Sunday, July 12, 2009

This is what its like to come home:

We are in the process of moving. I was trying to clean all my laundry today before the washer and dryer get moved. I forgot about a load of laundry in the dryer when I went out with my friends. When I came home, the clothes are no where to be found.

Mom is slumped over the sink trying to do dishes with her eyes closed, I guess. Dad is telling mom to go to bed while suggesting I look for my clothes in all the places I've already looked for my clothes. He also gives me reasons why he couldn't possibly know where the clothes are. Mom mumbles incoherently as she fills the same glass with water over and over again.

I rifle through every basket of clothes laying around. I check the dryer again. I open closet doors and check my room and search the floors and open boxes. No clothes.

My brother and his girlfriend are already at the new house. Maybe they know. Maybe they took my clothes? He calls them. Apparently someone took my clothes out of the dryer and put them on the floor. There is nothing on the floor now. There are no clothes in my room. The laundry baskets are full of other peoples clothes. The only place I cannot investigate is the washing machine.

The washing machine is running and it has a locked door that will not unlock before the cycle finishes. Its on the final spin. I ask my father what clothes are in the washing machine. He claims the clothes are the ones everyone wore while moving today. I want to look at them so I stand in the laundry room and stare at the machine, waiting for it to finish. Dad sways, watching me watch the washer. I suppose he grew tired of waiting so he hits the cancel button on the washing machine. Now, the door is STILL locked and the only option is to restart the washing cycle. I tell him this.

His first plan of action is to repeatedly hit the cancel button. That seems to do nothing at all but the alcohol has long diminished his reasoning abilities so he hits the button some more. And more. Finally I point out that this particular course of action seems to have no effect. I'll just have to start the cycle again. I'll just have to wait another half hour to find out if my clothes are in the washing machine (probably mixed with THEIR clothes, probably with dish soap instead of laundry detergent, probably not separated by color, probably with someones ink pen or cigarettes floating in the water) or if they just disappeared completely. My colors. All my colors. My pretty, pretty clothes.

I am so unhappy right now. This shouldn't be this difficult.

My anger must be apparent in my sigh or my crossed arms or the violence in which I punch the start button because dad yanks the power cord from the socket and throws it to the ground. He tells me how tired he is and how early he had to get up and exactly how much he has done for me today. I don't respond. The washing machine would have been done by now if he hadn't hit that stupid button. This is clearly not my fault. Now, with no power, he pulls on the washing machine door. Its locked still. He plugs it back in. Locked. He hits the cancel button over and over and over again. I tell him I'll just restart the washer. He goes away.

I prepare to run the shortest cycle possible. I have to change about three settings. I hit the start button. Just in case, I try the cancel button again. The door opens.

Inside the washing machine I see clothes of absolutely every color. And there, my colors. They don't smell like laundry detergent. And the machine is so full of clothes that they wont come out easily. And somehow everything is a little grayer. And this yellow one is now covered in blue spots. And oh, there are the washcloths they used to clean the walls. Nice. And my clothes. My once pretty, pretty clothes.

It shouldn't be this difficult. And thats not even all of it.

No comments: