[8]

Botched Again By The Laundry Man

Beautiful symphonies and the occasional snuffling were all that could be heard inside the SUV. Skipper scrolled through her phone, looking for makeup inspiration. There was a reason she hadn't done her face earlier, and now that Wade was out of the vehicle and they were in fact quite stationary, she figured it'd be a good time to finally attempt something new.

After all, Wade was in the laundromat and it would be awhile before he came out again. There was no way he could ruin her progress.

   Out came the makeup bag, down went the blanket. The visor came down as well, mirror cover flipped up to reveal her exhausted reflection peering back at her. Having something to do kept her mind off feeling nauseous, but just barely. Humming along to the soothing music, she fell into a serene rhythm of gently applying glittery silver eye shadow. 

Charles peeped between the front seats, his tongue searching as always. First it went into Wade's coffee, which caused Skipper to laugh smugly. She wouldn't snitch on the critter; Wade could find out on his own terms that an anteater had slobbered in his java. He deserved it for waking her up so early.

   Her laughter died the moment she realized Wade probably didn't even mind if Charles licked anything. 

   "Get back," she ordered the animal as his snout got a little too close to her makeup bag. Charles blinked his beady eyes and obeyed her, lying down in the backseat again. He was bored and wanted to explore, but that clearly wasn't happening anytime soon.

   While Skipper continued to do her makeup, pleased at the aversion of her furry nemesis, Wade sat staring at the drier as it swirled the garments around and around in a seemingly endless loop. A small television attached to the ceiling in one corner was playing a marathon of some once-popular teen sitcom, and some unlucky newlyweds were having troubles with the machine they were attempting to operate, but it all served as background noise to Wade. He hoped Skipper wasn't feeling too poorly. It would not be good to take the ferry to Mexico if she was sick. Would she even be allowed to cross the border, being ill?

   His fleeting thoughts were interrupted by the drier chiming the conclusion of its sequence. Pulling out the warm, dry clothes, he began to fold them neatly into two separate stacks.

   As he was folding laundry, Skipper was growing frustrated. She had made several attempts, wiping each off because she couldn't quite get the look right. No matter how many times she watched and rewatched the tutorials, it just didn't seem to be working. It looked so easy, and she was by no means an amateur, so what was the problem? Why was it so difficult?

   Taking a deep breath, she set her things down and allowed her eyes to wander. They settled on the bright red Happy Meal box just waiting there on the dash. The food was probably cold. Her stomach churned and twisted. 

   Without a second thought, she grabbed the box and began absently eating the nuggets. Her brain seemed to appreciate the sustenance, and after downing three of them she was ready to try her makeup again. Alternating between mindless consumption of cold fries and the careful application of eyeshadow, Skipper was truly lost in an element of her own and threw one of her crocs at Wade when he pressed his face against her window and waggled his eyebrows.

   "What the heck?!" she screamed at him. He just stood there laughing on the other side of the glass, protected from the wrath of her stupid shoes. He carried a bundle of laundry under each arm; one for her, one for him. These were brought to the trunk and sorted into their respective suitcases. Finally, he tentatively made his way to the front seat and got in. Skipper was glaring intensely at him, a hideous smear of makeup marring her face. "Why do you always have to ruin my makeup?"

   "I dunno," he countered with a careless shrug. "Why do you always overreact? You have makeup remover. Remove it."

   "That's not the problem," she grit her teeth.

   "Y'know, this seems to be a regular thing for you. I'm starting to doubt your makeup abilities. Maybe you just shouldn't wear it."

   "Don't tell me I shouldn't do anything I want! You have no right!" She felt like a volcano on the brink of eruption; in more ways than one. "Unlike you, I want to live a little before I die!"

   That silenced him. He seemed lost for words. Rendered entirely speechless, without a single snarky comeback to assault her ears with. He simply sat there staring at her for a good five minutes or so before getting out of his seat again. "I'm gonna take Charles out for a little stretch. You...go back to whatever it was you were doing before."

   She flipped him off, but when he was gone, she didn't feel very smug. Instead, she felt kind of sad. Maybe he wasn't trying to be rude? She didn't know what to think; everything felt wrong today and she couldn't wait for it to be over. Unfortunately, the day had only just begun. She hoped it would at least get better. Wiping the makeup off again, she put everything away and decided that for once, maybe he was right. Maybe she just wouldn't wear it today. 

   Taking out the travel journal, she jotted down some notes and marked the map a little more. It brought her comfort to see how much of the world she'd covered over the years traveling with her mother, and how much she still had left to explore. She hoped she'd at least make it to Italy this time.

   After all, it wasn't like she'd have a chance like this again.