here for you now. But because of what you did for me at that time in my life, there is no way in hell I couldn’t be here for you now. I was at a really low point, and you helped pick me back up.” She gives me a small smile. “I’m not picking you up as you did with me; I’m just holding your hand, babe. That’s what family does. We hold on.”
    Nodding, I quietly agree. “We hold on.”
     
    * * *
     
    “Five times the charm?”
    “I hope so, Portia. I really do.”
    The first four laundromats where a bust. Three were single-story buildings—no apartments above. The fourth was at the bottom of a ten-story building that looked nothing like the one from my memories.
    Rounding the street corner, Portia parks the car beside a two-story building. I sign out front reads, Ming’s Coin Wash . As we start on the sidewalk, the low heel of my boot catches on the concrete, causing me to stumble. Luckily, I right myself as my vision starts to blur.
    “Don’t leave me here, Lachlan. Please! I can’t