FictionPress.com - let the words flow
| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
|
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
Ma's 24-hour Laundry Mat
1224 Maple Street
11:44pm
Laundry requires a decent amount of skill. You always separate whites from colors, and the delicates from everything else. The difference between the use of hot and cold water, and how you shouldn't use too much fabric softener and never forget to add a dryer sheet when you dry your clothes. Sometimes I find it easier tow ash my jeans separate from everything else, so when you put them in the dryer they dry faster. And I don't really care all too much about separating everything else, I'm pretty much a guy when it comes to doing the rest of my laundry. Some people are shy when it comes to doing their wash in laundry mats, they don't want anyone to see their unmentionables and surely they're very guarded of their clothes washing techniques. I could careless sometimes, so long as my clothes get clean, but then there's that moment that I hide all my underwear and bras, and push any stained clothing into the washer as fast I can. And that's only when I'm using the laundry mat on Maple Street. I try to avoid wash on Thursdays because that's when he comes in...
I never really did learn his name. I just know that he usually comes into Ma's 24-hour Laundry Mat on Thursdays, usually around eleven in the evening and usually stays until one-thirty or two in the morning. Gosh, I sound like a stalker, but it's more like I'm trying to avoid him. The only reason I seem to avoid bumping into him is not just because I sometimes have embarrassing underwear, but because he's the only guy who seems to make my legs wobble when I'm trying to carry my laundry basket out the door. Some days, if I don't look him in those charming brown eyes of his, I can make it to the door without tripping, but most of the time, I'm a klutz. Then again, I'm always a klutz. “Dios, Estrella” I tell myself as I'm trying to grab some of my unmentionables out of the dryer, “get a grip.”
And that's when it happened. I dropped a pair of my over-sized panties on the floor of Ma's and watched as HE picked them up and handed them to me, blushing slightly as he handed them too me, before smirking at the size of m undies. “I believe these are yours,” he said smoothly, like a real Don Juan, you know? I think I turned about forty shades of red in that moment. I snatched my granny panties back from him and tossed them into my laundry basket. “Jackson,” he said holding out his hand.
My green eyes shifted and watched as he extended his hand to me, as I rested my laundry basket on the row of washers before dusting my hands off on my worn, ripped, and tired jeans and shaking his hand, “Estrella,” I answered simply. And then he did it, he smiled, and I took one step and ended up on the tiled floor of Ma's. I looked up, my long dark hair blocking my vision before I push myself back up I felt someone grab my hands and pull me to my feet. I pushed my hair out of my face and blushed furiously as I thanked Jackson for helping me up after my klutz-a-licious fall.
“No problem,” he answered before turning to dump all his clothes into the washing machine and carelessly add detergent, some softener, and turning it on, setting the water settings to cold. I laughed to myself as I started folding my clothes, true guy-fashion when it came to laundry. “What's so funny?” he asked.
I laughed to myself and casually leaned against the washer I'd been folding clothes at. I was suddenly feeling a bit more confident as I began to psychoanalyze him by way of his laundry habits. “You're just an average Joe-launderer.”
He smirked lazily and eased himself up to sit on the rumbling washer. “Oh?” he asked promptly.
I smiled, “yea, I mean we all do laundry a certain way,” I said trying to explain myself. “You, are a guy, you just seem to throw all your dirty laundry into the washer and just let it clean, rather than separating lights from colors and so forth. And you wash your clothes in cold water...”
“so?” he asked shrugging his shoulders.
“well it says a lot about a person...like, you're pretty care-free, and somewhat lazy.”
Jackson scoffed and put his hand over his heart, feigning hurt. He rolled his eyes, “oh and how do you do your laundry?”
“Depends on how I'm feeling,” I answered, as the washer holding my jeans finished its spin cycle. I lifted the lid and pulled out my load of jeans and tossed them into a free dryer. I pulled change from my pocket and slid the quarters into the coin slots and backed into the washers and eased myself up next to my basket as my jean spun in the dryer.
“So what does it say about a person who washes their jeans separately from their darks,” he asked, “since you obviously like sorting your clothes today.”
