Almost There: Laundromat Fiction: Jett's Dream

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Laundromat Fiction: Jett's Dream

Yesterday was laundry day! So that means more laundromat fiction, written from the actual laundromat. This one was really quick, so the story was also really quick, maybe a little weird. Oh well. I'd love some feedback if you have any thoughts. As always this series is very off-the-cuff fiction, with minimal editing. Here are other posts from the series. 

No one intrigued me more than Jett Donovan. He was honestly one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen, with that dark chocolate hair that swooped across his face like a frat boy. Only he countered it with the ruggedness of an actual man. He was so kind to everyone but he also seemed to care about one thing and one thing only: farming.

Perhaps it was his ambition to do something that not many young people, let alone a young person who didn’t have a farmer in the family, wanted to do. Maybe it was his blasé attitude about making actual friendships. Probably it was the fact that he didn’t pay that much attention to me that led to know with all my being that Jett was the guy for me. 

He was a man who knew about a lot of things, but the only way to get his attention was to ask him about the farm. A lot of girls did that, though, so I tried to come up with something a lot more flawless than my predecessors.

One day, I walked right up to Jett, wearing denim jeans cutoff mid-calf. They were tight as hell and made my otherwise small ass look awesome. I accompanied it with a red and black checkered flannel to pull off the most earthly vibe I could come up with, and then I led with this: “Jett, I got this project for my class, where we have to try something new and well, I was wondering if I could come live on your farm for a while?”

His facial expression didn’t do much. He just tilted his head so slightly I hardly would’ve noticed if I wasn’t waiting on such an important response that just flowed out of him as a simple, “OK.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but his nonchalant tone somehow gave me the impression he meant it.

The next week, I was unloading a small bag of things in Jett’s guest bedroom. He lived in a really simple, pleasant home. It was pretty old, I guess. Hardwood floors, white on the outside with red shutters. Sort of a cookie-cutter, fresh from the farm kind of house. The inside was pretty bachelor—no art, limited furniture—but it was clean.

I was Jett’s sidekick day in, day out that summer. We started our days collecting new chicken eggs, passed the time watering, planting, harvesting summer squash and tomatoes and ended the nights eating simple meals with whatever it was we gathered that day.

It took a few weeks, but I had Jett talking to me, even enjoying my company. About a month later I found myself sleeping in his room at night. Then, I just stayed.

Jett had always wanted to be a farmer. I guess the only thing I really wanted was Jett.

Photo from flickr.

—Holli Anne

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