A Trip to the Dump #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by David W. Thompson

OK, we’ve gotten fancy these days, so “dump” isn’t correct anymore—politically or otherwise. Nowadays, we take journeys to the “Convenience Center,” so named because we’ve added a couple of recycling bins. The vast mountain ranges of cast-away rubbish are now compressed into a ginormous dumpster. After crushing, our kitchen trash, along with many forgotten keepsakes, are hauled away to parts unknown. Sad, but we humans are a wasteful lot.

Behind our local convenience center is a large acreage comprised of our old and now defunct “dump.” It is tons of trash covered with mounds of dirt.  It will be many years before people deem it anything other than a wasteland. But is it? In the evenings, before closing time there, I’ve seen herds of deer chasing each other and foraging in the wild grass that has sprouted despite our meddlesome intrusion.  Our “dump” has become a sanctuary for them. No houses will be built there, and no shopping malls or parking lots will disturb its unlikely tranquility. Nature is reclaiming its own. It gives recycling a whole new meaning.

A cottage industry has grown around garbage. Those without the requisite pickup truck essential for rural life hire others to haul away their weekly cast-offs. It seems trash is good for the economy.

I remember when my kids were small. My youngest loved going on ride-a-longs to the dump—yes, it was still a dump back then. As the youngest of three, she and I had a rare opportunity to spend some “us” time together. At least, I think that is why, although the occasional tossed aside and outgrown toy might also have been a draw for her also. But as she is now a military spouse and too often stationed many miles away, I treasure those memories of then.

Maybe we lost something when the dump became a convenience center. Many treasures were once found among the piles of forgotten gems. Today’s dumpster divers don’t have the same positive connotation as pickers, the ultimate recyclers.

While disposing of several bags today, I noticed people are friendlier at the “convenience center.” Total strangers take a moment to share pleasantries while completing the shared, if unpleasant, task. It’s as if we realize we can let down our protective masks here. There are no false facades at the dump—everyone is equal when their trash is exposed for everyone to see. Our world can be divisive, but our similarities are never more apparent than when accomplishing the mundane.

My parents kept many of my feeble attempts at art and a story or two that I penned over the years. I did the same for my once little ones—boxes full. How do you decide what stays and what goes? I even have several baby teeth bagged up that the tooth fairy passed along as mementos… Strange to modern ears, I guess, as we are a throwaway society. I worry that that mentality might go beyond material things to our moral code and our faith in each other…? Out with the old and in with the new?  I pray not as I weigh what is important to keep and what is past its usefulness to me.  

I’ll ponder it some more…on my next trip to the dump.   

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.