One Person’s Trash …

“It’s my condo!” Emma yelled at Ty as he slammed the door on his way out four weeks ago. Since then, she texted him a dozen times with no response from his sorry ass. It was time for his stuff to go. She was almost gleeful. Think of the closet space I’ll get back.   

A car horn honked outside, and Emma picked up the blue plastic storage bin and headed out to Cassie’s car. It was Cassie’s idea to make a game of this. “A ritual cleansing,” Cassie cackled over the phone when they were planning. “Maybe with a bit of vitriol thrown in.”

Cassie yelled from her car, “That’s all?”

“Yup. All the rest was donated,” Emma answered.

“Good girl,” Cassie said as she popped the trunk. 

Emma put the bin in, slammed the trunk and folded her lean runner’s body into the passenger seat. She gave her best friend a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Just wait,” Cassie said. “First up, the playlist, starting with T. Swift’s ‘Picture to Burn…’” 

“You put some thought into this,” Emma said. She sang, “Watch me start a match on all my wasted time…”.

“Then, moving onto the diva classic, ‘I Will Survive’. And I have a bundle of sage, a book of matches, and a curse,” Cassie said. “This is going to be the best purge ever.”

“You are truly the best.” Emma said as she leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder.

They drove down Route 100, blaring the music in the warm summer air. “Do you miss Ty at all?” Cassie yelled over the music.

“Like his messes? Too-big shoes in the front hall? TV on all the time? Nope,” Emma yelled back. “And let’s not forget the cheating.”

“Final straw. Honestly, thank God. He was awful.”

“Weren’t you obliged to tell me the truth when you saw it?” Emma asked, turning the volume down a little. “I think we made a pact in 6th grade about that.”

“You weren’t ready to listen. Having too much fun in bed, I think,” Cassie said, with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, his long hair was kinda hot.”

Emma swatted her best friend’s shoulder. “Well, OK, maybe I miss a few things.” She sang along with Gloria Gaynor, “Now I’m savin’ all my lovin’ for someone who’s lovin’ me…”

Cassie turned the car into the Casella Transfer Station. “Here we are, girlfriend.” 

“The dump? I thought you said this was a ritual?” Emma said.

“It is. But we can’t litter while doing it — you have a full bin of stuff,” Cassie said as she pulled her car in front of the dumpsters on the edge of the dirt lot. She popped the trunk and lugged the bin over to the ground at the bottom of the dumpster. She peered inside. “Are you sure this stuff isn’t worth something?”

“I already looked on Ebay. It’s not even enough to buy us a round of drinks. It’s all stuff from our trips together. Figures he didn’t want it.” Emma picked a glass beer mug out of the bin. “I’d rather smash it.”

“Nothing sentimental to save?”

“Some of the trips were really good,” Emma said, studying the icons on the glass mug from Acadia in her hand. “Like this one, when we tackled the Bee Hive hike.” She weighed the weight of the mug in her hand. “But I need to move on. No reminders. He cheated, not me.”

“OK, then, let’s do this,” Cassie said. She pushed her long curly hair back as she lit the sage bundle with her matches. The smoke ascended into the air in a lazy plume and tickled their noses. She twirled gently, her print skirt flaring as she waved the bundle and closed her eyes before announcing in a loud voice, 

“May your coffee be too cold

And your beer always too warm

And your Wi-Fi forever too slow.”

She shook the sage bundle for emphasis and bowed.

Emma stared at her friend. “That doesn’t seem like a real curse.”

“It’s a fine curse. Things that will bedevil Ty’s life.” Cassie pouted, then shrugged. “I mean, it’s a break-up. We don’t want to cause a huge tear in the fabric of the universe just because of that loser. Toss it in.”

Emma lobbed the first mug into the dumpster. It pinged around the metal sides before shattering on the iron bottom of the nearly empty bin. The splintering sound startled her. It was permanent. There was no way to fix it. “I don’t feel any better, Cassie. Maybe even a little sadder. I don’t think this isn’t working.”

Cassie smacked her forehead. “Sorry, I totally forgot. You need to shout ‘release me’ every time. Trust me, it will work.”

Emma picked up a shot glass with ‘Daytona’ scripted on it and pitched it in, while saying, “Release me”. 

“Louder,” Cassie said.

“Release me?” Emma questioned loudly. Maybe it felt a little better.

“Hey, Cassie? Is that you?” a voice called over from the recycle area.

Cassie squinted, “Petey? Fancy seeing you here!” She took a few steps toward him and then stopped and looked back at Emma.

“Really? You want to leave me?” Emma said. She laughed at her friend’s eager face. “Oh, fine, go ahead. Say hi to Petey for me.”

