One Man's Trash

February 1975

It was bitter cold that night. He had just left the bar. A bar that not many people knew about or frequented. It was on the side of town that most people avoided. It was a bar that appeared long past it's prime both on the outside and the inside. But for him it was a sanctuary. A place to go and feel accepted; normal, what ever normal was. The patrons of the bar were varied; some old, some young, all different shapes and sizes. All men. Some looked as if they were right out of suburbia, undoubtedly with a wives and kids waiting at home for them. Some looked as if they had rolled in from the alleys and shelters. Yet they all had one thing in common, they were different. Their desires were labeled as perverse by society, and they took refuge in this place. On most nights he would settle for a quick liaison in a filthy back room. But sometimes, if he was very lucky, he would find someone to actually connect with. Find some simple understanding and warmth for a short fleeting moment. Tonight he had found nothing, just old men who sought a passionate encounter with young flesh. So he had left earlier than usual and began the walk to his car, which he had parked far from the bar. He walked trying to stay in the shadows so as not to be seen by anyone who might happen to pass by. The biting chill penetrated his body, he felt dead inside and he pulled his coat tighter to block out the wind.

He turned into the alley in an effort to avoid being seen. He could swear that he could hear muffled screams, but he saw no one. He cautiously continued down the alley, the noise became slightly louder. He paused, looked around and listened. Looking around again, more slowly and focused this time, he still saw no one, yet the sound continued. He took a few more steps, again the noise came. Could it be coming from inside one of the dumpsters? Slowly he walked toward the containers. He stood very still and listened, yes something, or someone, was in the dumpster. He lifted the top slowly, not knowing what to expect. It was so dark he really couldn't see anything. Reaching into the darkness of the garbage to see what he could feel, he was startled by a hand that grabbed at his wrist, followed by more frantic, but weaker muffled sounds. Startled he pulled back his hand. Reaching in again, this time with both hands, he was able to pull the sound maker up and out of the dumpster and now he could tell the sounds were pain filled screams, although still muted.

All he could make out for sure is that it was a person, or at least what was left of a person. The alley was so dark, he really couldn't see anything. He riffled through his pockets for his lighter. Just then on the street a car went by and for a brief moment he could see. Oh my god, it was a woman. Her face covered in blood, etched with pain. He picked her up and carried her closer to the street light so that he could see better. There was duct tape covering her mouth; her breathing was so shallow. Her eyes searched his. As gently as he could, he tried to take the duct tape off her face. It was really stuck to her skin and errant strands of her hair. Although he knew it might hurt her, he pulled it off quick as you would a Band-Aid. He could tell she was fading fast, eyes rolling back, then opening again for a moment or two. Her face was stained with blood, the gaping wounds on her face were bleeding profusely. Then he noticed that one of her legs was broken, really broken. Bones sticking out through the skin broken, from the knee down just hanging by a thread. Damn. For a moment he thought he might vomit. Should he leave her there and go call for help? She was barely breathing. Fear set in. Would someone think he had done this? Shit. With out thinking he scooped her up and started to carry her to his car. With each step she moaned; with each step he grew more panicked. He was trying to decide what would be the best course of action. His mind raced. He could drive her to the emergency room and lay her at the entrance and drive away before being seen. It wouldn't take long for some one to find her. Yes, yes, that's what he would do.

He quickly made it to where his car was parked. Amazing what one could do when they were afraid. He placed her on the back seat and then drove, fast. On the way his mind was racing, what if someone saw him? What if she didn't remember who did this to her and thought it was him? He had no alibi. What was he going to say, "I was in the fag bar, ask anyone who was there." Like anyone would admit to that. He surely didn't need any more trouble. He looked over his shoulder to the back seat, her face was really white. He made a split second decision. He turned the car and drove toward his home. He pulled into the driveway of his rented house and got out to open the garage door. Once he had pulled the car into the garage, he could move her into the house without being seen.

When he tried to take her out of the car, he realized both he and the car were covered in her blood. Shit. She wasn't moving at all anymore, no sounds, no moans, no breath. He knew she was gone. Now what?