Fiction by Malena Steelberg
Time Since Theft: 30 Minutes
Really upset, just called Mom. Someone raided laundry 23 minutes into dryer cycle and stole favorite circa 2003 Britney Spears light-wash bejeweled, denim, flare pants with embossed-relief floral pattern up and down left leg, thrifted from janky antique store. Also three black shirts, a pillowcase, a concert T-shirt from boyband I used to (harmlessly) stalk in Chicago, and several pairs of Calvin Klein sports bras and underwear purchased from Costco at a discount. Enjoy those period stains, bitch. Mom called thief pathetic but also reminded me not to be attached to material things. “You are blessed,” she said. “You don’t need to be stealing someone’s laundry.” Took this to mean, “Use my credit card to buy new underwear!” Mom also made funny comment about thief being either a cross-dresser or very flat-chested since my boobs, though 22 years of age, have yet to make a full appearance. Haha, Mom, haha.
TST: 60 Minutes
Filed report with school about slimy Barnard student stealing from laundry room. School unsympathetic to circa-2003-Britney-Spears-pants plight. Almost cried describing pants to public safety officer and then reprimanded self for almost crying about a material item. Mom’s voice played in head while holding back tears, something about saying thank you and letting go. Rich words of wisdom from the notorious Polish grudge-holder that is Maria, my mother. Thank you, Britney Spears pants, but I will not let you go. “Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know / that something wasn’t right here? Oh baby, baby / I shouldn’t have let you go / and now you’re OUT OF SIGHT yeah.” How could I possibly have left them unguarded in dryer?
TST: 90 Minutes
Spoke to Dad. Dad cute and empathetic but ultimately unmoved by sentimental value of Britney pants. Sent me an email saying, “hashtagtears.” Spelled out word “hashtag,” possibly mocking. Texted Emilie instead. Good friend, more receptive. Cursed in French, showed proper degree of outrage and disgust at someone wanting semi-wet, pit-stained sports bras. Suggested I print flyers of selfie in said pants and post them across campus, amass the troops, and hunt down Thief. Flyers could request the kind return of Britney jeans; return could even be anonymous if Thief is embarrassed (as Thief should be). However, perhaps now not optimal time to post flyers as campus is busy dealing with more important issues like graduate students on strike. Unclear if Britney jeans deserve to hog spotlight from grad students fighting a cause affecting more people than just grudge-holding daughter of a grudge-holding Pole and her entourage who must hear her complain. #sorrynotsorry (A little bit sorry.) (Am trying to let go! Harder than expected…sad face.)
TST: 120 Minutes
Supposed to be working on final project for Italian advanced conversation class involving fake planned trip to Padua. In charge of figuring out primary cultural sites to visit, as well as expenses. Many pretty villas with expansive vistas onto beautiful gardens with fountains and fancy statues. Tenth century church. Europe’s largest basilica with relics of Saint Anthony (his tongue!). Scrovegni Chapel with Giotto frescoes. Can’t help thinking, could have taken sick pic wearing Britney pants in chapel and rolling hills of villa gardens. #notbitter
TST: 150 Minutes
Told by roommate Elise that she would rip pants off Thief if found. Immediately pictured humiliating-public-pants-removal scene in head. Now worried Karma angry at me for giggling at humiliation of Thief. Hoping Karma will still avenge loss of Britney pants despite giggles. Also wondering what misdeed prompted Karma to deprive me of favorite jeans. Ate some of Yasmeen’s hazelnuts once without asking. Went into roommate’s room and tried on her clothes while she was away on trip and therefore couldn’t catch me trying to fit into her precious, pretty things. Could not fit. Precious, pretty things did not look good at all. Made me feel fat. Ate more hazelnuts. Felt more fat. Sigh.
TST: 180 Minutes
Making more progress on Padua project but still thinking about pants. Elise suggested horror movie tonight to take mind off theft. Seeing horror movie at 9:30 p.m. with Elise. Movie is about family living in post-apocalyptic world where evil monster creatures from the woods will come eat their organs if family makes a sound. Must walk barefoot even in cold. Must eat off large, beautiful lettuce leaves instead of plates so as not to make clink noise of dishware on table. All surfaces of house covered in thick blankets to avoid thumps. Where did they get all these thick blankets? From trailer looks like child dies within first ten minutes. Movie must not have dialogue if humans cannot make sound. Better be visually stimulating. Would have probably worn Britney pants to theater as source of comfort had they not been stolen.
TST: 210 Minutes
Talked to older sister Tierney about Thief. Am getting good at telling story. Reassured Tierney that though Thief took many emotionally-valuable clothing items—like Britney pants—Thief left Obama 2008 “HOPE” campaign T-shirt that used to be Tierney’s but is somehow now mine. Purloined by me? Was originally gifted to Tierney by Grandma. Tierney suggested Thief might be a dirty Republican slash conservative since declined to steal Obama shirt. Maybe shirt was inside-out in dryer, and Thief did not look closely enough at beautiful Obama looking confident and strong on shirt. Should probably call Grandma and tell her the laundry theft story! Grandma great at giving sympathy plus a psychiatrist so might be able to help me understand obsession with pants and inability to let them go, as Polish mother keeps reminding me to do. Will call Grandma tomorrow night. Love Sunday night conversations with Grandma.
