So You Had a Bad Day (open)

As Owen marched himself through Green Ridge, muttering a private string of curses to himself, he pondered how fate could be so cruel. She was known to be a spiteful old tart but really, this was just beyond her usual treachery. She had been taunting him with a washing machine on the fritz for weeks but each time the old thing managed to see the load through to the end and a careful inspection of his clothing proved that it had done the task it was created to do. His clothing was clean and therefore he could go about the rest of his afternoon. In the back of his mind he knew that he should call the repair man but it could wait another day. After all, it hadn’t broken officially yet and Owen had to remind himself that people in control of their impulses didn’t rush out to fix something that might break. Or did they? Was it okay to fix a washing machine because it was making funny noises? He wasn’t sure. After all, Owen was mostly better. Honest. So he didn’t need to have everything working at full capacity and spotless.

But of course fate would play her game cause his washing machine to break on his regular laundry day, leaving him with a mountain of unwashed clothes. Owen’s schedule allowed him to wash clothing twice a week as need and he wasn’t allowed to wash less than a medium sized load. The exception to this rule was if there was something he needed to have clean for a special occasions. Then and only then could the cycle be broken. Owen had gone a full seven days without running the washing machine and today of all days was the fated one that caused it to shut off and refuse to turn back on. Logic suggested that he call the repair man right then but…he couldn’t have someone come to the house with all this dirty laundry everywhere. It…it wasn’t right. He couldn’t do it. But then again how could he clean his clothing without a washing machine? Hand wash? Not everything. It wouldn’t get all the dirt and sweat out. Owen had spent the better part of an hour pacing his apartment, trying to decide on what to do about his clothing. The only option…disgusted him. However, it needed to be done. If he was going to have someone over to fix his washing machine he’d have to get everything cleaned. That meant laundry. That meant Laundromat.

Stepping into The Soapbox Laundromat Owen immediately questioned his ability to do this. His eyes did a quick sweep of the facility from his spot in the door and it set his teeth on edge. He could see the dirt in the corners and he knew those tables weren’t properly sanitized. How could he be expected to put his clean clothing on counter tops that were caked in an invisible layer of God only knows what? Owen reminded himself of why he was here and after a few soft, forced breaths he continued into the Laundromat, his bag of clothing over his shoulder. He made his way through until he found the machine that looked the most sanitary and set his bag down, dropping the coins into the slot and then set to work sorting his clothes into whites, darks, colors, and then the obnoxious greys. Owen took the most time debating over whether the greys went with the darks, whites, or colors. Some of them had color on them but were lighter in shade. Did that make them whites? And what about those closer to the charcoal side? Reason said they belonged with blacks or could they be a category all their own? Most guys he knew laughed when he got this obsessive about his laundry but when they come in bitching about their colors bleeding Owen is the one laughing.

Finally his clothing was sorted and he started with the whites, the other two piles set aside nicely. He found another machine that would pass for clean and he started the darks before taking a seat and waiting. As he did his eyes once again began to wander the building. It was…dirty. It needed a good cleaning. He could see the attendant in the office using the computer but most places got annoyed with him when he went ahead and cleaned up their work space. So he sat in the chair, trying to not look as uncomfortable as he felt. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his fingers twisting over and over. Owen wanted to get up and begin dusting but no, he was better. He didn’t need to clean everything all the time.

For most of her laundry, Christiana could use the washer and dryer in her townhouse, but today she had run into two problems. In the first place, she had an unusually large volume of laundry and a relatively brief period of time available in which to do it. It wouldn't have been so urgent if it hadn't been for the reason she had so much laundry--King had gotten upset at her for being gone all day and had peed all over her bed, on which she had been neatly folding her already-clean laundry. That, plus the usual dirty clothes she had accumulated over the week, meant she had quite a lot to wash. Second of all, one of the soiled items was her soft blue comforter, and the washing machine in her house was a top-loading machine. A classmate of hers had nearly burnt the college down her sophomore year trying to wash a comforter in a top-loading machine. Apparently that was common. Christiana wasn't going to risk it. Therefore, the bright and glorious afternoon, her one day off, found her pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with laundry to the Soapbox Laundromat.

