Chapter Four

Dylan must discover if "love at first sight" is a reality, or if it's just something in the story books.

Chapter 4

 

When we’d gotten home that night, it was just after 11:00pm. I helped Owen unpack, we ordered some Chinese food, and we sat around and laughed until 5:00am. That whole night, he smoked two cigarettes, which he bought at a convenience store around the corner. I wanted to ask him if I could try it again, but I didn’t. I remembered that feeling of throwing up in the sink. Instead, we pulled the batteries out of the smoke detectors and lit a few papers on fire, putting them out in the sink.

Owen and I were attending the same college, which were a few blocks away from us. We were taking an English 101 and a Math B course together. I was surprised when Owen told me that he’d had a job already. I hadn’t even started working yet. Owen applied to work at a sub shop at the age of seventeen, and has worked there since. He doesn’t make much money, but it was enough spending money for himself when he lived with his parents.

The talk of getting a job made me realize that I was going to have to get one, if I was going to stay in the city. The rent on our apartment was $1,000 a month and my parents had agreed to pay the first two months. After that point, I’d be cut off. Of course, we had Owen’s parents to fall back on, but Owen didn’t seem to want his mother or his father’s money.

“What do you think would be a good job for me?” I asked him.

“A prostitute,” He told me.

“No, seriously,” I replied with a bit of a laugh in my voice.

“Hmm,” He hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you look for a paid internship around town; maybe at a law office or a PR firm?”

The idea struck me hard, “I’ll have to think about that.”

Later that night, at about 2 am, it dawned on us that we needed to go to the grocery store. We had no food or drinks within reach. Owen had to get up and drink out of the tap while the water was running.

As I studied in New York, I realized that after 2am, you get to know things about people that they wouldn’t tell you at 2pm. Sometimes this worked to your advantage…and sometimes you ended up watching porn with Owen. We watched his DVD he brought from his parents house out of pure boredom. It was probably the first time I actually watched an entire porno all the way. The story lines were incredibly corny, and we laughed throughout the whole video. One thing I did learn was that Owen was heavily into blowjobs.  

After the porno, we watched a horror movie together that was on SYFY. Horror movies never really scared me, nor did they scare Owen. In fact, we were both laughing as hard as we could at the scary faces and the chopping off of another person’s head as it rolled on the ground and screamed in agony.

We watched that movie until 4:30am, at which point we finally gave in, left the apartment, walked two blocks, bought a 24 pack of bottled water (with the credit card my parents had given me), walked it back to the apartment, and placed it into the refrigerator. We were both so thirsty that we drank the waters warm. This was when the yawning came in, and since yawns are contagious, we kept passing them back and forth to each other. That was when we went to bed.

I went to bed that night wearing all the clothes I’d worn throughout the day " sneakers included. Hey- I’d been sleeping in a bed that Owen had sex in " a little dirt from the streets below couldn’t have made it any worse.

 

The next morning, I woke up at 10am.  I’d been sleeping on my side, and the blanket was pulled up to my mouth. I was feeling incredibly hot, because I’d gone to bed in my shoes. I’d always hated sleeping with socks on " they made me feel weird at night.

I could hear water running in the room next to me. Owen must’ve gotten up before I did and was taking a shower. When I sat up, the door that connected my room to the bathroom opened up. Owen peaked in. He was shirtless and covered in water. “Oh good, you’re up.” He laughed. “Did you pack any towels with you?”

“Yeah, just a second,” I rubbed my eye, and hopped out of bed. He closed the door as I pulled my suitcase out from under my bed. I’d only put one towel on the towel rack last night, and I’d used it to dry my hair. I pulled out a blue towel, knock on the door, and passed it to him. “Hurry it up in there, will ya!” I said through the door. “I’ve got to piss.”

“It’s all clear,” he shouted a few seconds later.

I walked into the bathroom, which was covered with steam from his shower. “We only get a certain amount of hot water a day, you know that, right?” I shouted.

