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Please Recycle

Holding on and Moving Forward

By Thomas HernandezPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
3
Provided by Pixabay

"What is this?"

I flip the object in my hands a few times, trying to figure out what it does. A flat piece of metal that has a bend at the end, giving it an L shape. Do I need this for something? Is it part of the coffee table, or maybe a picture frame? Can't be that important I guess.

So, it goes into the box.

This is exhausting. Walking back and forth through my apartment grabbing anything made of metal, no matter how small, in order to comply with the new directives. Whatever. As long as we can have our cell phones, I guess. That will probably be the last thing they ask us to give up. Just imagine what would happen to people if they did. Nothing but chaos in the streets.

On the counter is an old shoe box from under my bed. Inside is a picture frame with some metal. It goes directly into the box. There are also some old electric bills and ration cards. Time stamps on my credit receipts to show hours completed at work. I should put these in the paper recycling, though paper is not as desperately needed, yet. I pull out a heart shaped locket that’s a bit rusted at the chain. I open it and find nothing inside. Picture long gone and forgotten by people no longer around to tell its story. Was this my mother's? Does it matter? Into the box it goes.

Moving some old letters out of the way, I spot something bronze. Looking up with me was a gorilla sitting on a branch with the words “Gladys Porter Zoo” circling on the top and “Brownsville, Texas” on the bottom. A commemorative coin. They were sold at the gift shop when the zoo was still open to visitors. On the other side was the seal of Brownsville: a picture of palm trees over the courthouse and "On the Border, By the Sea" written below. I pick up the coin and let it sit in my palm. It’s heavy for a coin this size though, to be honest, it has been a while since I held one. Ten years has passed since I bought the coin, but it was never technically mine.

I look up to my calendar and find my work schedule, ration pickup times, and rolling blackout dates. Right next to it is a receipt for a ticket. It reads, "This ticket is for one passenger, Christian Gomez, on the USS Discovery One, departing SpaceX Launch Facility, Brownsville, Texas on March 23, 2036. If you are unable to make schedule, your ticket will be given to one of the alternate passengers." I walk over to touch the slip for the hundredth time, ready to pull it from its tape and set in recycling. My fingers rub the paper and let go.

We had walked through the entire zoo with only a few actual animal sightings that day. It was hot and most of the animals were sleeping in the shade or just hiding from the sun in their habitats. The exhibits were closed to the public. Some endangered species had been moved there with hopes of breeding what they could to sustain their numbers. A sign of things to come.

I remember the tears welling in Christian’s eyes that day. He never complained, though. Not during this trip or at any other time. I admired him for it. Fortunately, we got to the gorilla exhibit, which would be open for only a few more days. We got lucky. And, man, did they put on a show. They ran around the enclosure, jumping from rocks to wooden platforms. Young gorillas poked at their father and ran away after extinguishing his tolerance. One even beat his chest, mimicking a visitor who kept beating his. Christian's smile ran from ear to ear. We walked over to the gift shop. Rather than any of the stuffed animals or toy snakes, he picked this bronze coin. He said he liked the idea of carrying it around in his pocket to remember this day. I guess he ultimately forgot. But I doubt he could have brought it with him on his trip.

I don't really need the coin. I have pictures and videos of him stored in my phone. Christian has my farewell message saved on a flash drive along with other things to remind him of home, family, and friends. Of everything he has left behind to be part of the last hope for humanity in a new home. I'm sure he will feel lonely at first, but I know he won't complain.

And so, the coin goes into the box.

I grab my backpack and the last box to drop off on the curb outside. I look at my phone to check the time. (The screen has a huge crack at the top but at least nothing important is blocked. Maybe I can save a few credits and fix the screen.) I check the schedule and notice that pickup is late. They are never late. Shortages have affected everything, even with the entire government focused on just one thing, it was bound to affect them as well.

And then I see it. In the distance a rocket is streaking into the sky with a tail of smoke and ash. It soon disappears into the smog, but you can still see the bright light of exhaust, continuing on into space. Some people on the street also look up but most are simply going on with their day. A sight that has been seen for quite some time gets old, even this. People still have jobs to get to, walking along a street that was once filled with cars now littered with potholes and patches of grass.

"Hey, Juan Carlos. How are you?"

"Hi, Deva,” I reply. “I'm doing good, how are you?"

Deva has a box she is dropping off at the curb with a shoulder bag around her. She is looking up at the sky at what is left of the rocket launch.

"Oh, I'm doing okay. How many more launches you think are left?"

"I think that's the last one."

Deva turns to me quickly, hands moving to her shoulder bag strap.

"For south Texas, I mean. I think there are still a few more going on in the West Coast."

"Yeah, I think you're right," she says, turning back to the sky. "You think they will come back some day?"

I don't think I would have known that answer three months ago. Hope has a way of creeping into your head, especially for selfish reasons. But today I have an answer. I definite one.

"Nah. But they'll be okay. And so will we."

Deva’s small smile is fading quickly. I don't think she believes me.

"Maybe you're right. Well, I'm off to work early. I'm five credits away from a bonus. Maybe I'll get some chocolate."

"Wow. I wish I had your discipline."

She waves goodbye with a brighter smile and heads toward transport down the street. With jobs to go to, mouths to feed, I don't think people have time to worry about the future, no matter how bleak. Or the past. I do envy her.

I check the recycle box one more time. The gorilla coin sits on top. As I move the box to the designated recycling area, I reach down and grab the coin. I put in my pocket. I throw my backpack over my shoulders and head over to transport. I should probably get to work early too. I really need to fix my cell phone screen.

science fiction
3

About the Creator

Thomas Hernandez

Beginner writer.

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