She was no stranger to laundromats. After all, she had lived in apartments and military housing most of her life. Really, having a laundry machine in her own house was a luxury she wasn't accustomed to, so she had a feeling she'd probably be here a lot, just for the comfort it brought her. At any rate, she selected a row of front-loading washing machines and began shoving in her laundry into it. It was probably really bad that she didn't sort out her whites and colors, but she had only once had anything bleed in the laundry, and that was a newly-tie-dyed shirt that she hadn't washed the excess dye out of first. And yeah, okay, once her new blue jeans had turned a pair of her white underwear sky-blue, but she was a realist. No one was going to see it but her. And her work uniform was all-black. Okay, yes, that was the only thing she washed separately, but that was because she sometimes got things on it that she didn't want on the rest of her clothes. Anyway, she gave her sheets and comforter a washer to themselves, loaded two other washers with two other bundles of laundry, put coins and detergent in all of them, and started them swishing. Satisfied with a job well done, she pulled out her paperback book and headed for the chairs.

There was one other patron, a man sitting a little awkwardly, twisting his fingers and looking around the room. Christiana figured him for a married man or a recent widow, at the laundromat for the first time and hoping nobody would spot him doing something so domestic. She took a seat one chair over, leaving a little space in case he didn't want someone sitting too close (or in case his wife walked in and was the jealous type). Propping her left foot on her right knee, she set the book on her leg and turned to the man with a bright but sympathetic smile. "First time here?" she asked. Okay, so maybe it wasn't the most original statement in the world, but it was as good an opening line as anything.

When he’d entered the Laundromat it had been blessedly free of people. This meant no prying eyes to judging stares. Most that lived on the island knew him and not just because he worked at the only bookstore either. Owen’s years at St. Christina’s colored the opinion of many of the locals and they weren’t really willing to give him the time of day let alone a cup of coffee or a friendly conversation. For the most part, especially when he first moved to town, he was okay with a majority of the population not speaking to him. They wouldn’t be asking all sorts of questions this way. He could go about his day and they would leave him alone. Perhaps at first they didn’t realize he was out and not just in town for the afternoon. As time went on and people began to pick up on the fact that he wasn’t returning that it got to be a problem. They wanted to know how he was doing, if he was adjusting okay, and if he needed any help. Most people would think those asking these questions were just trying to be helpful but Owen knew better. They all wanted to gauge his level of crazy and if he was going to go Texas Chainsaw Massacre on any of them any time soon. Owen had toyed with being a dick about these questions, coming back with talk of how the hallucinations weren’t as vivid as they once were but the cats were still following him. However, if he played around too it might get back to the wrong people and he would once again be on the inside looking out.

So Owen just smiled and nodded when people talked to him. They were all thinking the same things. ‘Who let that one out?’ Owen had done his best while at St. Christina’s. He’d gotten a lot better and in his opinion, and the opinion of his therapist, he was able to function in “society” again. Not that Greend Ridge was society or anything. It was a tiny little town that had no life to it what so ever. Everyone here worked in the facility or in the shops owned by the facility and they just went on day to day, slowing going insane from cabin fever. Could you get cabin fever on an island? He felt like he was going stir crazy just in the apartment. At first living on the island had been liberating. Owen had actual space to live. Despite its size Green Ridge felt like the state of California, it seemed like it went on forever. Now, after another three years, he thought he might lose it again. He was still under watch, meaning he couldn’t leave the island without an escort. Owen…didn’t really know if he wanted to leave or not. He got better here. Would he get worse if he left?

