Collection Day

It started simply enough: I suddenly remembered that it was trash pick-up day. I walked into the kitchen and tugged on the flimsy plastic loops as I strained to break the vacuum holding the bag in the trash can.

With a WOOOOOOSH it dislodged and I staggered back a bit, dangling the half-full bag at arm's length as I found my footing. Looking at the bag I had the thought that it was a shame to toss this into the wheeled can and trundled it to the street with so much unused potential.

Thinking smugly of my unexpected adulting, I opened the refrigerator and started going through the crisper and then the shelves. Taking the time to read every label I found that many things had expired... and in the case of a jar of what I suspected were olives, they had expired on a date that started with '199-'. How had I missed this? Into the bag it went.

Even after the refrigerator gave up it's soupy cukes, wilted celery, and sus jars; there was still plenty of room in the bag. So I moved into the spice rack. Ha! When was the last time I used celery seed? Coriander dust? A square tin with the telltale dusty red top of McCormick cloves (dated that same '19--'? Into the bag.

Huh- that's strange. It hardly felt like there was anything at all in the bag. Still plenty of room. I moved on to the freezer. Now! Here's something that should fill up a trash bag!

Quart-sized bags of frost-coated... berries? meat? maybe veggie patties? As I picked up the bags the slick plastic flexed and icy crystals crunched and then gave way revealing the contents that gave no clue to what their original purpose may have been. No dates. No labels. Who put these in here? What were they? Into the trash bag.

Closing the door on an orderly freezer I braced myself to lift the bag and finally walk it and the larger can to the curb. But there was no need. It lifted light as a feather, as if I'd not added 3/4 of the freezer contents to it.

The pink ribbon of plastic tie that rimmed the mouth of the bag twisted within its hem, as if to mock me and ask "Is that all you've got?" I clenched my jaw and dragged it to the bathroom.

There I opened doors and drawers, tossing old prescriptions, half-used tubes of unguents, caps to bottles long gone, and toothbrushes meant to continue their service as scrubbers and cleaners of crevices that would remain unbothered.

Sweating a bit I went to pull those ties taut only to discover the bag was not even half full. How could that be? Did the sides have secret stretching ability, swelling its middle instead of mounding towards the top? Time to pull out all of the stops- the bedroom closet.

Hearing a maniacal chuckle I barely registered as my own I flung open the closet door and grabbed for the box of craft supplies from the upper shelf. It was hidden there to spare myself from the shame of abandoned intentions of creation.

Into the bag went snarled skeins of wool that even the moths disdained. Next the crumbling glue sticks from the days of Brownie meetings (that Brownie now a mom in her own right), bits of felt that were deemed to be good for 'something, sometime', and squashed cherubs that I once thought just needed plumping before adorning a wreath or tree. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Shoeboxes perfect for dioramas in classes that ended years ago- pots of poster paint that bore hints of color in their cracked cavities, wax from candle kits, soap from soap kits, and thread of gold, silver, and bronze for paper presses that disappeared years ago. Gone.

Panting from the exertion, I hefted the bag to see if it could still be lifted, only to find it as light as when I first started. Peeking inside I saw the celluloid cherubs twined with tinsel and thread, wrapped in woolen coats that shimmered in the light filtering into their palaces of paper boxes.

I could stand it no more and flung myself out of the door and dashed towards the street to see the trash collector rounding the corner. The corner AWAY from the house. They had already been down our street and passed by since the bins weren't standing sentry at the curb.

That meant it would be another week. Another week feeding the ravenous bag. Conceding I had lost this challenge, I wearily and resolutely turned around and headed towards what I knew it really craved. The garage.....

~~~~~

This was written in response to James and Oneg's Original Summer Extravaganza Challenge, which you can read about below. There's not time limit, so check it out and create one of your own from a prompt.

Here's a short poem I wrote for another one of the prompts.

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