It’s just clothes

Quarters and telenovelas. Spanish radio stations every now and then. People sorting, waiting, talking, coming and going. All accompanied with the constant hum and buzz of machines running. 

It’s laundry day, a mundane nuisance that he would’ve gladly tackled out of the way before it happened. Now, this was....hard. This was his lungs slowly turning to stone where it would’ve been a song in his head as he took the basket out of the trunk. It was only one load, filled halfway, but it somehow seemed so heavy. 

People mind their own business, blending into his background as he sets the basket down on the floor and opens the washer door. 

And steadies himself for this.

Don’t even look at it. 

He grabs the first article of clothing and throws it in with minimal eye-contact. Out of sight out of mind. Until it hits the tunnel with a heavy clang.

Damn. He sighed to retrieved it. She said she checked everything.

It was the jacket. The letterman jacket that she signed senior year and then basically ended up stealing from him. 

Used it more often than I did. A shadow of a smile found itself on his face. 

In the pocket was a rock. Purple and blue, weirdly shaped, and with sharp edges. 

“It would look so cool with glitter.” He could hear her voice from that day. Never mind the fall she had just taken. No. This rock she landed on was much more important. And judging by that smile she had-

No. He pushed away the smile he’d never see again and brought himself back to the sounds of a dramatic maid fainting on the television. No. He threw the jacket in and shook it off, continuing to just get the job done, throwing clothes in without paying any attention.

Until a piece of paper slipped out. 

He sighed.

The ticket stubs. 

“Ah! Really?!” She squealed at the surprise. Beaming. It was amazing to be able to see that smile at that time. Given how tough of a time she was-

Stop it. He pushed it away again. Her smile is gone and it’s never coming back. She’s never coming back. There’s nothing that can bring her back. And it’s all my fault!

He stopped when he dropped something. When he dropped it.

And he didn’t want to look at it.

It was her favorite. Deep breaths as he reached for it, already knowing which shirt it was, preparing himself to face the blue ‘Zootopia’ graphic shirt. The one she died in.........

It was hard to look past the tears in it. Past those dried red stains. Past her face. 

You took my smile away. 

The words were there, they were always there, but not in her voice. Because he couldn’t imagine, in a million years, that she would ever say that.

“Because I wouldn’t.” Typical. “It wasn’t your fault. It came out of nowhere.”

Why even bother washing it? He shut the door to start the cycle and walked over to the trash bin, only to hover over it.

“Arron look out! AH-“ her scream was cut short by the the crash that still resonated in him, filling him with rage at the fact that she had departed with terror when she had been a beacon all her life.

He let go with a long awaited deep breath. 

The clothes flung around and around in white soap as a doctor in the drama dropped life altering news given the amount of gasps that followed, and he found himself breathing a bit easier now. A bit calmer as he put his hands in his pockets, only to find a tangle ball of headphones. 

“Can I borrow them?” When did she not? He smiled, remembering her trying to untangle them after she found them in the dryer. 

A realization came to him as he titled his head to the side with a frown. Wasn’t she looking for these when-

The washing machine finished with a buzz. 

He shook it off and kept going. Nothing I haven’t told myself before. And reluctantly pocketed the earphones again as some woman violently cried on the monitors.

A sock caught his attention as he transferred the load into the dryer. “It ran away. Couldn’t take my stink, that coward.” 

She never did find the other pair. He chuckled. How long had it been since he smiled? 

Never mind that. He shook it off and closed the door and waited for the cycle to run its course, blankly staring at the television as one elegantly dressed woman slaps another elegantly dressed woman.

How long had it been since then that he felt this...light? That he felt guilt-free enough to laugh? 

“Foreveeeerrrr.” He could hear her groan from that time he had surgery and spent two days in bed. “Do you even remembered how to walk?”

So dramatic. He half-smiled again.

A buzzer sounded signaling that the clothes were ready. 

The song had come back to his head. Carrying the clothes over to the table to fold them, until he paused midway to catch a shaky breath, remembering that she wouldn’t wear them anymore. Damn it. 

He scolded himself for forgetting and kept going with a forced blank mind. It was easier this way. Pretending. Not thinking about it. Not looking back anymore, because every bit of it, every time feels like a mockery.

“You’re being stupid.” She rolled her eyes at him. “So dramatic.” She mocked. And still he involuntarily smiled again.

And still he pushed it away again. 

“You know,” she came back as he finished folding the last of her clothes, holding the letterman in his hands, “its technically yours.” He could feel her smile. “If you want it back.”

“Is it technically mine.” He said to himself with something of a smile. 

It was still heavier than he remembered, it always would be, but it felt different now. Not the weight of someone he lost, but the weight of someone he loved.