TST: 240 Minutes
Bad mood induced by laundry theft has allowed all negative thoughts repressed for past 22 years to resurface. Many insecurities muddled together in head. Shed another tear about pants. Vowed it was the last one, to buck up and be an adult already. Maybe Thief really needed clothes. In effort to feel better, decided to make pretty-shaped pasta for dinner with leftover tomato sauce that called for five tablespoons of butter for rich, velvety texture and flavor. Contemplated those five tablespoons of butter as salt water boiled for pretty-shaped pasta. Pasta was cheap, from Trader Joe’s. Dated a boy who worked there, and by dated, I mean went on a date with twice. Freddy, from New Zealand. Very tall. Quite good-looking. Decent conversationalist. Opened up to him about dream where I was the Pope and wore rubber Gucci slides and ate mangoes in the Vatican. Amused, Freddy now sends pictures of papal-robed man who appears at Trader Joe’s on 21st Street for groceries: maybe a bishop or cardinal? Relationship with Freddy doomed to fail because his day off is my full day of class. Shame. He never even got to see Britney jeans.
TST: 270 Minutes
Consumed mass amount of pasta with leftover five-tablespoons-of-butter tomato sauce and am feeling bloated and fat. Insecurities! Took sadness about Britney pants out on bowl of pasta with lots of cheese and some roasted courgette sprinkled with red paper flakes for spice. Red pepper flakes came out of receptacle surprisingly fast; courgettes very, very spicy on my tongue. Am flushed from heat and overly full. Uncomfortable. Probably would no longer fit into Britney pants anyway. Hope Thief wears them well.
TST: 300 Minutes
Thinking of walking to movie theater because feeling fat from dinner. Theater only 74 blocks away. Google maps estimates an hour and 22 minutes. If left now, could maybe arrive at movie half hour late. Would not be fair to Elise to be late, plus tickets were 18 dollars (Jesus Christ, three dollars more than Britney pants), and it is raining. Will take train and force self to reflect on feeling fat so as not to repeat this oft-repeated mistake of overeating pasta with leftover five-tablespoons-of-butter tomato sauce.
TST: 330 Minutes
At movie theater with Elise, who is being considerate friend and asking after feelings regarding laundry theft. One eye tears up a little bit. Movie theater is dark so no one can see. Why my Britney pants? Why not someone else’s? Movie starting.
TST: 415 Minutes
Left mid-movie because Elise had semi panic attack: noticed man with suspicious suitcase sitting at front of overly crowded theater and could not shake idea of man with suspicious suitcase while watching scary movie where child does indeed die within first ten minutes. Happy to leave mid-movie despite expensive tickets because of love for Elise, who is good friend but also because movie was stupid: white family wears a lot of plaid, Dad is primary protector and provider. Mom, pregnant and beautiful in long bohemian dresses, goes into labor as Dad and children are gone catching fish, steps on a nail and shouts in pain, creatures come, try and kill her. Mom somehow manages to birth newborn son silently without monsters eating her organs but newborn son is a newborn and cries a lot so Mom places him in a blanketed casket with an oxygen mask to soundproof his tiny baby squeals. Do not know what happens after that and do not care to know because no way family could look so beautiful in post-apocalyptic, silent world and am still bitter about my Britney jeans.
TST: 445 Minutes
Other roommate Gigi came home! Told her about Britney pants theft! Gigi now afraid to do laundry but also not super bothered because rarely does laundry anyway; items too pretty and precious to put in school machine plus does not believe in wearing underwear. Said she learned this when abroad in Brittany (Britney!), France as impressionable high-schooler. Am French and know that this is not a thing but do not call her out for fake affected French underwearlessness, mostly because scared of her. Gigi properly appalled at stolen period-stained Calvins and thinks Thief might be creep obsessed with me and my bodily fluids. Had not considered that. Thought it through for entire two seconds but do not find theory substantial, because no one is obsessed with me. Am very single and alone and have been for long, long time (Freddy does not count). Even Dad said I would make good spinster. Dad not cute when says things like that to 22-year-old daughter insecure about her ability to be loved. Thanks, Dad, thanks.
TST: 475 Minutes
Should be getting sleepy but am riled up about Britney jeans. Wide awake. Plotting revenge. By revenge, I mean drafting Instagram post as an ode to favorite pants (RIP) and a threat to rude, pathetic human who pilfered them from my laundry. Determined to find culprit. Barnard student body leaving bad taste in mouth. Barnard (somewhat) dead to me.
TST: 605 Minutes
Now quite late into night, should really be going to bed because must awaken at the crack of dawn (10:50 a.m.) to meet classmates about Padua trip group project in Butler Café at 11 a.m. Guess who will not be wearing her Britney pants tomorrow? Taking melatonin to force self to sleep. Enough about pants already. Must get them out of head.
