24/7

I wake up each day and do the same thing. Rarely does anything change. I wake up, get ready, go to work, go home, go to sleep, and repeat. You know, besides all the other things like going grocery shopping, buying clothes, and occasionally eating out. I never do anything for myself, and I don’t have that many close friends. I mean I have a roommate, Celeste, but I am still getting to know her. Sometimes I feel as though I wouldn’t be in her normal friend group or wouldn’t fit in per say. She wakes up every morning looking ethereal, just like her name. On the other hand, I wake up looking like I lost the fight with my slow-motion blows in my dream the night before. I am still finding my style and finding out who I am, while she leaves the house each day with her coquettish flare. She offers me help with my look, but I am not quite getting the hang of it yet. I want to fit in and make new friends, but I just can’t find the motivation to leave my house. So, in a way, I just set myself up for failure. But I’ll try to work on that.

It is my weekend off from college, so I guess I should consider getting some of my work done that I let pile up. It is exhausting being a procrastinator, but I can’t seem to change it. The idea of doing homework soon leaves my mind though. I’m staring at the eye sore in my room. My piled-up basket of clothes that I haven’t had the chance to wash yet because my stupid washer and dryer decided to break. The landlord is so slow to send someone to fix it for me and my roommate, so we have had to make adjustments. My adjustments are going to the local “Becky’s Laundromat.” It’s more like "Beck’s Landrmt” because some of the lights went out. I have a love-hate relationship with this laundromat. Well, it isn’t really the place that upsets me, but the fact that my landlord sucks. So, I kind of like the laundromat because it gives me some thinking space, and a set time to clear my mind instead of worrying about what lies ahead. But the thought of homework and due dates finds its way to creep back into my mind, so I decide I should get to work instead of washing my clothes right now. It’s 2:00 p.m. and I have six assignments. I hate that I do this to myself.

Fast forward a whole 6 hours later, I am finally done with my homework. And no, it did not take me 6 hours straight. I took a few breaks. Well, I took a lot of breaks scrolling through my phone on TikTok. I just get a tiny bit distracted when I am doing something that I really don’t want to do. I take a look around my room, and it looks like the mound of clothes got even bigger, as if it is trying to play games with my current state of mind. So, I haul the basket into my car and take it to Becky’s Laundromat. When I arrive, it is about 8:30 p.m. It is already quite dark outside. They say you probably shouldn’t go to a laundromat alone at night, or anywhere for that matter, but these clothes desperately need to be washed. It is a little creepy though because the laundromat looks even more dingy at night. From the missing letters on the sign to the janky washer and dryers that are somehow in better shape than mine, so I can’t really complain. And I have about 3 loads to wash, so I am in for the night, unfortunately.

I get my change out of my purse and insert it into the slot, so that I can get started on my uneventful night of washing clothes. I unenthusiastically take my first half of colored clothes and put them in the washer on cold. I thought it best to break my big load of clothes up, so that I don’t break their washer too. I go to another washer to put my other half of colored clothes in, but it won’t take my change. It just spits it back out at me. And just as the washer is assaulting me with my own money, a man walks through the door. I turn my head in embarrassment. I think to myself about how my mom told me not to come here alone at night. “It’s not wise,” or so she said to me over the phone in a voice of determination with the “I’m your mother and you should listen to me” type of feel. But I came here anyway without telling her. Besides, I don’t think this man is going to kidnap me. At least I hope not. He is tall and kind of handsome, or perhaps I think he is cute because I don’t get out much and I’m desperate. No, I take it back. He is really cute. He has big brown eyes, and beautifully even coffee brown skin, with an curly afro crown that reaches to the heavens. But I just resort to staying secluded to myself like I always do.

I’m pretty. I know that. But it seems like I am less pretty when standing next to other people, and by other people, I mean Celeste. Everyone tells me that I am just in my head too much and multiple people look my way, but I never notice because I don’t see the beauty in myself. I am really trying to work on it, but I am getting in my own way. I also attempted to talk about this to my perfect roommate, Celeste, and she reluctantly told me that she can see how I don’t view myself as beautiful and I dress like it too. I was flabbergasted at this statement, but it’s not like she told a lie. So, I have been working on it ever since. I am still just a very quiet and secluded person though. So even though I may be getting slightly better with the way I dress and view myself, my social life stays pretty much the same.

It may be strange, but I like watching the clothes going around and around. It sort of stimulates my mind. It makes me think of things in a new way. The clothes spin continuously in a repetitive motion, just like my life. I do much of the same thing every day until the day just stops, and it is time to sleep. Just like a washer with clothes inside shows no sign of stopping until it starts to slow its motion, taking a rest. So even though washing clothes can be tiresome, I find a sort of meditation in it. Because of this I just sit at this one washer and dryer instead of going to another one to make the load quicker. But I admit that the fact a washer shot my money back in my face while a cute guy walked in might have something to do with it. Just a little though.

