American Dreams

I want to introduce you to someone: Viktor, my dry cleaner. There are four dry cleaners within the vicinity of two blocks from my house. But I insist on going to Viktor's shop. He always remembers my complicated first and last name. I can just drop my pile on his counter and run off to catch the train. He'll put everything order and print my ticket. I can pick up my clothes the next day, just fine.

The other night, I was coming home from a dance class and saw that Viktor's lights were on. Surprised to see him working at 9PM, I knocked on the door and asked if I could pick up my weekly load. He got up from his computer, where he had been reviewing his business accounts, and opened the door for me. We got to chit chat about the holidays and gift shopping as he ran my AmEx through his machine. He said, "I got a doll for my granddaughter." My jaw dropped. "How old are you?" I asked. He said he was 47. He had his daughter young and his daughter had her daughter young. He's never seen the little one, but talks to her on the phone and she asks her almost imaginary grandpa, that voice over the phone, for toys she sees on satellite TV. Things they don't have in Ukraine, but things her grandpa can somehow find and send.

I know that Viktor has been waiting to go home for a while...His PhD didn't get him much in Moscow, so he left for the US. He says his life is better thanks to his shop, but he has not reached his dream yet. He designs cars as a hobby, but his real goal is to have his own clothing line. He points to the neon sign on his window. A signature like logo saying "Viktor."

"That's what I want to see on labels, on someone's store," he explains to me. He cannot find time to draw much because his work takes up most of his energy. But he did saw his own pants from scratch and he makes comfortable half-sleeve shirts for some customers on a request basis. Other times, he just catches their bundles of clothes--wishing one day they wear Viktor's.