Part II: Nettles
Supposing time produced echoes and reverberations, life should be less unpredictable and more controllable. Supposing time produced echoes and reverberations, would an event have a tendency to repeat itself? Will another be a phantom of what it once was? Life is a cycle; it was something beyond mere dialectics. Some people certainly believed in the veracity of those ideas.
But not Lisa Cuddy.
Lisa Cuddy certainly did not think that life could be as simple as that. To think that life would be reduced to something so malleable and understandable; that was just impossible. She would like to think of life as a struggle. You had to take it by its horns, but you could never try to tame it. She also believed that life was linear. And so, there would always be An End. Mobility was possible and so was change, and therefore, so was success.
She was a creature of goals and expectations. She was also a creature of purpose. Lisa Cuddy would like to believe that she would always get whatever it is that she wanted. Maybe that was the reason why he told her that she had a chip on her shoulder. She certainly remembered him, the guy from the bookstore. He sized her up so quickly that day that she didn't even have time to react. It wasn't just humiliation that she had experienced. To be exposed—to be defenseless as she was at that particular instant was unsettling.
Ever since that incident, she had been resolute that she was going to track him down. She didn't think she was being a masochist. He only piqued her interest. And really, she was not a stalker. She just wanted to know who he was and what he was majoring in. And quite possibly, the classes he would be taking. And where he lived on campus (that surely was evident now). If he was as brilliant as he was arrogant.
And now he was here. With her. Teaching her how to properly wash her clothes.
Tch. She heard a click of the tongue. "You clearly don't know how to do your laundry. Everybody knows that whites and coloreds should be done separately. Wait. That didn't sound right." To his dismay, she just ignored him.
"You know, you really should take care of these babies," he delicately lifted a brassiere from its straps and held it up for inspection. Lisa felt her cheeks flush. It was one of her best ones. "I mean, seriously. You don't want them to get ruined. Wash these," he pointed to her undergarments, "by hand. They'll be all floppy and useless if they get washed and dried. Huh. That sounded like fruit. Let me rephrase that. If they get machine-washed then tumble-dried. You get where I'm going with this?"
"Funny that I'm getting some advice from a guy who looks like he hasn't even taken a shower in two days." He looked clean enough and handsome enough, but she would never admit it to him out loud. He was a bit on the lanky side, though. The disheveled look certainly suited him, and he had the bluesteyes. That genetic mutation looked so good on him.
"Washing my clothes and washing myself are two completely different things. Speaking of washing myself, I know how you can put those hands into practice—"
"And here I was, thinking that there was going to be some sort of lecture on how to get my undergarments clean," she quipped. She was inspecting which dryers to use before she even started, or he did, for that matter. She would always be looking ahead, preparing herself for what was to come. "I knew you'd tell a dirty joke sooner or later."
"I could go all day—if you know what I mean." He winked for emphasis just as she turned around to face him. He leaned back on the washing machine and tucked his hands inside the pockets of his well-worn jeans. "How old are you anyway?"
She was caught off guard by his question. She didn't get the logic of his train of thought. Was he propositioning her? Did she look that young? More importantly, did she look inexperienced? It was odd that she was already thinking of sex. "Old enough," she remarked, playing it coolly and casually. If he only knew. Old enough? She could've scoffed. She was definitely old enough to sleep with her father's best friend. She felt her stomach churn.
"I just don't want to be charged with statutory rape for—"
Rape. Statutory rape. He didn't know it (as she'd like to think so), but he hit a nerve. "What makes you think that I'll sleep with you?" she asked him, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. Still, she thought, it was a mutual decision between two consenting adults.
"Well, you slept with Campbell, as your shirt says. And since I've had my fingers in your underwear already…" he trailed off. She genuinely chuckled at his remark, relieved that his wry humor was driving away the waves of acid from her viscera. She knew that she needed to relax. "By the way, great biology reference. I slept with Campbell too, you know. He's such a whore." She realized that he was probably in med school. Was she supposed to be impressed?
"Don't tell me," she played along, "He slept with your entire class."
"Ha. That was good." He gave her a smirk of approval. "For an undergrad. Let me guess: you're a Bio major"
"Huh. Thanks. And I'm a Biochem major." It was her turn to confirm her suspicions. "For someone who's going to be a doctor, you don't seem to have a stick up your ass." On that note, she lifted herself up to take a seat on top of a dryer once again.
He laughed again. "And you're pre-med, which means you'll have one up yours. If you don't already have one there yet." That earned him a glare, but he didn't mind. "You know, most of the tags on your clothes have labels on them, Lisa Cuddy."
She knew that she probably looked flustered. She pursed her lips and clutched at the edge of the dryer. "Don't worry. I just noticed when you were making me do the rest of your laundry. I think that it's very anal of you."
"Believe me. It wasn't my choice." And it definitely was not. It was her mother's.
Lisa Cuddy was prepared to kill her mother that very second. She thought of impaling her, but she opted not to go through with it. After all, her father (whom she loved) was quite fond of her mother (whom she at least respected). She didn't want to hurt his feelings for her own sake. But her mother, for some strange reason, worried about her losing her clothes that she insisted on labeling her tops and bottoms with a permanent marker. Frankly, she wouldn't have been surprised if her school address and her permanent one would be written along with her name. Her mother worried so much about her clothes that she even gave Lisa laundry allowance to get her clothing professionally washed, pressed, and folded. But she didn't bother. Not that her mother needed to know that.
It was a good thing he changed the subject quickly. She hoped that her clothes-labeling and her powerlessness in the matter didn't diminish Bookstore Guy's image of her being Old Enough. "You just gonna sit on top of a dryer all afternoon and refuse to help me with your laundry?" he stretched, beginning to feel antsy.
"I appreciate your skills in pedagogy. I'm sure I'll be able to do my laundry myself the next time I come here."
"You sure? 'Cause I'm hungry and I'm thirsty. Of course, you'll be paying. You know…Labor and all." He was thinking of a hot dog, some Cheetos, and a milk shake or a grape soda. And some gum, in case he'd be compelled to kiss her.
"Fine. You'll get your precious wages from me." She never would have thought of her statement as prophetic. Still, the world had it all figured out. And time would be proof of that through the echoes and reverberations. Things will come and things will be.
The ceiling fans buzzed and the lights hummed in the Laundromat as they left. The nearest snack establishment would be the 7 Eleven Lisa Cuddy entered an hour ago, exchanging her dollars for coins. An hour later, she was going back there with someone whose name she didn't even know.
"Lisa Cuddy, aren't you even going to ask me what my name is?"
"Aren't you ever going to stop calling me 'Lisa Cuddy'?"
"Sure. Now ask me what my name is."
She looked at him curiously for a moment before saying anything. "Never."
It was then that a young Gregory House knew that he might have found the perfect girl for himself.
