Dumpster

I met Chris on the way to the dumpster. We fell in step unconsciously; a standing, almost forgotten joke. Legs in sync, we marched up the alley, dodging the fire escapes that hung down like snakes, pushing aside the steam that blew from the manholes into the chilly winter air.

Chris was whistling, something tuneless that I didn't recognize. He was toying with a piece of glass as he walked, turning it over and over in his fingers. I marveled at his coordination; even while walking, and flipping this razor-sharp shard of glass, he was able to run his fingers along the edges without drawing blood.

I peered ahead into the steam and gloom. the dumpster was there; its shadow loomed up from the pavement. In the half light it looked like a cancerous outgrowth of the blank brick wall against which it sat. One could barely make out the faded letters "R YS D PO AL"; the rest were obscured by years of various fluids, scuffings and dents. The dumpster was old, too; neither of us knew how long it had sat wearily in that same place. We had stumbled across it one day playing tag down the alley.

As we drew abreast of it, I reached for the lid and, straining, lifted it. We looked in. The inside was as shiny and spotless as the day we had found it, all those years ago. Somehow, the weather never seemed to bother it.

Chris looked over the lip with me, nodded, and climbed in. I clambered over after him while he held the lid up for me, and then he let it fall. It closed with a resounding k-dang that always made me jump, even though I was expecting it.

We sat in the darkness for a while, and there was a rustling as Chris searched through his clothes for something. Then came a hsss as he struck a match, and lit the candle stub he had found. The warm orange light leapt off the walls in a myriad of reflections. He smiled at me.

"Long time."

I shrugged. "Long enough."

"Months?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I haven't been counting." He nodded at that, and fell silent again. We watched the candle flicker. After a minute or so, he roused himself, and dribbled some wax on the floor in a corner. Quickly, he pressed the base of the candle into the wax, and waited for it to solidify. When it had, he pulled his hand away cautiously, in case it was unstable; but the candle stayed put. We leaned back against our opposite walls. I looked at the ceiling. "I wonder where they went."

Chris frowned. "Who?"

"Whoever cleans this thing. No matter what we do to it, whenever we come back, it's clean."

"I guess they're out there somewhere."

"Why don't we ever see them? We used to come here two,three times a day. We should've seen them at least once."

"Maybe they wait for us to leave."

"How would they know we're in here?"

He shrugged again. "Maybe they watch it."

I couldn't argue with that, so I fell silent again. The candle burned slowly, but after a while, it guttered out. I could hear Chris scraping the pool of wax into his pocket. I must have dozed; the next thing I knew, rain was tapdancing on the top of the dumpster. I stretched and looked over at Chris. He was sound asleep in the dim light that came under the top. I shook him.

"Whuzzat."

"Chris, we have to go. C'mon, man, wake up."

"Oh yeh. Yeah." He too yawned and stretched upright. I stood, hunched, and lifted the top of the dumpster with my back. Chris went over the side into the rain. He turned and held the lid for me, and we started off down the alley into the rain. We didn't look back.

Sometimes the dumpster isn't there if you do.

This is an earlier effort, but I find myself re-reading it a lot.

-The Custodian