“Thanks, partner,” I tell him just as a loud pop reverberates through the small room.
“Got it,” Rawley says, and I pinch the front panel and move it sideways, exposing the machine’s insides. “Man, is it just a piece of metal covering this? I always thought it was like, I dunno, connected.”
I shake my head. “Nope. This way you can do exactly what we’re doing and take one panel off versus taking apart the whole machine.” Archie taps my shoulder, and I turn to give him my attention as Rawley takes a chamois and wipes the dust from the insides of the machine.
“What can I do for you, partner?"
His smile is from ear to ear, Russian sauce adding orange to his lips. “I like being called partner.”
I tip my head. “Well that’s what I’ll call you then.”
He stares at the machine and then glances my way, suddenly serious. Sliding his small hand over my shoulder, he grips me, and leans close to my face, his sandwich all over his breath. “I used mama’s real nice soap and it broke the thing.” He shakes his head in a comical way that reminds me of a dissatisfied old man returning a twenty-year-old power tool, complaining that they just don’t make things like they used to. “Can you believe it?”
I look at Rawley, who is smirking as he wipes his hand on the yellow rag. “I can believe it.” I reach into the machine, and trace out the water line, and pull the heavy, black tubing forward.
“You’re touching its guts,” Archie whispers.
“The machine isn’t alive, Arch,” Rawley says, clearing a spot on the pile of clean bath towels for his brother to come sit.
I refocus on the black water line. “This is the water line, and your machine uses a special kind of soap that gets your stuff really clean, but doesn’t make a lot of bubbles.” I pull the other line out slightly, and look at Rawley. “This is the water line in, and this is the drain line. Likely what happened is a clog. So the first thing we’re gonna try is disconnecting the lines, and drain them.”
“What if that doesn’t work?” Rawley asks, peering into the inner workings of the machine.
“Well, we’ll see. I do think it may fix it though, based on the issue.” I face Archie once more. “When you use regular soap, like shampoo or body wash, the machine puts a lot of water in at once and instead of making a little bit of bubbles, all that water and soap make a lot. Too many bubbles, even, and the lines get clogged, and when that happens, the machine knows it’s not working because it has sensors, so it shuts off.”
“Smart,” Rawley says before adding, “but this is really old. Are you sure ours has that sensor?”
I nod. “They’re pretty standard, even with older machines.” Adjusting the tubes so I can hold them side by side, I point to the grooves in one of them, indicating fresh water. “The fresh water in line will be marked, in some way. See this groove here?” I move my thumb over the slight heat stamp applied to the tube. “This is how you know.”
Rawley nods, and tips his head toward the laundry room sink basin. “How do you drain it if the cord doesn’t reach the sink?”
“You got a big tupperware bowl?” I ask, skating my hand up the line to find the support clip that holds the hose in place.
“Yeah, the throw up bowl,” Archie says. “It’s the bowl we all puke in.”
Rawley nods, gently knocking the back of his hand into his little brother’s leg. “Yeah, Arch, go get it.”
Archie wrinkles his nose and stomps his foot, sending my hat down over his eyes. I knock it back so I can see him. “I don’t wanna touch that!”
“It’s clean, dude. Mom always washes it,” Rawley says.
He turns, dragging his little feet as he huffs off. A second later, there’s a clattering in the kitchen, and somehow I know Archie will return with the bowl.
A moment later, a large mint green tupperware sits between me and Rawley.
“You’re gonna loosen the clip on the hose, but pro tip—don’t take it off. If you do, you’ll lose it under your body while you’re working, stand up to look for it, then step on it and break it. So loosen it to where you can get your hose just right, then tighten it up again at the end.”
“Spoken like a man who has broken brackets,” Rawley says.
From the living room comes Tanner’s voice. “He came here to see me! You guys are hogging him!Coach!”
I glance at my watch as Rawley works on the metal clamps, twisting them until they slide down the length of the hose.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Now hold the hose up until you’re over the bowl. If it’s clogged, it’s gonna be full, and it’s gonna?—”
Rawley drags the hose end to the bowl, and immediately the hose begins draining the inside of the machine, sludge oozing out.
“Oh no!” Archie gags, throwing his entire forearm over his face. “That smells like shit!”
