Laundry

I’m sitting in the basement laundry room. It’s Halloween but I’m not at a party. 

I’m watching Sam steam iron shirts. It’s almost midnight. A cigar hangs out of his mouth, the smoke twirling under fluorescent lights. A radio in the corner plays a Sixties song about a witch, the tinny sound filling the room. I don’t call him anything but Sam. He won’t answer to “Grandpa.” 

Sam is on his third glass of whiskey. He finishes steaming and puts the shirt on over his undershirt. It’s black and compliments his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly. He checks his reflection in the mirror, hazel eyes passing over every detail of himself. He’s tan, there is a ring on almost every finger. The diamonds in his watch catch every light. He checks every angle. In our town, he stands out, the way he likes it. He turns and looks at me, giving me a once-over. His expression is blank, as usual.

- Are you high? I told you I wanted you to drive me tonight.

- I’m fine. I’m just….tired. I think I have a cold.

- Snap out of it, you look ugly when you’re fucked up.

I am fucked up. Really fucked up. I spent the evening at Kelsey’s house, where no one is ever home. We painted our nails black and smoked blunts dipped in codeine with her boyfriend and two of his friends. I told one of them they could finger me if they let me put eyeliner on them, but I can’t remember if it actually happened or not.

I walked home through the woods, numb and cold. On the way, I passed by Scott, a neighbor from up the road. His greasy hair hung in his face, and he turned and spotted me stumbling into the small handmade clearing. He had a folding metal chair and boom box set up. 

- Hey Em, are you okay? What are you doing out here? Did you hear Britney’s new song? It’s so sad. I can play it for you. You can sit with me. We could share this chair I guess.

Even in the dark, I could tell Scott had on his old Britney Spears t-shirt. 

- I have to get to Sam’s. I’m late.

Now that I’m in Sam’s basement, a little less high, I can’t stop thinking about 40-something-year-old Scott, sitting in the dark woods every night, with nothing but his Britney Spears CDs. I wonder if any of it was real. I feel like crying.

Sam comes over and leans down into my face. 

- I don’t know what you were up to earlier.  I don’t need to know. That’s not how this relationship works, Em.

I don’t answer. 

He sighs, forcing himself to show some form of humanity. 

- You’re smart because you take after me. You were born on my birthday, so you represent me. Start by cleaning yourself up.

Sam reaches both hands out to me. At first, I think he’s going to hug me. The thought horrifies me. I look down and count three red pills in one palm, and a glass with the last of his whiskey in the other hand. 

- I don’t need it. I’m good, I swear.

He doesn’t move his hands. This isn’t an option.

I take the pills, swallow them, and wait for something to happen.

I look over at my reflection. My eyeliner is runny. So is my nose. I don’t even feel any of it. My face is still numb. I wonder what else I did at Kelsey’s house that I can’t remember. Sam lifts my chin to look at me. 

- I don’t want to see you start down the same road as your Aunt. She couldn’t handle anything. I tried to help her. She didn’t want to listen. Lisa thought she knew best. But you’re different. You listen. 

After I somehow manage to pull Sam’s black Camaro out of the garage, he gets in the passenger side. 

I’m driving Sam now due to his secret stroke that’s left him almost blind. I only know about it because I’m the one who found him. I watched him for a while before I did anything, a fact Sam knows and one we haven’t discussed. 

I move to switch the radio station and Sam slaps my hand away. 

- It’s still my car, it doesn’t matter who’s driving.

He turns up the same classic rock station he was listening to in the laundry room, the Halloween theme continues with “Dancing in the Moonlight.”  When Sam starts singing along I hear he’s drunker than I had realized. His voice makes me nauseous. My ears feel like they’re buzzing and my hands grip the wheel. 

- Take a right at the light. And slow the fuck down. 

I take the right but I don’t slow down. I don’t even know where I’m taking him tonight, I know it’s somewhere shady. I feel Sam’s glare. I start laughing. I feel bold.

- I hate you.

Sam is silent, lights two cigarettes, and hands one to me.

- It’s the same thing as hating yourself. I made you like me. 

I speed up, and the thought of crashing the car first enters my mind.

- I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. 

He calmly blows smoke upward. 

- You’re not ready to be on your own.

We’re gaining speed, running lights, and Sam is still unfazed. This is nothing to him. I don’t know if I’m trying to scare him or me. 

- I do love you. In my own way.

Sam’s admission shocks me, and I glance to my right. He’s taking one of his rings off. 

Lights blind me.