Your Hand In Mine

"Are those all your dirty clothes?" I asked my best friend, pointing to a huge pile in the middle of her floor.

"Yep. Ryan didn't really have time to do any the week before the wedding, and let's face it, who does laundry on their honeymoon?"

"Not you guys, apparently," I replied, still amazed at how tan she had gotten while they were in Bora Bora.

"Shut up," she laughed. "Just tell me how to do this since you insist on teaching me," she said, hands on her hips.

"Okay. Well, first you separate them into three piles--whites, brights, and darks," I began, talking to her like she was four. She glared at me then bent down and started separating their clothes into piles but became stumped when she picked up one of Ryan's grey t-shirts.

"What pile does this go in?" she asked, holding it up so I could see.

"Darks," I told her before walking into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"To get some pop. You want some?"

"Sure. What is there?" Was she serious? She was the one who lived here, not me.

I opened up the fridge and started moving things around, searching for a can of something carbonated. "Uh. There's 7Up and..," I drifted as I looked for something other than 7UP to drink, but there wasn't anything. "7UP. Take your pick."

"Water," she answered. Of course, she would say something like that. She was always so difficult.

"Hey, do I stick jeans with the darks?" she questioned once she saw me walk back into the room with a glass of water and 7UP.

"I guess you could, but I normally put all my jeans and stuff into one pile," I informed her as I cracked open the can, watching her finish dividing her clothes. "If I were you, I'd check the pockets. You find money in there, sometimes. Other times you pull out a piece of gum. That shit's a bitch to get out of your pockets once you've washed it."

"Right," she said, and I saw her turning the pockets inside out. "There was nothing in them. Now what?"

"Put a pile in that basket and drag it into the laundry room." She did as I instructed and then asked me what was next. "Grab the detergent,and pour it into the cap until it hits the line."

"There's like, eight different bottles. That's too many to choose from. Which one do I use?" she asked me, completely clueless.

I pushed her aside and turned the bottles around so I could read them. "Gain. Island Fresh smells the best, but Fresh Awakenings will have to do."

"Hey," she said, her hands up in the air. "I don't pick it. Ryan does."

"You don't have control over the type of detergent he picks? Holy cow. That's a first," I said, sort of pretending to be shocked.

"Fuck you, babe," she grinned before measuring out the Snuggle.

"Now dump it in the washer, and push the 'warm' button and '30 minutes', after you shut the door. And then you're done. It wasn't that bad, was it? The dryer's pretty simple, I think you can figure that out on your own."

"Yeah," she started as she scratched the back of her head. "Could you maybe write all this down for me?"

"Uh huh, as soon as I put this on your calendar."

"I don't own a calendar," she said.

"Then hand me your phone," I told her as I stuck out my hand. I typed in 'The First Day I Ever Did Laundry' on today's date--July twenty-fourth. "There," I said, giving her back her phone.

"I think we should celebrate," she smiled.

"White Chicks?"

"Meet the Fuckers," she argued.

"It's Fockers, dumbass."

"No, shit," Lexa told me as she rolled her eyes.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors? Or Thumb War?" I asked.

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Rock, Paper, Scissors," Lex pouted.

Long story short, she won best two out of three.

"I can't believe you beat me. That never happens," I told her.

"Tell me about it."

I hopped off the couch and turned to face her. "You find Meet the Fockers, and I'll go find the Cheetos and Ranch. You do have them, right?" I said.

"What do you think?" she asked me. "Of course, I have them. Those are about the only things I always have, besides condoms," she stated, laughing a bit.

"Okay, gross. I don't want to know about your sex life," I told her, a disgusted look on my face, before walking away from her and grabbing the bag of Cheetos, bottle of ranch, and a bowl then jumped back on the couch.

"He's really good in bed. You should have been there on our honeymoon. My God, that was amazing," she told me.

"I think I might barf."

"No, babe. You're mistaking that feeling for jealousy," she joked as she grabbed the bag of Cheetos from my hands. "We haven't eaten these in so long."

"I know. I miss movie nights at my house," I frowned, thinking back to all the nights we spent on my couch watching movies until five in the morning with our Ranch dressing and bag of Cheetos. "I wish we were kids again," I said, opening up the bag.

She looked at me for a moment before shaking her head. "Nah, I don't wish I was a kid again. I just wish some things never changed." Like how you turned into a bitch as the years went by? That was the first thing I thought of when the words left her mouth. Sure, she was almost always a bitch, but she was my best friend. She wasn't always like that, though. She started morphing into that as soon as middle school started. Her attitude and the way she saw the world changed enough to notice, but not enough to throw our friendship away. And I suppose that we could've stopped being friends a long time ago, but we didn't. I guess, it was because I never really saw her as a bitch, just the girl that was always by my side. And she might be a little too self-centered and say what's on her mind, even if it seems rude, but when I looked back, I couldn't imagine my life without her. I didn't know what I would do if we weren't friends anymore, either.

"Yeah..," I agreed, dipping my Cheeto into the Ranch.

One hundred and fifteen minutes later the movie was over, and we were still laughing about our favorite lines.

"You fockerized them!" she shouted, pointing a finger at me.

I gave her a shrug. "If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down."

"Remember when we tried to live by that rule, and your mom freaked out and called the plumber?" she laughed.

"Yeah. He looked at her like she was nuts and told her that the problem was that nobody flushed the toilet," I said, letting out a laugh of my own. "I saw my first true plumber's crack that day. And I really hope that it was my last," I cringed.

"Nasty. Crack's illegal, you know."

"You probably got that from a cereal box," I guessed, standing up and stretching as I tried to find my phone.

"Where are you going?" she questioned.

"I think I left my oven on," I replied, slipping on my flip flops.

"You're kidding me, right?" she chuckled. "I mean, we just started movie night. Come on, just a little bit longer," she whined. "I thought we were celebrating!"

"Oh, get over yourself, babe," I smirked at her.

She gave me the middle finger, and I returned it as I walked out her door.

"Call me later!" I heard her yell through the door. I just kept on making my way towards my car.

I was back at my apartment ten minutes later, and thankfully, my oven wasn't on. For no reason in particular, I made brownies before I went to Lexa's. I just felt like making them, I guess. I burnt them, though, so I had to throw them away.

Looking at the clock, I smiled as I went to find my iPod. The sun was setting in about forty-five minutes, and it wouldn't be completely dark until about twenty minutes after that. Once I found the little square that held all of my music, I picked a song, sticking my headphones in my ears as I left my apartment and started walking, going wherever my feet took me.