I laughed as I began folding t-shirts from my laundry basket, “it means tonight, I'd like my jeans to dry quicker and completely.”
“So this has been the first Thursday in a while I've seen you in here,” he said, casually changing the subject.
“I've been busy,” I said, as I sat indian-style, folding another t-shirt as I tried not to blush, “didn't know you noticed whether I was here or not?” His eyes watched my movements closely as I ran out of t-shirts to fold and began to fold a pair of my boy-cut briefs with little hearts on them. He chuckled, “I suppose you find my underwear humorous?”
He smirked, “I think I have the same pair.”
My eyes narrowed, “Oh really? Didn't know you were into wearing girls undies Jackson.”
He blushed and I dangled my legs over the edge of the washer, waiting for my jeans to finish drying. “So, whereabouts are you in the neighbor hood?” he asked, trying to keep up good conversation.
I played with the frayed edges on the holes in my jeans, “meh, just over on Commonwealth.”
“Right around the corner right?” Jackson asked.
I nodded, “nice little studio apartment” I said swinging my legs back and forth.
Jackson nods, “nice nice.” He opened the washer and tossed his damp clothes into an adjacent dryer and popped a few quarters into the machine. “I'm down on Foster...Chestnut Hillish,” he answered. “So have you always lived in the area?”
I reached my hands behind me and leaned back as the rested against the top of the washer, “No, I'm originally from Cambridge, moved into the city to go Emerson, finishing up a few summer classes, probably gunna stick around, ya know?” she said climbing off the washer to tug her jeans out of the dryer. Jackson smiled. “So, I muttered as I folded my jeans, “you go to school around here?” I asked.
“Berklee”
I struggled not to giggle with delight. He was a musician. And like every girl I found that talent to make him even more attractive. I began to listen more intently as he continued to talk about himself. And I didn't mind one bit.
“Yea, I've got two room mates, they're pretty cool.” He jumped up on the washer and watched his clothes spin in the dryer as he continued to talk to me.
“So Berklee huh? What instrument do you play?” I asked.
“A few actually”
I beamed, a multi-talented musician. I was definitely swooning over him more than before, when I hardly knew him. “Like?...” I pestered.
“Guitar, drums, piano, viola, cello, and bass...” he said shyly, slightly embarrassed.
“No violin?” I inquired, I mean he might as well fit in the final string instrument.
“working on it...” he said blushing.
I chuckled, “that's pretty cool.”
“So what are you studying over at Emerson?” he asked.
“I'm majoring in Journalism, and minoring in television and radio studies,” I answered, flipping my hair, “This was Estrella Méndez with the evening news,”I said chuckling, though I much prefer playing DJ on the college radio.”
“Would it be too forward of me to ask if you'd play my band's demo on Emerson's airwaves?” Jackson asked, pulling out the demo disc from the backpack he'd brought with him.
'Dios Mios, he's in a band!” I thought to myself. I was driving myself nuts, “no, not forward at all, so long as you don't suck.” I said smirking devilishly. “So what instrument do you play in the band?”
“Actually, I just sing...”
“Mr. Multi-talented,” I said cocking my head to the side amusingly.
He blushed, “I'm not as good as you think.”
“Modest too,” I said laughing.
He blushed more. I was finding this whole situation amusing. The fact that I'd been fully coordinated for the past half-hour or so in the presence of such a beautiful, talented, delicious, delectable. 'Geez Essie, get a hold of yourself, you're talking about him like he's tonight's dessert.' I regained my composure and finished my last load before tucking everything away into my laundry basket. I looked over at Jackson who was just putting his load in the dryer and smiled as I walked out of the laundry mat, “Hey, wait...”he called out.
I stopped midway through the door, “hm?” I said between pressed lips.
“same time next week?” he asked sweetly.
I looked down at my shoes and tried not to blush too heavily, “sure,” I smiled
Also, though the streets and colleges they mention are in Boston...Maple Street is generic and Ma's Laundry is fictional, I'm trying to make it as real as possible, but still keep it a little bit, fiction-y? Ya know?
MJ