I never had any money, or very much food. But there were always empty beer cans. I gathered up the aluminum cans and glass bottles and placed them in plastic trash bags. The kids would come over emptying cases and cases of cheap beers. They would gather around the boxes like bison. Shouting over one another only shutting up to take a few drinks and to wait to shout again. They would wander down the hill from University to stop at a gas station and con or steal crates of whatever they could get their hands on. Throwing money at the dumb kid at the register or just beating it out the door with an armful. My house was at the bottom of that hill, gravity directed them to my door, and nobody could fight it.
They always wandered in groups smoking cigarettes and cussing appropriately. They left me right enough alone in my own house. I was mostly furniture. Silent and still, usually nursing from a bottle of wine or when I was broke drinking their beer. I’d watch their young faces, their tight lips making way for the booze. And I'd stare at their women. Their girls in wolves clothing.
And I was alone. Bending over and placing cans and bottles in trash bags. Some of them still mostly full and flat. Nobody ever finished a goddamn beer it seemed. Always at least a swallow left in them just that little weight that sank them into the bag. Cans hidden in obnoxious places. Behind picture frames, on shelves, in the plants, behind curtains, every garbage can in the house, under the couch, behind the furniture, in the fireplace, stacked 12 high in front of the cellar door, crushed and beaten into the walls, in the lamps, perched on a ceiling fan blade, and one floating in the toilet. I used to find Easter eggs as a kid. My sister and I would race around the living room for those plastic break apart eggs. Multicolored and pastel they always stuck out in our drab living room. We'd fight over them all. Dying to get the most, splitting them as we found them. Only to find a quarter or maybe a dollar inside. These eggs were drab just like the living room and were all only worth a nickel. But I could find them by the hundreds almost every day and there was no one to fight with. I gave up after four bags full and put them in the trunk of the car. There were still a hundred left strewn inside.
The machines at the grocery store. It was open all night. They would crush aluminum even at 2 am on a Monday. The kids had mostly all wandered back to their homes for holiday. I was always home, it wasn't always holiday. The rubber wheels would suck the cans from my hands and crush them with an impressive sound of force. Over and over without hesitation. Faithful but not needy. It would take every can I gave it and do just want I wanted it to. But it never asked for another one, never begged for one. It didn’t have pathetic eyes or empty hands.
The bottle machine would smash glass. I wonder if the rubber wheels just accelerated the bottles back into a replica piece of my kitchen wall. It was unrelentingly familiar. I almost expected to hear a woman scream after the first one. I like this machine most. Imaging bottles being transformed back into sand, the interior more like a beach than anything else.
I gathered up my paper slips the machines printed out and wandered into the aisles of the store. I only ever bought a few things in these places. Bread, jam, and cereal. I had enough for four boxes of the generic chocolate puff cereal. I gathered them up and made my way to the front of the store. I approached the only open register. A young woman with brown Mary Tyler Moore hair and a wool coat was grabbing a bottle of water from the end. She saw me coming and motioned her man to return to the line and prevent them from losing their place. I slowed down so as not to cause them any unnecessary commotion. I held on to my cereal and looked at the magazines.
The woman at the register was probably fifty five years old with a dead husband and no grand kids. She had on a vest with pinned on buttons decorated with animals. Behind her in the next aisle over was a woman standing, waiting. Her groceries were left strewed around as if her transaction had been interrupted. She glanced around trying to look frustrated or concerned. She was grocery shopping at 2 am on a Monday, she had nowhere else to be. She had no concern. The old woman scanned the couple’s items and remarked.
Back again? What’s the matter it didn't work the first time?
She smiled excitedly, what better than repeat shoppers this late, this lonely at night? Mary Tyler Moore mumbled and I looked to see what she was buying. A home pregnancy test with the letters E.P.T on the box and a bottle of water. What’s better than terrified repeat shoppers this late, this lonely at night? Before she could answer the old woman interrupted.
What’s the matter? It didn't work?
Mary Tyler Moore stumbled again and looked at me, I looked down making no expression passing no judgment. Her man gazed forward. He had a dumb look on his face. His head was shaped oddly and his hair didn't cover it properly.
Oh I see, it didn't work the way you wanted it to.
The old woman was shoveling the box into a bag, leaving the lonely bottle of water on the counter waiting to be claimed. The curious waiting woman glanced over quite pleased at such an interesting development in her otherwise senseless night. Mary Tyler looked around nervously then down at her hand holding the money she extended it hurriedly not speaking. Her man continued taking in the sights, his lips were curved up but I couldn't say for sure he was smiling.
You should get the box with two in it. Does this box have two in it? Did you know there’s one back there with two in it?
The old woman was friendly and trying to be helpful. How aggravating. How unnecessary.
Well this one has three.
Mary Tyler suddenly burst. Holding the money under the old woman’s nose, her arm straight out and fully extended. The waiting woman looked away quickly to avoid the eyes of the potential mother. The man kept his eyes straight and wasn't moving his head. I wonder what he was like in bed. Blasting his cum in unprotected territories.
The old woman nodded taking the money. Everyone knew they didn't make boxes with three of these tests in them. She held onto Mary Tyler’s change. Withholding it as she asked.
Are you two college students?
A pause and then.
Yes.
Oh well. They have that the tomorrow after pill, you know the morning after pill. You should look into that. They got it up to the school there. It’s at the get well center. The wellness center.
Now I knew that if it had been long enough for those tests to be accurate that it had been too long for that pill to be effective. They were strictly in abortion territory. But the old woman didn't know that and she was still trying to be helpful. The lonely waiting woman stared on, lacking reservation. Apparently she felt confident that her social impoliteness’ was far shadowed by the situation at hand.
Mary Tyler took the receipt and change. Passed the bag to her man who still not seeming to notice a thing accepted it. She crumpled up the receipt in her hand and proceeded to throw it towards the old woman. Making it into some garbage can hidden behind the counter.
Here, I don't need this.
And she was off leading her man out into the parking lot. And eventually into a bathroom squatting over a bit of plastic trying to piss on the sensor. Waiting for the indicator to turn blue. Or Pink. Shed stand there holding the thing which smelled like piss. Her hands smelled like piss. Regardless of the test shed drop it in the waste basket with the discarded tissues and try to piss on the next test. And if she had a hundred tests in that box shed hold each one under her ass and piss on it. One after the other. Dropping them in the basket, she wishes she was dropping soggy bloodied tampons into the trash. But not this month.
I paid for my cereal with the paper slips. I got two dollars change back. I was sorry I was not more interesting for the night shift working woman and the lonely shopper behind her. I got in my car and drove home. As I pulled in the drive way an old song came in over the radio. One which I rather liked and hadn't heard in years. I sat in the driveway with the car running until it was over.
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