13
Gavin
I was wrong.I was so, so wrong.
After twelve hours of pumping crap, hauling crap, dumping crap I’ve decided that my life is one long miserable stinking pile of…crap.
Big Tom doesn’t talk. It’s not that he’s short with his words. No. He literally doesn’t talk. He showed me what to do—how to deliver the port-a-johns, how to service and clean them, how to work the vacuum to suck the port-a-john waste tank dry, how to consolidate the waste and transport it to the treatment plant—he showed me all this with a series of grunts, sighs, and impatient scowls.
I’m certain he can speak. Sometimes I think I hear him muttering under his breath. But when I look at him, his mouth is shut. He’s a short, bearded man that reminds me of some hairy nocturnal creature accidentally caught in the daylight.
We spent most of our day traveling from construction sites to parks, to…wherever they need portable toilets delivered, cleaned, sucked, or sanitized. At first, while we drove between locations, I kept my window rolled down, but after a few hours I stopped bothering. My hands, my hair, my clothes, everything smelled like sewage. I swear it’s stuck in my nostrils and I’ll never be able to get the smell out.
For the first part of the day I tried to make conversation. But Big Tom never responded.
When I asked him how long I’d been working for him, he shook his head and sighed.
When I asked him if we were friends, he grunted. I’m not sure if that was a yes or a no.
When I asked him when I got my paycheck, he snorted.
When I asked how well he knew my wife and kids, he slapped my back and gave me a sympathetic look. Not sure what that was about.
When I asked when lunchbreak was, he opened the glove box and threw a smashed up white bread tuna fish sandwich at me.
I ate it.
I missed breakfast after all.
Now, the sun is nearly down, I’m exhausted, sore, and stinking, and the sight of the big pine trees lining my house’s drive makes me want to weep. I’m actually glad to be home. God help me.
Big Tom shifts gears, yanks on the brake, and the truck lurches to a stop. I open the door, ready to head inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Tom lets out a sigh, which if I’m reading things right, means, “why me?”
I shrug. I didn’t think I did all that bad, considering I didn’t remember anything about my job. Plus, I only tipped over one waste tank and the spill only took two hours to clean up.
“Right. See you tomorrow. Thanks for the sandwich.”
I slam the truck door and jog up the drive as Tom pulls away.
At the front door, I pause and look through the window. The boys are in the kitchen, sitting at the table, heads bent over homework. The warm yellow light glows over them. The little one is at the stove, holding onto Jamie’s legs. Jamie’s stirring something in a pot, and her red hair glows in the light. She looks down at the girl and laughs. I can hear her laugh all the way outside, it rings clear and bright, and the sound hits me hard, right in the gut.
I lose my breath.
That. That right there.
That’s why I fell in love with her.
I’m sure of it.
Suddenly I’m hungry for her. I want to hear her laugh again, I want to be the one to make her smile, and then I want to take her mouth, and taste her laughter.
I exhale, long and hard.
She might not be beautiful. She might not be what I thought my taste was. But looking at this scene, my wife at the stove, kids at the table, all in a warm, homey kitchen, smiling and laughing, it hits something buried deep inside me, and I feel like maybe this isn’t the first time I’ve been standing outside, looking in on something I wish I had.
But this…I do have this.