“Oh s**t,” He said, “Sorry about that.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled as I began to urinate. As I peed, I noticed Owen’s ‘favorite’ jeans had been hanging on the towel rack. When I finished peeing, I immediately reached into the back pocket of the jeans " just to see if I could retrieve the letter, he’d taken furiously from my hands the night before. Sadly, the note was not in there.

I shrugged to myself for a moment, and turned around to wash my hands. Before I turned on the water, I noticed some burned paper sitting inside. These weren’t of the papers we burned last night, as we did it over the sink in the kitchen. Owen must’ve set the note he was hiding from me on fire.

I moved my hands through the charred remains. The handwriting was in cursive. I couldn’t make out much of the letter, except for a name " “Nichole” " and one other word.

Love

I cupped my hands together, and put the charred remains into the waste-paper-basket next to the sink, wondering who Nichole was, and if she wrote him the letter, or if he wrote her the letter. I was desperate to know what his story was. I would have to interrogate him on this matter later. For now, I would just have to wash my hands of it " using a soap bar from the soap dish in the shower, because there wasn’t a bar of soap near the sink.

 Owen walked into the bathroom, turning on the fan overhead so the steam wasn’t so intense. “When do you want to go to the Laundromat?” He asked, picking his jeans off the rack.

“After I get dressed,” I said, wiping my hands on my shirt.

“Oh, I thought you were already dressed.” He said.

“No, I slept in my clothes last night.”

“Geez, how bothered are you actually, to have slept in those sheets?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“Good,” He smiled, turning around. “That won’t be the first time your sheets get sullied.” He laughed, “You’ll get laid at some point.” He went back into his room and shut the door.

I locked his side of the door behind him so he wouldn’t come in while I was showering. I stripped naked, hanging my clothes on the towel rack, and showered. Owen hadn’t used all the hot water, so I was able to shower for fifteen minutes and process the last eighteen hours. I’d had so much fun, and I hadn’t even been in New York for a full 24 hours yet. If every day in New York were like yesterday " life would have been grand.

When I got out of the shower, I realized that I’d forgotten to bring a towel for myself. I rolled my eyes as I walked towards my bedroom. I opened my door to find Owen in my room " going through my suitcase. “Oh my god!” I shouted, rushing my hands to cover my dick. Owen turned around, and then looked back down at the suitcase. “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted. I crouched behind the doorjamb so the lower half of my body couldn’t be seen.

“It’s really not what it looks like,” Owen explained. “I’m looking for your fake I.D.”

I slapped my palm to my forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“I knew it, you didn’t have one.”

“Again, what?”

“There’s this new club opening tonight, and I really want to go " and I want you to go with me. You might meet some interesting people.” He said, closing my suitcase and placing it back underneath my bed. “It’s just 21+, and you’ll need a fake I.D. I was going to have one made for you.”

“Excuse me? A fake I.D. Isn’t that illegal?”

“Dylan,” Owen said, “You’ll find that everything I do in this city is illegal.” He laughed. “Now get dressed and have your driver’s license. I know a guy who can do this for you by tonight. You’ll be in!”

“Of course you know a guy.” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, you met him last night " remember Alonzo?” I laughed at that. Alonzo didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d make you a fake I.D.

When Owen left my room, I got dressed. I put on a pair of dark blue jeans, and red plaid shirt with the two pockets that Owen let me have. I tucked the front of the shirt into my jeans, so that my belt buckle would show. This was a style I’d worn constantly back home. Since the shirt was long sleeved, I rolled my sleeves up. I wore a fresh, new pair of socks.

I took my dirty clothes and threw them on top of my bed, which I bundled up into a ball by pulling each of the corners in towards the middle. When it was time to go to the Laundromat, I would pick up each of the four corners in the middle and carry it down there. Growing up, I found that turning your bed sheets into the form of a bag was a much more efficient way of bringing your dirty clothes to the laundry room.

I pulled my license out of wallet, and walked out of my bedroom. Owen was in the living room, watching Judge Judy. “Here you go,” I said, handing my license to him.

“Thanks,” Owen said. “Hey, I can go have this made right now, while you go to the Laundromat.”