The sudden rush of air over him told him the door had opened and he caught the movement of the blond woman out of the corner of his eyes. He spared her a glance, not wanting to stare, before his eyes returned to his hands. When he was sure she wasn’t looking, to took another look ,and realized he did not recognize her. Was she knew? Oh heavenly Jesus, new people. It was like Christmas and his birthday on the same day. Owen beat down the excitement and kept a mostly straight face when she sat one seat away. It was even harder to contain his child like glee when she spoke to him. He’d been trying to come up with a good opening line but everything sound stupid or crazy. She seemed to be better at the whole conversation thing than he. “Uh, yeah.” He looked to her, smiling a little. “My machine’s broken and I…couldn’t get someone out right away to get it fixed.” That’s it Owen, lie to her. She didn’t need to know that you couldn’t call someone because you couldn’t have a dirty house with someone there. “I was hoping it wasn’t so obvious. What about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Don’t choke.

Christiana wasn't particularly concerned with life on Green Ridge. She worked at St. Christina's, for crying out loud--mental patients didn't bother her. In fact, between the military and Hadley, she had developed the theory that the ones you really had to watch out for were the ones who seemed perfectly sane. Far from turning her away, she may have even been more inclined to like the man she was now talking with if she had known he was a former inmate. As it was, however, she remained ignorant of that particular piece of knowledge and saw him as just a charming, slightly lost man, somewhat out of his element but doing his best.

He sort of smiled at her as he explained his discomfort. It was kind of a nice smile. She smiled in response and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. "It's not my first time in a laundromat, but it's my first time at this one. I just came to the island about a week ago with the group from Hadley--you know, to keep an eye on the kids." As the words left her mouth, it occurred to her that perhaps not all of the residents of Green Ridge knew what Hadley was, or even that the students were coming, so she tried to explain. "I don't know if you've heard of it--it was an institute for troubled teens in New York. The owners died and GR Biotech bought the place out...they relocated all the kids and any staffers who so chose here. I came with them."

She pushed back that stubborn strand of hair again. Her bangs were growing out and they were just long enough that they got in her way if she left them down, but just short enough that they tended to slip off of her ears. The fact that it was baby-fine didn't help matters. She was about to ask another question when something suddenly occurred to her. "Oh! My manners, I'm so sorry. It's been a while since I've met anyone in a social setting." She held out her hand. "I'm Christiana Keeble. I'm a security officer at St. Christina's."

She was probably going to be here for the rest of her life, not that she minded. It would probably be a good thing to make a friend or two, and the sooner, the better.

Owen knew well that the “sane” ones needed to be watched carefully but the crazies were just as bad. People in general were unpredictable. You always think you know someone until they throw some whacky, off the wall thing at you and suddenly life it turned upside down. Owen had seen “perfectly sane” people snap and he’d seen people who were gibbering in the corner about alien and Jesus walk out of the facility with their heads held high. No one was sane, really. Everyone had a few screws loose at least. The difference between someone like him and say, the doctors who sat across from you and asked you how you feel was that Owen’s was a lot harder to hide. They caught him. Many went through life with their crazy carefully concealed. He hadn’t been so lucky. Owen’s crazy came out all over the place but that was behind him. He wouldn’t call himself sane now for he knew he was far from it but his crazy was manageable. Before he’d been a wreck but he could get through a day without having to organize and clean. Before that had been an impossible feat. Before, Owen probably would have had a meltdown when his washing machine broke. The very idea of sitting in a Laundromat as he was now would have been maddening. However, here he was, talking with a rather attractive blond. Oh, how things had changed.

When she began to explain a sort of blankness took over his features before he shook his head slowly, now looking in deep thought. “Can’t say that I’ve heard of it. I’ve been on Green Ridge for some time and I don’t get to the main land often.” He actually hadn’t been to the main land in about fifteen years, come to think of it. He couldn’t really say that he missed the insanity of cities but a visit might be nice in the future. That is, if they’d let him leave. “But you’re working at St. Christina’s?” Owen was trying to not show the fact that he was sweating it under the collar. Damn it. Of course she’d be working there. Ninety percent of the people on this island were employed in that damn building. If she had the clearance she could easily pop down to the records room and thumb through until she found the files labeled Mcdowell, Owen. She could read all about how he was admitted and that they’d released him because he was no longer a danger to himself and those around him. Would it put her off? It was highly likely. Most who knew his past were put off by him.

