Clay's Hope

Ten

For the rest of the weekend, Gabby studied, and I stayed glued to her side. She didn't talk about her call with Sam, and I kept quiet about the vet visit.

Monday, as soon as the house was empty, I left to roam the neighborhood. It was time to start acting like a human and gather some clothes for myself. A pair of socks pulled from a back porch, some worn and ratty boots pulled from a garage, a t-shirt pulled from a line. I picked things I knew weren't likely to be missed. The pants were harder, but I finally found a pair dangling from the branches of a barren tree. The tree belonged to one of the houses closer to campus, one that tended to blare music late into the night. I looked around and, hoping no one was watching, shifted my hands and limbs just enough to climb the tree. Pants in my mouth, I jogged home.

By Tuesday evening, I had a set of clothes. With clothes, I could shift into my skin and get a job. I had some mechanical knowledge, thanks to the books Gabby brought me. Now, I needed to figure out who would hire me. Since Gabby found a car by reading the paper, I decided I would spend the next day looking at the paper to see if it had any information about jobs.

Wednesday morning, during the rush before she left for class, I watched Gabby race downstairs to throw in a load of laundry. I'd watched her do this countless times and already knew what dial to turn, what button to push, and what detergent to use.

As I sat on the steps watching her, I realized I couldn't wear what I had. At least, not as they were. All of it smelled like someone else, and I knew how meticulous Gabby was about my scent. I'd need to wash everything.

Gabby raced back up the stairs and almost ran me over on her way out the door. As soon as her car left the driveway, I went out to the neighbor's bush and brought my cache of clothes into the house. Then, I waited for the washer to finish.

In the privacy of the basement, I shifted into my skin and removed Gabby's clothes from the washer. Then, I hesitated. I wanted to put them in the dryer for her. Would she thank me or would she want to know what I was doing down here in the first place? Uncertain, I set her wet things in the basket then loaded the washer with my items.

Once the machine started to fill with water, I shifted and went back upstairs. I'd started making myself a single sandwich every day from Gabby's supplies while she was away at school. She hadn't mentioned anything, so I figured it was okay to keep doing it. While I had my paws on the counter to get the bread, I heard an odd noise.

I tilted my head and listened. Something clunked. I pushed away from the counter and took off down the stairs. The machine was shaking and thunking.

In a panic, I shifted and opened the lid. The machine quieted, and I looked down into the grey water. I couldn't see a thing. What had made that noise? The boots, maybe? I closed the lid gently and waited for it to start again. It squealed when it tried.

I stopped the machine again, canceled the program, and listened to the water drain. Then, I attempted to start it again. It made worse noises the second time; and I knew, without a doubt, I'd managed to break it.

"But how?" I tugged at my beard in frustration.

If Gabby came back and found out that I broke—

I looked down at her wet clothes then back at the grey water. I couldn't afford for her to be mad at me when we were just starting to make progress. Teetering with indecision, I looked at her clothes once more. I'd make this little lie up to her. Decided, I plunged my hand into the water and started pulling out my items.

One of the bootlaces gave me trouble. Wound around the base of the center pole that twisted back and forth, the thing didn't want to come loose. The boot had also wedged itself between the center post and the drum. No doubt, my boot was the "how" behind the machine's behavior.