As soon as I got home I tried doing
laundry
. But my mom, that overbearing wench came in just as I was trying to, asking 'why was I washing clothes?'.
Why was I washing... because I fucking want to, is what I wanted to tell her. But I had never done my laundry before. So can I blame her for wondering why I was suddenly trying to wash my clothes out of the blue, this random evening. She had her hands out already reaching for my hamper. I was afraid her eyes would peer down and see the
blood
stained T-shirt. I prayed that she would continue looking at me, but her eyes did slide down.
"Oh, no."
Damn, I thought.
"How can you mix colors and whites like that?"
"It's okay, mom." I tugged the hamper back and made a move with my hips to signal to her that I would like my space. "I want to try taking some responsibility at all. Let me try washing my own clothes okay?"
She sighed, then said, "okay."
As soon as I was alone I looked down to see if the blood was visible. No. She could only see the one white t shirt through the side of my hamper where there were holes for airing out purposes. But I had done a good enough job folding the shirt in a way where the bloodstain was not visible.
I put the white shirt in first, digging it out through the colored cotton shirts and athletic shorts I had in the hamper. Then I tried to read the instructions on the detergent box. I couldn't figure out whether we had a economical size washer and which line I should fill the detergent cup to. Fucking damn. I just decided to fill it up all the way and then see what it looked like after.
Then I heard the door start. Fuck, was it my mom again?
"Hi. You're doing your own laundry? Wow!"
I quickly hid my stink face and flashed my dad a smile.
"I figure it's about time, no?"
He looked at me with a smile. It looked different, more detailed and wrinkled because of the laundry room's lighting... which was just a lightbulb that you illuminated by pulling on a string.