The Laundromat At Four Am

The laundromat is open, humming with fluorescent light and the smell of detergent. The vending machine lists soap scents that do not exist. I am looking for a key on the rack, but there is only a doorknob made of fresh bread. It smells sweet. My little brother stands in the corner, watching the spinning dryers. He has my eyes. I reach out and brush the dusting flour from his shoulder. He touches the bread doorknob. He smiles, and the smile is exactly how I remember my mother's smile on Christmas morning. The humming sound changes pitch, becoming a deep, low chord that seems to vibrate the coins in the change machine. He stands still, a perfect copy of my younger self, and watches me wait for a call that is never placed.