I put my ear buds in while I wait on my clothes. Here lately I have been into Faye Webster. My roommate finds this depressing, but I catch her listening to her from time to time, so I think I put her on. An hour goes by, my first load of clothes already done. 2 more loads to go, or 1 and a half because the wash cycle for the second load has already started. I lose myself in my own train of thought when I notice the cute guy from earlier walking towards where I am sitting. He does a little wave and smile. I find myself turning my head around—knowing no one else is here—to see if he is looking at me.

He does a little snicker and says, “No need to look, I’m waving at you.”

I smile it off, my face heating up from embarrassment. “Oh, h-hi,” I stutter. I want to slap myself in the face at this point. Only two words, and I couldn’t even get that out right.

I’m wondering in my head why he is even saying hi to me. Most of the time strangers don’t really do anything past smiling and waving, and he looks like he walked out of a TV screen.

He interrupts my thoughts by saying, “I’ve been trying to work myself up to talk to you for about an hour.”

“Really?” I say shyly. “I wouldn’t have thought of you to be the shy type.”

When I say this, I take a quick glance over him once again. He has a huge afro like I said before. The type of hair people set their goals to grow. He has a clean, white button up t-shirt with a gold chain around his neck. He pairs it with baggy jean shorts and vibrant blue and white Nike Dunks. He just has the type of presence that everyone would notice, even though he isn’t really that flashy.

“A surprising amount of people have told me that,” he says with a big smile. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Mmm, I don’t know if I should tell you that. What if you are trying to earn my trust to make it easier to kidnap me?” I say jokingly.

“Okay fine. How about I tell you my name first and we talk for a little bit. If you don’t trust me by the time you are finished washing your clothes, then I don’t get to know your name,” he says sweetly with a grin.

“Okay sure,” I say laughing.

“My name is Josiah.”

We started talking at around 9:45, and it seemed like it never stopped. I never even got past my second load of clothes. We talked for hours and hours. We talked about what we liked and what we didn’t—you know surface level stuff. But it didn’t stop there. The more we talked, the conversation got deeper and deeper, so we wouldn’t run out of things to say. Honestly, I don’t even think that would be possible because we went on and on. Luckily Becky’s is open 24 hours and 7 days a week. Anyways, we talked about where we grew up, and I even opened up about how sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in. I even mentioned my terrible wardrobe issues. This might not seem like a lot, but I find it embarrassing that I am still struggling with my style as a junior in college. Surprisingly, he felt the same. I was amazed at this because he is the textbook definition of perfect, but he said the exact same thing about me.

“Maybe sometimes we can’t see our true selves in the mirror, only a conglomeration of things we dislike instead,” He whispers to me.

“I have never thought about it like that until now,” I mumble sadly.

“Well, you are far from ugly,” he says laughing, most likely attempting to lighten the mood a little.

“You aren’t too shabby yourself.”

I would like to think I said this nonchalantly. This is what I was going for at least. But I am definitely a little discombobulated, considering he has been making crazy eye contact with me this entire time. And his eyes are so beautiful, and I get nervous looking at him. But I also just feel this wave of joy while I am talking to him. It almost seems unreal and too good to be true. Like a dream.

I looked at my phone, surprised at the time. In fact, we both are surprised because it seems like time just flew by. I haven’t even thought about my clothes until now. I’ll probably have to re wash the ones I haven’t dried yet, but I don’t even care. I am somewhat enamored by Josiah, and he seems to feel the same way about me. I’d rather just go home now, contently. I mean, I would much rather the conversation continue, but everything good must come to an end.

“Before we go, I have to ask you something,” Josiah blurts out.

“Of course,” I say smiling widely.

“Why do you stare at the clothes spinning in the washer?” “You look so peaceful that I had to ask.”

“Oh, it just used to remind me of how my life is just so repetitive. Almost like I’m just spinning around and around, just like the washer.”

“Used to?” Josiah questions.

“Yea, but you showed me that my life can change every now and then,” I say smiling.

We exchange numbers and say our goodbyes, but before he left he remembered something.

“What’s your name?” he says.

“Destiny!” Celeste yells.

“I’ve been calling you for like ever! Are you writing again?” “You’ve got to stop zoning out like that,” she says concerned. “What if it was an emergency?”

“Calm down, you know how I like to get in the zone when I write” I say rolling my eyes.

“Are you writing your alternate reality stuff?” Celeste asks.

“Yep. I like writing alternate versions of my life,” I say.

“Yea, but I’ve read some of your stuff. What if there is a little truth to th—"

“It’s just make believe,” I cut her off.

She stares at me for a few seconds as if she already knows what I’m thinking and knows what I wrote about.

 “You know, you don’t always have to spin,” says Celeste.

I turned to her and smiled in a joking manner.

“I know, I was working on that before you rudely interrupted me.”