Discard Pile
by Tara Campbell
Josh and Dan ambled across the deserted campus, rubbing
their eyes and intermittently scouring a hand over a night’s worth of stubble.
The bills of their baseball caps
shielded their eyes from the early morning sunlight filtering down through the
trees. Dan drowned out the lilt of
chirping birds with frequent slurps from his favorite travel mug.
“So, we’re just lookin’ for a TV, okay?” he reminded
Josh.
It was early May, and the social firmament of the
university had begun to break up and float away as students finished their
finals and started moving out. Dan
and Josh had come from their off-campus apartment to assess the piles of books,
clothes, furniture, and other debris that careless underclassmen and their
frazzled parents had had neither time, nor will, nor trunk space to carry away.
Technically these items had been left for Goodwill; but
twice a year, at the end of each semester, there was enough volume to create an
overflow of “resources” that didn’t fit in the collection container.
“Some of this stuff,” Josh had explained to Dan, “costs them more to pick
up than it’s worth. They’ll have to
schedule an extra trip, and that means they actually
lose money.”
Because neither of them really believed this, they
always tried to get to the cornucopia before the few remaining faculty and
worn-out administrators straggled onto campus in the morning.
Their kitchen table and chairs had come from the pile,
along with their stereo, a recliner, a good portion of their wardrobes, and most
of what passed for their home décor.
But Dan had a specific goal for this day’s expedition: all they needed
was a TV. The last one they’d found
had gotten ruined because Josh had ignored the incoming thunderstorm and kept
picking through the pile until it was too late to get the thing home.
“Just the TV, okay?” Dan prodded.
“We’re not gonna fuck around and get rained on again.”
No matter that, unlike last time, there was no rain in the forecast – Dan
stood on principle.
“Yeah, okay, relax,” Josh assured him.
But as they neared the pile, he could see that Josh was already starting
to get a prospector’s gleam in his eye.
Dan would have to keep things moving or they’d be there forever.
No time for that: he wanted to get over to Julie’s – her roommate had
just moved out the day before.
Dan picked through the pile with his one free hand, the
now-empty coffee mug in the other. He
sifted restlessly through the pile, wondering how they were going to carry a TV
with only three free hands. He
wasn’t about to leave his travel mug behind—it was the only one he’d ever found
in the pile that didn’t leak.
Was it too early in the morning to call Julie?
He should have taken her calls the night before, but he’d been busy.
And to be honest, he hadn’t really felt like talking to
her.
The end of the year always made girls start asking about
the summer and next year, and he just wasn’t ready to go there.
Sure, he liked Julie and all, but… well, couldn’t they just enjoy their
time without her roommate first?
Dan snapped back to attention when he realized that Josh
had started rummaging through smaller and flatter sections of the pile.
That
asshole’s looking for DVDs!
“Josh, man, what are you doing?” he barked.
“Focus: TV!”
“Duh: flat-screen.”
Dan didn’t buy it, but he let it go.
He could wait a few more minutes.
He had all day— Julie’s roommate gone, finals done, nowhere else to be.
Josh was too busy with the pile to see the stiffening in Dan’s pants as
he thought about what his afternoon held.
He’d been kind of dating Julie for a few months now.
She was just a sophomore, but she was a
smart one and took courses with upperclassmen like him.
They’d wound up hanging out after class a few times; then there was the
party where they’d finally hooked up.
He hadn’t wanted to be a dick about it, and he actually did like her, so
he’d kept on hanging out with her.
But sometimes the younger ones came into it with certain
expectations and stuff, so it could wind up getting messy.
As much as he disliked the guilt trips they laid on “the guy who won’t
commit,” he also hated being “the asshole who just breaks it off,” and he felt
like he was reaching this crossroads with Julie.
His mind raced ahead to all the hassles and awkwardness to come.
She didn’t seem like the type who would yell, but he’d actually rather
deal with that than with the silent sufferer, the delusional stalker, or, worse
yet, the fountain of tears.
Dan’s penis had read his mind, and his fledgling hard-on
started to soften. He looked around
to see Josh reaching for the corner of a Pearl Jam poster by the edge of the
pile.
“Dude, come on!”
“Calm down, man, it’ll just take a sec.”
Josh pulled up the poster – and they both froze.
A fuzzy, red, stuffed heart was sprawled face-down on
top of a pile of old shirts and mardi gras beads like a co-ed after rush. They
could tell it was face-down because it was the same stuffed heart Josh had given
Dan so much shit about when he’d picked it out of the previous semester’s pile.
Dan looked at the anatomically incorrect
heart, its absurdly long arms twisting out from each side, the fingers of its
Mickey Mouse-gloved hands bent at painful-looking angles, and thought back to
when he’d grabbed it for Julie’s conveniently-placed end-of-semester birthday.
#
“Dude, listen,” Josh had said, “if
I’m saying put it back, what does
that tell you?”
“But I don’t have time to get her anything else.”
“Yeah, but man, that thing is ridiculous.
You can totally tell it’s from the pile.”
“Ah, she’ll be cool with it.”
“Whatever…”
#
Josh let the poster fall back over the discarded heart.
“Okay, so, no TV.” He
cleared his throat and started back toward their apartment.
Dan clutched his coffee cup and stuffed his free hand
into his pocket. He turned and
followed Josh.
For the next few minutes the only sound between them was
the scuff of their sneakers on pavement
“Dude,” Josh finally mumbled, “it coulda been anyone’s.”
“Yeah,” Dan lied, “it coulda.”
The sky started to darken with clouds as they shuffled
home. Dan felt a drop of rain spit
down onto the back of his neck. His
eyes narrowed to slits as he cocked his head and looked skyward.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
And, in sympathy, it didn’t.