“You want me to wash your clothes for you?” I gasped. Maybe he was using me, and the fact I’d just given him my license was a big mistake.

“Nah, I can do my own laundry.” He laughed. “It’ll take Alonzo an hour to make this up for me " assuming he’s not working right now, which I doubt. It’ll be no sweat.”

“Fine,” I complied.

“Great,” He said, standing up and heading for the door. “You’ve got your key, right?” He asked me. I stuck my hand into my front right pocket " it was there.

I nodded, saying, “You got yours?”

“Yup, see ya soon. And don’t worry " we’re going to have a great time tonight.” He laughed, walking out the door. I took a deep breath, flopping onto the couch. I stayed to finish the episode that Owen started of Judge Judy.

When the episode was over, I grabbed my laptop and looked for the nearest Laundromat. The closest one was two blocks away therefore I walked.

The people on the New York streets didn’t seem to care that I was carrying a big sack full of bed sheets down the street. Not one person on the streets seemed to acknowledge me, so I tried not to acknowledge them. I kept to myself, just thinking about the school year that was approaching. It was going to be my first year in college. I was majoring in Creative Writing with a minor in Economics.  I was most curious about the people I was going to meet. I don’t know what it was, but over night, it seemed like I’d smacked my inner introvert’s a*s, and suddenly my hidden extrovert took over.

I could dominate.

When I arrived at the Laundromat, I could see a hoard of people sitting around in their chairs, waiting for the clothes to be washed. I walked in, feeling instant humidity and smelling faint cigarette smoke. I looked around at all of the washer and dryers to find that none of them had been vacant. This Laundromat had been so blasé. Nobody was talking to each other, except for two separate pairs of friends who were about my age. There was a set of washers and dryers back to back in the middle of the Laundromat and against the wall there were some more washers and dryers atop each other. The whole place was a faded shade of yellow.

I took a seat next to a rotund Jamaican woman who wore a long, green, red, orange, and yellow colored dress and hat of the same colors. She smelled like men’s cologne. I’d wanted to throw up sitting next to her. It wasn’t as if I could get up and take another seat, because that would have been rude.

“Nice sack,” She said to me, with a sarcastic look in her eyes. Below her feet was a Martha Stewart brand laundry basket.

“Thanks,” I softly bit my tongue. That was the only exchange of words I’d made with her.

A girl with dirty blonde hair, who was sitting a few chairs down from me, stood up when one of the washers rang. She had long legs, and wore tan colored short shorts with a brown belt and a black tank top. Her brown sunglasses were folded and hanging off her shirt, from her cleavage. Her flip-flops clicked as she walked around the appliances in the center of the room, and to her washer, which was on the wall. When she walked by me, I caught a whiff of her strawberry scent. As she walked by, my palms got sweaty. I wiped the sweat off onto my jeans when she was away from me and at the dryer.

As she bent over and started putting her clothes into her basket, her white bra strap fell out from her tank top strap. This woman…I’d never seen anybody so attractive before.

When she closed her washer, and all the clothes were loaded into the dryer, she swayed her hair to the side of her head and headed back to her seat. As she walked back to her seat, I was able to see more of her face. It was about four seconds before I realized that she’d caught me observing her face. When her eyebrows rose at me " I turned my head away. I hated the fact that I was so coy. Why couldn’t I have made a facial gesture back at her? I’d have gotten somewhere, at least. All I could feel was my heart pounding against my rib cage.

I stood up, and used her washing machine. I probably looked like an idiot loading my bed sheets into the washing machine. I could feel my face get warm, so it gave me the impression that I was blushing, and the thought that I could’ve been blushing made me blush even more.

‘Be cool,’ I thought to myself, taking a deep breath. I could feel the warmth of my cheeks go away ever so slowly. I’d started loading my laundry in slowly, so she wouldn’t see my face. 

Christ " I haven’t even talked to her yet, and it was as if I’d been avoiding a long lost ex.

