Fear and Laundry by Elizabeth Myles

“Yeah it does,” he said, frowning. “Or it should, anyway.”
    I took a breath, exhaled, and looked out over the porch. “You know the really weird part?” I described how Dustin had acted since then, first talking to me as though nothing had happened, like he’d never yelled at me, almost like we’d never been together at all. And then suddenly, yesterday, all but ignoring me. Not even wanting to look at me. I didn’t know which was worse. And I didn’t understand any of it.
    I shouldn’t waste my time, Jake said, trying to decipher the motivations of a guy “like that.”
    “Like what?”
    His answer was unkind, punctuated by choice words.
    “That’s a little harsh,” I demurred.
    “You want harsh,” he said, “wait and see what happens next time I run into that little punk.”
    I laughed shortly. “Okay, tough guy. What’re you gonna do?”
    Rearrange Dustin’s pretty face was what, apparently.
    I sniffled.
    And Layne, he added, had better not show up in Carreen again, either.
    “Or what?”
    “Or I’ll mess him up, too.” He said it unemotionally, less like issuing a threat than stating a plain fact.
    “Right,” I said, unbelieving but appreciating the sentiment. He was trying to make me feel better. And it was working.
    A small group of people was coming up the path to the building we stood in front of. I looked out again, into the distance. There was a rise a few yards off, and another exhibit building on the other side. I told Jake we ought to keep moving.
    The dirt was dry and kicked up in clouds as we trudged along, approaching the little hill. It was after noon now, the sun high in the sky, and we sweltered. A hot gust of wind carried a tumbleweed across our path.
    ***

    A s we continued the tour, Jake let me change the subject. I told him I was glad he’d been so willing to fill in for Sierra, and he told me he’d welcomed the opportunity. He “needed to play,” he said. It was how he coped with school, with stress, with anything, really.
    We talked about the band, and how we needed to come up with more songs. We agreed that if it came down to it, we could throw a few covers into our set, and listed songs we might use. Then we talked about television and movies and people we both knew; superficial stuff.
    The A. P. Center path formed one big loop, so the last stop was only a short distance from where we’d started out. Lia’d told us to wait there when we were done and she’d walk the few yards the wrong way down the trail to meet us as soon as she could.
    The last exhibit was a railroad depot complete with ticket window and waiting area. When we reached it, I sat on a little wooden bench just inside. From there, I had a view of the genuine steam locomotive parked outside, and of several of the buildings we’d just passed.
    Jake paced around the stuffy little room, inspecting the framed bits of memorabilia tacked to the walls. I watched him cross his arms and tilt his head, examining the antique train schedule by the ticket window.
    I sat on my hands, kicking my legs. Could he imagine, I asked, what it would be like to actually be a pioneer? Any sort of pioneer? Jake shook his head no and came to sit beside me on the bench.
    In the ensuing silence, I pondered the unsettling idea we’d been born into a conquered realm, a place that didn’t really need us because there was nothing and no place left to discover. Rationally, I knew this wasn’t true. There were plenty of problems still left in the world. But I certainly didn’t feel prepared to solve any of them. And after my conversation with him last night, I knew Jake didn’t, either. The realization unnerved me. If someone as smart and talented as him didn’t know what to do with his life, then what hope did any of the rest of us have?
    After a while, he nudged me with his elbow. “You awake?” he asked. Or had I fallen asleep on him again? I didn’t want to tell him what I’d been thinking. Instead, I said I wondered