A Tangle of Fabric on the Floor
An older man knelt onto the cold linoleum, reaching down to gather a pile of rumpled cotton shirts dropped beneath an open dryer door. Across from him, a younger man in a sleeveless grey hoodie leaned against the metal frame, hands braced against the edge of the rim. Piles of denim and cotton lay scattered across the floor between their work boots and white sneakers.
The older man pressed his palms against his knees, rising back to his feet with measured weight. He smoothed the creases of a pale button-down shirt against his chest, tucking the edges inward one by one.
“Machine was done,” the younger man stated, tilting his head slightly toward the empty drum. He kept his shoulders wide, watching the slower movements of the man across from him without shifting position.
“Took me an hour to fold those, son,” the older man said, his chin resting against the collar of his sweater.
A Roll of the Sleeves
The younger man stepped closer, closing the distance between them until only inches remained above the folding table. His smile stayed set in place as he leaned in. “Then fold them again. Fold them again. Somewhere else.”
The older man lowered the shirt onto the stainless steel tabletop. He did not step backward. Instead, his right hand gripped the ribbed cuff of his left sweatshirt sleeve, pulling the grey fabric up past his elbow.
Dark ink appeared along the forearm: a detailed skull intertwined with military insignias, bordered by pale lines of scar tissue. From beneath the crew neck of his sweatshirt, two metal dog tags clinked together against his chest.
“Master Sergeant,” the older man said, leveling his gaze squarely into the other man’s face. “Twenty-six years. I’ve folded flags for better men than you.”
Learning the Corners
The younger man’s jaw set firm. The grin disappeared from his lips, and he dropped his gaze down toward the scarred forearm before looking back at the open dryer.
He unzipped his black duffel bag and set it onto the bench. Turning around, he bent his knees and lowered himself directly onto the tiled floor where the scattered clothes lay.
His fingers picked up the first fallen pair of trousers. He smoothed the pant legs out, matching the side seams before folding them inward. The older man stood tall above him, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his boots planted shoulder-width apart.
The younger man reached for another shirt, flattening the collar against his knee before setting it atop the stack. His breathing slowed as he worked his way through the scattered pile piece by piece.
“Corners first, son,” the older man directed, nodding toward the uneven hems on the counter.
The younger man nodded once, picked the shirt back up, aligned the two bottom corners with both hands, and laid it flat onto the neat pile.
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