TST: 1140 Minutes
Awake in Butler Café waiting for rest of group to work on Italian presentation. Still bitter in regard to laundry theft. Will probably tell Italian group and see if they commiserate. Cohesion and healthy group dynamics are important for successful presentation. Maybe Thief inadvertently doing favor by providing material for group solidarity and complicity? Food for thought.
TST: 1210 Minutes
Hopped on train to Brooklyn, neglecting finals slash homework duties in effort to replace Britney pants, as am still mourning the loss and in need of rebound. Will visit every thrift store in Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and Bushwick. Maybe too many thrift stores. Will start in East Williamsburg with yard sale of vintage clothing near alternative haircut place seen on Instagram.
TST: 1240 Minutes
Yard sale was a dud. Tried on café-au-lait-colored leather pants, too large in waist despite all the pasta recently inhaled like air. Walking to ginormous thrift store known for good music and many racks of hanging pants for me to sift through. Feeling less able to find replacement for Britney though. Unsure if trek to Brooklyn worthwhile. TBD.
TST: 1315 Minutes
In changing room with nine different pairs of bell-bottom jeans. Flimsy curtain of changing room will not shut all the way so entire store is privy to my semi-naked body if they look in this direction. Hoping they do not because ate three cheese empanadas on way to store from man selling homemade three-for-five-dollar empanadas on street from a cooler on wheels and swear can see them gathering in thighs and stomach.
TST: 1325 Minutes
Women in seventies must have been doing many drugs and eating very little to be so slim-thighed and tiny-waisted. Maybe birthing hips were not yet a thing in the evolution of the female body. No empanadas or pasta for them. One pair not bad, OK even. Light-wash denim, soft—not as soft as Britney jeans. No shiny bejeweled additions or embossed-relief floral pattern up and down left leg. Less flattering than Britney because body type more similar to circa 2003 girl than hippie seventies hottie but might purchase anyway as temporary rebound since cheap and flared and comfy. Maybe can even bargain?
TST: 1420 Minutes
Bought new jeans at discount. Heading back to dorm for nap due to post-cheese-empanada lethargy. Feeling slightly better but still peeved at Thief who stole laundry! Not sure what to do with half-set of sheets. Other roommate Yasmeen texted to remind me of mandatory hall meeting tonight, said would be good opportunity to scope out potential perpetrator in dorm lounge. Yasmeen good friend, looking out for me.
TST: 1610 Minutes
Napped for many hours. Woke up in groggy sleep haze. Cannot tell if groggy sleep haze is better than post-discovering-theft-of-Britney-pants craze. Both equally bad. Late for mandatory hall meeting, oops.
TST: 1820 Minutes
Laundry criminal did not make appearance at mandatory hall meeting, or at least not dressed in clothes from my load. Anyway, not sure how would have confronted Thief without exploding in Thief’s face about Britney pants and crying. Slowly coming to terms with loss, only because must really concentrate on finals and end-of-the-semester shenanigans in order to have good GPA and make parents proud. Love you, parents, thank you for putting me through school! Even if school has dishonest student body. Thank you also for underwear.
TST: 1915 Minutes
Sitting in tiny dorm kitchen and have made shrine for Britney pants using Barbie doll bought at Village Discount over winter break for one dollar and a nickel. In fit of not-entirely-sober madness, she was beheaded. By me. So now is headless. Have dressed the previously-only-ever-naked Barbie in mini circa 2003 Britney Spears light-wash bejeweled, denim, flare pants with embossed-relief floral pattern up and down left leg, made by yours truly with extra fabric cut off from random pair of jeans long time ago when younger sister Solenne asked to make her pants into shorts. Making of mini pants took considerable time. Finals will probably suffer. Have not given headless Barbie a shirt because found a silver white-girl-goes-to-music-festival-for-first-time flash tat in stairwell the other day and added it to hard plasticky right boob. Barbie looks good with it so want it exposed. Have placed her on kitchen table surrounded by glittery pink and aqua sequins plus sprigs of rosemary someone bought last semester and forgot about, found in spice cupboard next to extra spicy red pepper flakes. Added some of those too for good measure, because Britney pants made me feel “hot.” Am lighting an expensive fig candle acquired for free for birthday from expensive candle place whose emails I only signed up for in order to receive free birthday candle. Smells so good. Wow. Wrote a short poem that will burn in expensive fig candle’s flame to purge negative energies from horrible experience of laundry theft. Am aspiring to better things than holding grudge against lowly Barnard student but will also still hold mini grudge as homage to Britney pants, which held a tender place in heart for short amount of time. To better things. Thank you, Britney pants, thank you.
TST: 1955 Minutes
Oh, shoot. Forgot to call Grandma and now again too late, is probably in bed and asleep with Grandpa, dreaming. Must absolutely tell her about pants theft tomorrow.