Cassie patted Emma on her back before trotting away, yelling over her shoulder, “You’ve got this. It’s more of a personal mission anyway.”

Emma sighed, but silently agreed. She needed to find a better phrase than ‘release me.’ A thesaurus of words ran through her head: freedom, space, liberty, clean closets, sins. That’s it. She could list Ty’s many faults as her cathartic mantra. She picked up another glass, smashed it, “Absent.” Then a map of Boston, “Backstabbing.” A souvenir plate from Manhattan earned. “Cowardly.” As the bin emptied, maybe her heart was a little lighter. 

Her rhythm was interrupted when a shiny new pickup truck pulled into the space next to Cassie’s car. A lanky guy climbed out, wearing jeans and a bright green Lake Monsters t-shirt.

“Mind if I share this delightful dumpster?” he asked as he lifted a bin from the bed of his truck.

“Only if you can tolerate my ritual heaving,” Emma responded. Her curiosity made her look into his bin. “Wait. Candles? You are going to throw away scented glass jar candles? Those things are like $20 each.”

“Even better,” he said as he tossed the first one in and the sound of shattering glass filled the air.

Emma shrugged and picked up her next item, a ceramic bowl she and Ty had painted together. “Devious,” she said and shot it in.

The dark-haired man looked into her bin. “Wait, you're throwing away all this stuff?” he said. 

“Yup. Cheaper than glass candles. Don’t judge,” she said and picked up another item.

He put his hand over hers to stop the throw. “This is going to sound stupid, but can I buy your bin? Or at least some of the stuff in it.”

Emma snorted. “This isn’t worth anything, you know.”

“I see at least two giant souvenir pencils in there,” he said.

“These things?” Emma dug out a two foot long pencil with ‘Lake Placid’ written in script and icons of mountains, Olympic rings, sports and bears decorating the surface. “You actually like giant pencils?”

He hung his head. “I know, it’s embarrassing. But I collect them. Have since I was about 5.”

What was it with cute guys and tacky souvenirs? “At least you’re honest. I can’t say the former owner was.”

“Ex?” he said.

“Very,” she said.

“Me, too,” he said, pointing to the bin of candles. 

Emma laughed. “You didn’t strike me as a bubble bath and candles kind of guy. Was she?”

“Opposites didn’t attract,” he said. “I am more of a craft beer, sweaty soccer match, Marvel franchise movie kind of guy.” He looked longingly at her bin on the ground and then winked at her. “And, honest, right? I mentioned honest.” 

“Are you flirting with me? At the dump?” she said. She briefly considered how he saw her: brown hair pulled into a messy bun, ripped jean shorts, no makeup or perfume. At least he’s not interested in my looks.

“You know all the best rituals happen at the dump.” He held out his hand. “I’m Gus.”

She bit back a smile and held out her own hand. “Emma. Destroyer of everything but giant pencils.”

“He lost a good one,” Gus said.

 Emma wasn’t sure what to say. She looked over toward the recycle area. Cassie was in deep conversation with Petey, her hands punctuating the air. No help there. She looked back at Gus. Tall, dark, and didn’t like scented candles. Were his eyes brown? She was a sucker for dark brown eyes.

His voice pulled her out of her head. “So, what do you think? Trade bins?”

“Nope. I’m not really a scented candle gal,” she said. His face fell. “Sorry, I mean, you may have my bin. Or at least the pencils in it. Free to a good home.” 

“Thanks so much,” he said as he pulled three pencils out of the bin and placed them on the seat of his truck. He returned to his bin and picked up the next candle. “Last shot at… Christmas Magic,” he said, reading the label.

“You have to say something you hate about her after each toss. It seems to help,” she said.

And so they stood, side by side, emptying their bins, filling the air with the sins of their former lovers. “Evasive.” “Fickle.” “Gloomy.” And on through the alphabet. When his bin was empty, Gus said, “Thank you. I mean it. That was weirder than I thought it would be. But good. Very freeing.”

Emma nodded. “Surprisingly cathartic.”

Gus laughed softly. “Can I ask you a question?” He leaned in. “Do you think you might have any more pencils back at your house?”

He smelled good, some type of pine soap. He seems sane. And, dorky in a good way. Pencils after all. I could do worse.

“I could invite you to look in my closets,” she said. “I mean, you would really be doing me a favor by emptying them of lingering giant pencils.” 

His smile lit his face, and his dark brown eyes crinkled in delight. “I’d bring beer or a bottle of wine,” he said. “In payment, of course.”

They exchanged information, and she said, “Tomorrow night? 5PM?”

“OK, see you then,” he said and waved as he got into his truck. 

Emma watched him drive away. She picked up the bin. It was light. Empty. Waiting to be filled again. The dump. Who knew?