When it occurred to her that introductions had been skipped and she introduced herself Owen smiled more, coming to the same realization. He laughed a little at her reaction and waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just as out of practice. Owen Mcdowell. I run the book store in town.” He shook her hand and then returned his to his lap, eyes sweeping the washing machines that he’d set up for himself. “You know, you never realize how long laundry takes until you actually have to sit and wait. Normally you forget you’ve put the load and find it hours later.” Well, Owen didn’t but she didn’t need to know that. He’d rather she think he was normal and not the type to set his watch to when the machine would be done.

Christiana glanced at the clock on the wall. Silently, she congratulated herself--she'd been awake for ten hours and she'd only had two cigarettes--one right after she'd woken up and one on her walk to work. Slowly, oh so slowly, she was breaking herself of her addiction. King was helping, but she thought the biggest help might have been that she was in a new place. Somehow, Green Ridge didn't seem to be the sort of place one smoked heavily. The song "She Only Smokes When She Drinks" floated through her mind and she resolved to make that her motto. By the end of the year, she would only ever smoke if she were in a tavern having a drink. Then again, she realized, the fact that she was having these thoughts at all was a pretty clear indication that she was still hooked. She wasn't smoking at the moment, but the absence of tobacco was currently occupying what of her thoughts wasn't focusing on her conversation with the not-unnatractive man beside her. Granted, that was not an exceptionally large part of her thoughts, but still...

She smiled a little at his query. "Yeah, I'm up at St. Christina's making sure the kids don't kill each other--well," she amended, "I guess I have to make sure the adults don't kill each other either, but...I'm just more used to working with kids. I think that's where I'm going to spend most of my work time if I can swing it. I had enough stopping adults from doing damage to one another when I was in the Marines." She had spoken without thinking, not really paying attention to what she was saying. "Besides, I know most of the kids, and I like them." She didn't add that she also knew one of the "kids" was going to be moving to the adult facility shortly and she was, not to put too fine a point on it, going to be rather glad to see the back of him.

He laughed as he introduced himself. It was a nice laugh, and he had a nice smile to go with it. Christiana smiled in return. "Nice to meet you, Owen. I'll definitely have to stop by your bookstore some time. I'm running low on reading material." It wasn't like she didn't reread everything six zillion times, but at least going to his bookstore would be an excuse to see him again. She couldn't believe she was already looking for another excuse...

A rueful laugh escaped her at Owen's next comment. "Boy, I wish I could be that casual about my laundry. But this is the first place I've been where I didn't have to use communal washers and dryers. I've lived in apartments and dorm rooms and military housing since I was born...I'm so used to having to do everything on a tight schedule lest I lose my laundry that I can't break myself of the habit. I usually bring a book with me and sit near the machines until they're done." She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I guess it's just one of my personal quirks."

Owen’s silent congratulation to himself was a bit different from Christina’s but he was no less proud of himself. He hadn’t flipped out and run screaming from the building yet. Likewise, he hadn’t gotten up and stolen the cleaning supplies from the kid in the office to give the place a good scrub down. Oh, but the compulsion was strong. Some days were better than others and Owen didn’t feel the need to scrub until his fingers bled. Today was not one of them. Owen should have known better than to go out today. He’d cleaned his house this morning and so the impulse was still there. He was still in cleaning mode hence his need to do laundry. It would have been fine if the damn machine hadn’t broken, making it necessary to go out if he wanted to get everything done today. Owen’s routine didn’t allow him to clean every day but he’d been on a roll this morning and didn’t even realize he’d broken pattern to keep going. He would not be mentioning this to any therapist. They’d lock him back up if they knew he’d compulsively cleaned his entire house. Although, they may be proud of him to learn that he’d done his dirty laundry in public without losing his shit on someone or a machine. So, maybe he’d tell them that he’d gone out because his machine broke. That would be enough. They didn’t need the bit about the disinfecting the house.

