Boatloads of Garbage

Early spring in Detroit. Empty lots that go on for blocks are filled with garbage. Of course the things discarded from moving cars, empty 40s, fast food wrappers, condoms, but most astonishingly, piles of large objects that could have only been brought in the backs of trucks as there is no occupied building for a mile or so. Would someone really drag a used soiled mattress on foot just to deposit it in a field? Deposit it among the hundreds of other mattresses that grow into large hills peeking out from a sea of garbage. Black trash bags bursting with dirty old clothes drift along on the occasional breeze, catching on an island of cracked toilets until another gust of wind carries them off to some other large pile. Broken chairs, dinning room tables missing a leg or two, TVs smashed open with their guts hanging out, ovens with their doors wide open or missing completely, stuffed themselves, with garbage lay like rotting corpses. Garbage stuffed with garbage. But the most surprising of all are the boats in a neighborhood deep within the city not near a lake or river. These boats adrift in a sea of garbage are stuffed as well with trash, piled high, flowing over the sides.

***

In what would be considered a dilapidated structure in any other city stood a three flat apartment building shinning pristinely against the decay of the fallen houses around it. He stepped out the back door of the top story of the building and found it warmer than he expected. April was not usually this warm in Detroit, especially this late into the night.

“Heading strait home Chuk?” his friend asked following out the door behind him, he had already tightened up inside his t shirt in anticipation for the cold but loosened in relief as he stepped his bare foot out.

“No I think I’m going to head over to that spot off Rosa Parks to check out those abandon boats” Chuk said pointing to the camera gear slung over his shoulder.

His friends face pinched together with concern, “are you sure about that? It’s kinda late.”

He let out a sigh and a short chuckle of reassurance. “I’ll be fine.”

Turning down Rosa Parks Blvd he found a block with only a few standing buildings, all of which were abandon, slouching under the weight of decay, the rest, empty overgrown lots. His car shifted and swayed as he made his way slowly over the pavement made uneven by grass and shrubs pushing their way through the long neglected cracks reclaiming their space. Almost all the street light were out, only one or two cast a dim triangle of yellow light down to reveal years of neglect. Out the right side of the car he caught a glimpse of something on fire. He turned his head to get a better look. Two men wearing tattered filthy clothing, stood over a burning tire as thick black smoke billowed up into the moonlet sky. He drove past with out even being noticed. A fog hung low in the air, like on the set of a horror film, causing the detail of the things around him to be hazed. Every so often a figure emerged from the haze lurking out of the shadows, with slow zombie like movements, and would slink along the dark empty road.

He turned down Magnolia, a forgotten side street. The only building left standing amongst the over grown shrubs and trees was an old rectangular apartment building with a flat roof. Reclaimed by the foliage, it stood empty like a temple in some ancient city. Its red brick coated with a black film around the frames of the windows and doors from previous fires. The glass from every window was missing, in its place soiled mattresses were propped up to shield out the weather and sun light. Only one of the doors from the three entry ways was left and it was hanging on by its top hinge alone. Two cracked and weathered cement stairs lead up to each of the three entryways. He drove by it slowly taking in the detail. His heart grew dark knowing that people, even in its current condition, did live there.

He parked his car, not far from the building underneath the only working street light on the block. Across the street from where he stood, was an old motor boat piled high with garbage, covered in graffiti. It had been there long enough to have tall grass growing all around it. He stepped out of the car and into the yellow glow from the lamp hanging high above the street. Like a tractor beam from a UFO it cast a triangle of light that contained; himself, the car, and the boat. Everything else faded into the grey masses against the blackness of the night. He set up his tripod and prepared for the shot. Bent at the waist, he looked through the viewfinder.