I spent the next hour in my chair, waiting for my laundry to finish. She sat a few seats down from me, but we didn’t speak. Over the next hour, the seats in between us seemed to become filled with less and less people. It was almost as though there was a sign that I should scoot over to her, but I didn’t. Instead, I remained in my seat and stared at my phone. I’d text my old friends from the suburbs, check my social networks " do all of those little things. I’ve found that since we entered the 21^st century, a cell phone is a great way to avoid looking awkward when in public. If you’re looking at your phone, people always assume you’re doing something important…even when you’re just pushing random buttons or swiping different directions.

Our buzzers on either of our machines buzzed at the same time. I continued to stay buried in my phone, while she got up and started loading her laundry back into her basket. I watched as she bent over. She had a nice a*s.

I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over to my machine, which was directly above hers. She was still unloading a bunch of socks by the time I got to my machine. “Hi there,” I said, sounding shy, “Uh, excuse me.”

“Yeah, sorry,” She replied. Her voice was soft, yet sounded much more mature than her approximate age. She backed up with caution as I opened my machine. When all of her clothes had been placed in her basket, she nodded at me and turned to leave the Laundromat. I took a deep breath, knowing that I’d let somebody cute get away.

As I loaded my laundry into her former dryer, I suddenly heard a man shout outside, “Watch where the f**k you’re going!”

I looked up, shutting the door to the dryer. From outside the window, I could see the girl with her laundry sprawled out on the sidewalk. Her clothes, which were once the white of a virgin, had now been spoiled by the city. A sense of nervousness came over me, and for a moment, I decided that I shouldn’t go out there and help her. I put my coins into the machine, and started it up. Once my machine had been started, I decided that this was my shot.

I ran out the door to aid the blond girl.

I knelt down, picking up a pair of her panties, which had faded strawberries on them. Maybe this was where her strawberry scent came from. “Did you lose these?” I said with a smile.

She snatched them from my hand, saying “Thank you,” with a laugh. We both came up to our feet. She looked at me as if she was just about to walk away. I knew I had to act quickly.

“I’m Dylan Price,” I stuck out my hand to shake hers.

“Oh,” She blinked, “I’m Charmane DuPont.” She stuck her free arm out and shook my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you,” She smiled, looked me in the eyes, and turned around. She put a tight grasp on her basket as she walked down the street confidently. I watched her as she walked. She didn’t turn around to look back until she reached the street corner, which she turned around. We locked eyes for a moment " and before I knew it, she was gone.

When she was gone, I’d felt like I’d just won the lottery.

Then I remembered: I never got her number.

Author's Note

This story is so far unedited, so please excuse the fact that this is my first draft. I'm trying to decide whether or not to scrap this story. I really want to know what you loved about these first four chapters, as well as what you absolutely hated or what didn't make any sense to you. I'd appreciate all of your feedback! Thank you so much!

Reviews

[Jamie Cook]

You're just getting New York down aren't you? That's exactly how it is. Hell, you could be dragging a dad body...well bad example cause people will notice, but still people are very to themselves I love walking down New York, cause you get a feeling of independence and that your on your own :3 Awesome job! And Darn! Dylan didn't get her number. I can't wait for more, this is gooooooooooood :D

[dw817]

⊰ℛℛ⊱
Reading this, yah, a job is a little like that. The boss wants to hire someone that can do the job, be happy with it, and earn as little as possible. It's a sad fact of life but years ago I learned the world ran on money. Today, I know a little bit more now.

The world runs on PROFIT. Everybody and everybody's grammama is all looking to squeeze that extra cent out of whatever they are doing. And the sooner you realize this, the better off job-hunting will appear to be.

It's when your boss knows that YOU know you can get something somewhere else for a better rate and better hours, THAT'S the reason he won't hire you. It's a numbers game and sad to say, employees are the lowest common denominator.

And - maybe I'm getting in at the wrong point. Why was the love note burned ?

[Cody]

Owen burned the note so that Dylan wouldn't read it. It's all for a reason which has yet to be announced in the novel. (:

[dw817]

Hmm, I'll have to find out then. Thanks for letting me know ! :7