"What do you mean by separate?"
"Like, by color." I'm sitting on a washing machine in the dormitory's laundry room, playing my Gameboy and watching Dutchy inconspicuously out of the corner of my eye. He's standing in the middle of this humongous mountain of laundry, looking utterly, horribly lost.
"By color? Like how?" Poor kid.
"Reds with reds, blues with blues, whites with whites, and so on and so forth."
"Oh." And he starts digging through the piles, tossing clothes about like a madman. Before long, though, he has some loads separated out. "Hey, Specs?"
"Yeah?" I respond, engrossed in old-school Wario. I will freaking beat this game, I swear.
"What about this one?"
I look up from my game, and he's holding up a light-pink, button-up shirt. Straight, my ass. This guy is about as straight as a hula hoop.
"Um, reds." He tosses it onto the pile.
"Okay, now what?"
"Now, you put the clothesin the washer."
"Um, Specs?"
"Yeah, Dutchy?" I'm a wee bit impatient.His curious little voice is adorable, but currently preventing me from leveling up.
He looks at me, wide-eyed and innocent. "Um... which one's the washer?"
I start laughing so hard I that actually fall off the washing machine. I lay (okay, more like roll)on the floor for a minute, cackling. "Are you... Are you serious? Please tell me you're joking. That's just too rich to be real," I say, as I try to regain my composure.
"You don't have to laugh at me," he pouts, looking seriously embarrassed. "I never had to do this before."
"How on earth did you survive for two years here without learning to do laundry?" Good Lord. This kid. He just totally boggles my mind.
He looks sheepishly at me. "I used a laundry service. My parents said they won't pay for it anymore, 'cuz it's impractical, or somethin'."
I stifle a laugh, and with great difficulty. "Okay. Well, we'll start from the beginning." Standing up, I walk over to the closest washing machine and tap the top of it. "This is the washer, and you can tell the difference because the majority of them load from the top, rather than from the front, like a dryer does." He nods. I pick up a load and put it into the washer, making sure he's watching. "After you put the clothes in the washer, turn on the water. For this load, since it's kinda in-between dark and light, we're gonna use warm water. Okay?"
"Okay. Um, what about the soap and stuff?"
I grin. "So you're not completely clueless." He shrugs and smiles a little. I measure out the detergent from the box, and show him the cup. "How much detergent you use depends on how big the load is. Most of the time you'll need this much, so just measure it to this little line here." I dump the detergent into the washer and close the lid. "And now we wait until it's done, and then we put it in the dryer. But that's a whole other story. You wanna try it with that load, in that washer over there?"
"I guess." Dutchy gathers a load and copies my actions, step by step. I have to remind him a couple of times, but basically he's got it. He slams the lid down on the washer, grinning in victory. "Good?"
"Good," I say. "Next week, we'll conquer the art of the vacuum."
"I hate you, Specs," he says with a laugh.
"I know."
Dutchy and I end up spending most of our Saturday in the laundry room, slowly but surely bridging the wide gap between Dutchy and clean clothing. It's pretty quiet for a weekend, but I'm not complaining. I'm happy to spend time alone with him, even if he is under the illusion that he likes chicks.
Speak of the devil. At that moment, a girl I vaguely recognize from one of my classes walks in with a basket of clothes. "Oh, hey, Dutchy," she says with a surprised little smile. Dutchy's head snaps up from his book and he smiles back, expertly hiding the look of mild discomfort that flashed over his face.
This girl is what I suppose one might call easy on the eyes (for a girl, anyway), not exceptionally pretty, but she definitely seems to hold his attention. I don't think I like her very much.
"Hey, Sarah," Dutchy says. There's an awkward silence hanging over the room for a moment as we all look at each other. "Oh, Sarah, this is Specs. Otherwise known as Dan Weinberg. He's, uh, Davey's roommate. Specs, this is Dave's sister, Sarah."
She smiles and nods in greeting, then turns her attention back to Dutchy. "Are we still on for tonight?" She asks this question so innocently, but I find myself suddenly wishing she would get run over by a steamroller in some freak construction accident.
"Oh, yeah," Dutchy nods and smiles, though I can see the complete disinterest in his eyes. "Um, Specs, we're goin' to a photography exhibition in the city tonight. You wanna go?" I'm pretty sure my stomach is somewhere down around my feet. Sarah tries to hide it, but she does not appear happy about this invitation.
"Um, no, thanks." I look around the room, trying to find a place to focus, anywhere but on him or Sarah. "Hey, I just remembered... I forgot that... thing... book... for English. In my room. I'll be back." I sprint out of the room like my ass is on fire and head up to my room.
Dutchy just invited me along on a date. With a girl. What is going on here? This is not okay!