“Excuse me”

He straightened up and found a woman slipping into the yellow triangle of light. She moved without making a sound. Her skin hung loosely on her face making it hard to tell if she were old or just a junkie. Her matted hair shot strait from her scalp crowning it like a kinky black tiara jeweled with bits of twigs and garbage. The flesh of her feet squeezed out the sides of her ragged black sneakers. A thin knotted hand extended from the puffy sleeve of her down Raiders jacket. Stuffing was peeking out from various holes in her coat, some of which would get loose, escaping on the subtle breeze. She had something tucked under her other arm. Chuk couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like it may be a garbage bag, wet it glistened under the dull yellow glow. He saw it begin to shift and squirm. She pulled it in tight against her body and he could faintly hear a squeal coming from inside the bag. She moved in a step further.

“Comear, I got somethin I wanna tell ya,” Her voice was ruff and came from her belly, dragging its way up her throat, through her yellow snaggled teeth out past her white chapped lips.

Chuk grabbed his tripod pulling it close to his chest. “What?”

“Comeeear, I got somthin I wanna tall ya” Her voice hissed and echoed inside her mucus filled lungs. She started to cough violently. The thing under her arm began to squeal again, the sound was muffled, lost inside her puffy sleeve. It squirmed a little and she grunted and squeezed tight, quieting it.

Chuk was still, feet cemented where he stood. He clutched the tripod to his chest, the camera pressed against his face.

“Commmeeeeaarrr!” With her free hand she motioned for him to come closer.

“What! What do you want to tell me?” His voice was high and quivered a bit.

True he was bigger and stronger than her, but she looked crazy. The soft black mass under her started squirming and shrieking. With a quick inward movement of her elbow she hit it into her body with force this time knocking the noise right of it. She moved forward a step or two. Chuk backed himself up against the front passenger door of his car.

“I wanna tell you something!” she used her free hand to aggressively point in his direction. Her index finder outstretched as far as her knotted knuckles would unhinge.

“Yeah, what?”

She stops, her eyes opened into full circles. The whites of her eyes were thick piss yellow. Her mouth expanded into a large gaping grin, chapped white lips peeling back over her yellowed snaggled teeth. With yellowed eyes and teeth fully exposed she looked as if she is glowing from the inside, like a jack o lantern.

“Jerry Lewis is the only white man to EVER make me moist!” She shakes her head matter of factly letting out a grunt of conviction.

“Heeey lady!” is all Chuk could hear inside his head, over and over, while images of the buck toothed cross eyed comedian clouded his head. Certainly Dean Martin would have been his first guess.

The thing under her arm started to writhe around, to squeal then scream. She did nothing to stop it this time. She just stood there letting out a laugh that rattled inside her chest. Just stood there, eyes and mouth a blaze. She laughed harder and the thing under her arm screamed louder. It started to squirm and shake. Without waiting around to hear her explanation as to how and why she felt this way or even if she liked Dean Martin, Chuk turned about and bolted around the front of his car. He took off like a shot, dust kicking up from his heels in cloud that hung in the dull yellow tractor beam of the street lamp. He yanked open the driver’s side door and threw his gear onto the passenger seat. His heart had left his chest and was pounding in the back of his throat, echoed inside his ears. He struggled with his key but finally slipped it into the ignition, started it up and took off down the road at high speed. He looked into his rear view mirror and through the haze of dust and fog he could see her slink slowly out of the dim yellow triangle of light back to the apartment building. She sat down on the front stoop, pulled the thing from under her arm and hugged it close to her chest. It looked as if she whispered something to it. Chuk wondered what she could be saying. Was she singing it a song to console it? Or was she scolding it for interrupting her conversation. “That wasn’t very nice! I was trying to tell that man about Jerry Lewis.” He imagined her saying.

As he got further away he calmed down, even laughed a little, picturing himself running around the car. He replayed the whole event over in his head and puzzled over what might have been in the bag. He wondered if she lived in that apartment building and how she ended up there. He smiled and thought to himself, “Hey lady!” and laughed again. He turned off Rosa Parks and headed towards the freeway. He made his way north on I-75 out of the city and back home.