Christina was certainly making it easier to keep himself under control. He didn’t want her to see his crazy so he had to behave. In fact the longer they talked the less he focused on the dirt collecting in the corners, the smudges on the glass, the grit building on washing machines, the dust on the shelves, the clumps of hair knotted by the drains, the lint traps overflowing, and the soap build up where people left leaky bottles of detergent. All of it was going right out of his mind as he watched the blonde beside him. The surprise on his face could not be hidden when she went on about herself and mentioned the marines. Holy… “Wait…The Marines? As in, the branch of a military?” At first there was some disbelief. He would have never guessed that someone so…attractive…was one of those meaty jar heads. Then again, he’d only ever envisioned huge men with muscles for miles being in the Marines. Then that disbelief turned to looking rather impressed. “Wow. All I’ve ever done is mindless office work.” …among other things.

He really, really hoped he wasn’t making an idiot of himself talking with her. She didn’t seem put off by his silly comments or dorky smile or anything of the sort. He just needed to keep it together and maybe he’d actually find a friend that didn’t look down on him. He knew most did, what with his history on the island. Owen wanted all of that to go away but he knew it wouldn’t if he stayed here. It was also only a matter of time before someone passed it around that he was technically an outpatient and Christina found out. Oh well, he’d deal with that when it came up. “Well, you’re welcome any time. We’re open nine to six every day except Sunday. Gotta have at least one day off.” Owen was there most days, usually in the mornings. The hired hands took care of later things and allowed him to breathe once and a while.

She sat around and waited for her laundry? Wow. Owen couldn’t believe it. He could feel the nerves creeping up again. Shit. Should he come clean? No, then she’d think he was a liar. Fuckity fuck. “I usually run around doing other things.” Partially true. “Now I’m curious. What other quirks do you have?”

Christiana blushed. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by her service in the Marines--far from it. It was just that people tended to think of the Marines as being incredibly butch, and female Marines tended to be stereotyped as lesbians. Christiana was neither. She was actually quite feminine, incredibly maternal, and definitely straight. She didn't like giving people the wrong impression about herself, but she wasn't going to hide who she was. "Yeah...I joined the Marines right out of college. I was an officer, but I never saw combat or anything. Actually, I spent most of my career with the Military Police. I was the officer in charge of one of the cell blocks in the Ivory Coast." She'd been rare among the new recruits around the time she'd joined--she hadn't wanted to go to Iraq or Afghanistan. Most of the people in her class at OCS had joined because of September 11, all of them dreaming they would be the ones to eventually single-handedly defeat Osama Bin Laden. She found it somewhat funny that it hadn't been the Marines, but the Navy SEALs, who had been the ones to get him in the end. The Marine/Navy rivalry was friendlier than the Army/Navy one, but it was still enough that she knew several of her fellow soldiers who were rather bitter that they hadn't been given a shot, no pun intended.

She tilted her head slightly and smiled at Owen. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. She was beginning to look forward to having at least one friend on the island who wasn't a coworker--someone with whom she could talk outside of work and escape the pressures of St. Christina's for a while. "I'll be by for certain, then. My schedule can be a bit odd, but if nothing else I'll stop by on my lunch break some time next week or so." She hoped she didn't sound pushy or overeager, but she really did want to get some more books to read--and she did want to see Owen again.

A silvery laugh escaped her throat at his question about what other quirks she had. "Golly, I almost don't know where to start. I don't believe in dog-earing the pages of my books. I iron all of my laundry--and I do mean all of it. I re-organize my bookshelves about once a month and rotate between sorting by genre, author, and date of publication." God, this was embarrassing, but she kept going. "Um, I always finish one part of my meal before I start on the next part--you know, I eat all my meat, then all my peas, then all my whatever. I don't put my dog's collar on him unless I'm taking him outside. And I'd rather listen to vinyl records than CDs." She grinned a little ruefully. "I know it's all kind of weird, but there you go...what about you? What other things do you do while you're waiting for your laundry?"