08/08 : Laundry DayJulie prepared to do her laundry. She collected all of her clothes by grabbing them from the floor, chair, end of her bed and under it. She threw them all into the duffel bag her father had given her years ago. She took the box of quarters from the shelf and tucked it into the large outside pocket of the bag. She retrieved the laundry soap from the bathroom, the dryer sheets from under the pizza box on her coffee table, and packed them as well. She struggled out into the cooling dusk towards the corner coin-op that was open 24 hours.
As she sorted the clothes into the washers, she dutifully cleaned out all the pockets. One bad episode with broken lipstick and eyeshadow was enough motivation not to replace any more clothes. She lifted the pair of jeans that did not belong to her from the army green bag. For a moment, she stood there in the harsh florescent lights staring at her past. They were his jeans. She must have grabbed them when she packed up after their evening in his hotel several months prior. She reached her hand into the left front pocket and came out with thirty-six cents and a piece of pocket lint. She stuffed her hand almost greedily into the right front pocket and retrieved a small scallop shell. She blinked in surprise.
She remembered giving him the shell early in the fall of the year before when they had been so happy. They had met in a restaurant right on the seashore. He ordered white wine at the bar using the same breath she had with the same order. They ended up talking for hours that night. Six days they spent walking the beaches and talking in the sunshine and deep into the night. On the day she'd given him the shell, she wore a white dress with loose fitting sandals. He had worn a white shirt and jeans. The pair of jeans she held in her hands. They had walked along the beach near the Gulf of Mexico with the Florida sand stinging with heat. He had read her pages of the comic book he was working on writing. They sang songs under the full moon. He smelled like licorice and sweat that seemed to be sweet with promise. He told her that he was falling madly in love with her. She believed him. She picked up the shell from the sand and pressed it into his hand. She kissed him passionately telling him that she was falling as well.
Later that night, under the light of the moon and stars, he pulled her to him and kissed her so perfectly, she still shivered. With a good girl's passion unleashed, she gave into her primal needs. They made love on the beach with the waves a witness to their shared lust. She remembered the touch of his hands on her breasts. She felt the slightly garlic smelling kisses on her lips. She felt the hardness of his body and the erection that jabbed her thigh unceremoniously before they consummated the perfect evening. She remembered their giggling retreat to his hotel.
She snapped to the present with her face red. She looked down at the discarded soap box that hadn't made it into the trash can. She looked up and saw an old man, bent and yellow with age, shuffling past her. The rubber soles of his shoes making loud squeaks against the worn tile floor. He didn't speak, just puffed his cigar like a steam train rolling up speed that would no longer come.
She tucked the shell into her pocket with a glance about her. She felt more like she was stealing the shell than the change. She took a breath and dug into the left back pocket, thankfully coming up empty handed. She reached into the back right pocket and found the postcard. She took it out and read it with tears welling up in her eyes.
I miss you and the kids so much. Business is nearly done here. I should be back early next week. I can't wait to hold you all in my arms. XXOO
Julie got a pen from her purse and wrote her phone number on the bottom with a note saying that his son was due July 15th. Call if he needed to know more. She clicked the pen closed, smiled to herself, loaded the washers up with the rest of the clothes, and thought about what would happen. She waited for the washers to finish, then watched the dryers as if they were televisions showing comedies that didn't make sense. She thought.
When the clothes were done, she stuffed them back into the duffel bag without folding them, lifted the bag to her shoulder and retreated down the block to her home. She nearly didn't do it, but she felt better for doing it. She tore up the postcard letting the pieces fall to the ground; colorful splotches against the dirty concrete. She patted her protruding belly, and climbed up the stoop to her front door.
|Laundry Day Jennifer Aug 08 : 09:57 Reply to this|
| Comments: 26 |
Registered: Oct 27 : 15:17
| That was AWESOME! Love it!|
|Laundry Day Bin Aug 09 : 23:58 Reply to this|
| Comments: 2 |
Registered: Dec 23 : 00:31
| I thought it was odd. Good, but odd. At the end I was like "Yeah, do it!" but then she tore up the post card and I was like "D'oh!"|
|Laundry Day Mare Martell Aug 13 : 01:22 Reply to this|
| Guest || Thank you...I think.|
|Laundry Day Sparky Aug 21 : 16:24 Reply to this|
| Comments: 2 |
Registered: Aug 21 : 15:59
| I thought this one was really good, extremely true in todays society as well.|
You must be logged in to make comments on this site - please log in, or if you are not registered click here to signup