Cleaning Up - short-short story
John sat staring at the woman mouthing the morning news from his silent television. He shifted, his back stiff and complaining from a long night of sitting and staring. Two weeks of stubble grated against his fingers as he rubbed his cheeks and brought his hand down to stifle a yawn. He smiled. Covering his mouth as he yawned had never been very high on his list of things to worry about; it used to drive his mother crazy. His own son had changed all that. As soon as Shawn was old enough to start mimicking his and Tonya’s behavior, things like manners suddenly became important.
Instinctively he looked to his left, through the doorway and into the kitchen to read the clock on the microwave. 6:17, too early to get ready for work. He got up and shuffled slowly into the kitchen, trying not to look at the mess he’d accumulated. Dishes piled up in the sink, the empty pizza box on top of the stove, an empty soup can gaping from the counter; Tonya would fucking kill him. He looked at the calendar on the fridge. Today’s date was circled with a big red ‘Trash Day!’ underlined twice. Maybe he should clean up.
He decided to make some toast for breakfast, but the fuzzy greenish-blue growth showing through the cellophane bread bag changed his mind. He opted for pop-tarts, and walked back into the living room. Halfway to the couch, a triceratops impaled his foot.
“FUCK!” he screamed, and threw the pop-tarts as hard as he could against the far wall. He looked down at the floor littered with toy dinosaurs and large plastic blocks. “Goddammit, Shawn,” he said under his breath as he leaned over to look at the bottom of his foot. Three small dots of blood appeared just behind his toes. He wiped the blood with his thumb and then carefully made his way across the room to pick up his broken pop-tarts. It had been two weeks since Shawn had picked up his toys. He always needed to be told to pick them up. He was only four.
John was making his way back to the couch when the phone rang. He froze, listening as it rang twice more, waiting for that ‘click’ of the answering machine as it picked up the line. “You’ve reached John, Tonya, and Shawn,” said Tonya’s voice. “Leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon…” Just then Shawn’s voice broke in with a loud “Yeah, sucka!” Tonya laughed, “John, I wish you wouldn’t teach him that.” The machine clicked again, and his brother’s voice scratched at his ears. “John, it’s Matthew. Let’s get some breakfast, buddy. You can’t stay locked up all day, man. Get some air. We’re all here for you man, we love you. Come on, we’ll get an early start, maybe drive up to the river.” There was a long pause. “John, you gotta change your message,” Matthew said, almost a whisper. “It breaks my heart, man. I know it breaks yours. I’m coming over now, see you soon. Love you, man.”
John stood crying silently. Why hadn’t he changed the message? How fucking masochistic was that? He looked at the blocks and dinosaurs scattered around his feet. Tonya’s sunglasses stared at him from the kitchen counter. The picture of Tonya and Shawn walking that he had taken the day they had gone hiking last month hung near the window, the morning glare obscuring everything but their feet. Why was any of this shit here?
John opened the cabinet under the sink, grabbed the box of garbage bags, and ripped a bag from the box. He moved quickly around the room, filling the bag. Pizza box, soup can, sunglasses, Tonya and Shawn walking. His uneaten pop-tarts. The triceratops and a pack of velociraptors from the living room. John picked up all of Shawn’s toys. He moved from room to room, stuffing Tonya’s make-up, Shawn’s stuffed animals, clothes and photos at random into the bag until it was full. He tied it off, went back into the living room to get another bag, and threw the one in his hand across the room where it bounced off of the window, leaving the window shuddering in its frame.
Just then, John heard a loud clang of metal on metal, and the grinding of gears outside. He moved to the window and looked out. The garbage truck was pulling away from the neighbor’s yard and coming toward his driveway. It was a short distance, and his house was the last on the block. He leaned over and grabbed the garbage bag he had thrown and ran to the front door. It was locked. He fumbled with the lock as he heard the hissing of the garbage truck’s air brakes as it stopped at his driveway. He looked through the window in the front door, and saw the men drop off of the back of the truck and walk toward the empty trash cans that had been sitting out front for two weeks. The men noticed that the cans were empty and began walking back to the truck. John got the door open and began shouting, “Hey, wait goddammit!” as the men climbed back onto the back of the truck and shouted to the driver. The brakes hissed again as they released, and John ran down the driveway waving and shouting. One of the men turned and saw John running with his garbage bag. He smiled and held up his hand as if to say, “What can I do?” John was standing in the middle of the road. “YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!” he yelled, but the truck was turning the corner, and the garbage man was no longer looking at him.
“John! What the hell, man?” Matthew asked as he got out of his car behind John. John screamed “FUCK YOU!” and threw the garbage bag down the street toward the corner. The bag ripped as it slid across the asphalt, spilling dinosaurs and broken glass.
“John! John, calm down man, ” Matthew pleaded, grabbing his brother’s shoulders and turning him around to face him.
“They wouldn’t fucking stop, Matthew. I was there!” John was shaking, crying.
“I know man.” Matthew put his arms around John and held him.
“I couldn’t stop them, they were going too fast. I tried. I really, really tried!”
“I know you did, John.”
“They’re gone, Matthew.”
“I know, John.” Matthew stood holding his brother, feeling John’s back heave as he sobbed. Slowly, John relaxed.
“Come on, man, ” Matthew said. “Let’s clean this up.”
September 7th, 2007 at 10:51 pm
love it.