Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Nineteen: Dirty Laundry

There's a low rumble in the room and I'm convinced if you concentrated hard enough you'd be able to feel everything vibrating ever so slightly. I have been staring at the same thing, with my legs pulled up chest, for the last half hour. The colors inside the machine almost swirl together and I'm fairly certain if I stare much longer it's going to hypnotize me and someone will have to clap me out of a trance I've put myself in.

Just as I feel myself approaching that moment of haziness from the swirling colors in front of me, Harry's white shirt is blocking my view, his stomach an arm length away. I move my eyes up with my chin still resting on my knees, and look at his face above me. He's smiling wide with his hair messier than normal and as much as I want to smile back at him, I can't.

"What do you think?" he raises his arms, presenting two bottles of laundry detergent to me. "Spring renewal or citrus blend... or there's always the classic fresh linen. I'd have to back over there," he nod's to the counter. "But that's an option too."

"Doesn't matter," I answer back shortly, sighing out.

"I need your expert opinion here," Harry continues, shoving the bottles closer to my face. "This is an extremely important decision. A lot is riding on this. It could easily determine the next five years of our life."

I can't help but let out a small laugh at Harry's tone, his seriousness far too overdone for the words coming out of his mouth and the fact that he's talking about washing out clothes. His smile grows larger and he looks accomplished that he got something out of me that was a contrast to my mopey mood.

"Maybe I should mix them together?" he talks to himself, holding the two bottles side by side as though he's deeply contemplating the idea. "Fresh flowers, with a hint of sunshine," he reads the label of the purple bottle. "What the hell does sunshine smell like?"

I roll my eyes at him as he mumbles to himself.

"Sunshine," he repeats the word. "Maybe a bit fruity? Or something warm feeling... like vanilla. If we're being realistic here I bet sunshine smells like fire, something burning... you know, since it's a ball of fire."

"Harry."

"So, ball of fire plus citrus blend," he nods to himself. "I think it sounds promising. Plus if you throw in the flowery smell from the ball of fire one I'm sure it all blends together... seems like a winner."

"Please don't mix them together."

His arms fall to his sides, the bottles he was holding up no longer in front of his face as his mouth hangs open wide. He tries to act surprised that I said something, like he's been trying to get me to do it for a very long time. And even though it feels nearly impossible to smile right now, I manage to do it anyways as he stares down at me with the ridiculous expression.

"Finally some guidance," he smiles. "I think I'm leaning toward the citrus blend. The whole smells like sunshine thing is really putting me off. How can one claim something smells like sunshine."

"Preposterous."

"You always understand, Greta," he sighs out, sounding relieved. "Thank God for you."

He smiles again and then grabs my bag filled with dirty clothes, walking to an empty washer. I watch him as he walks away, only going a few feet to the left before carefully loading it up with our clothes.

Considering that our clothing options are very minimal since we both packed fairly light, this laundromat trip was very much needed. We've already done laundry once at a hotel that offered it earlier in the trip, but our clothes were starting to get to the last of their "this is still acceptable" phase. Not only was it necessary for hygienic reasons but I was hoping if I we were doing something that required a little bit of thoughtfulness it would distract me from thinking too much.