Junkyard Carol

By Kate Thornton




The holidays. What a pain. I always have a tough time getting into the Christmas spirit. I mean, all the lights, the damn repetitive music, and kids. The kids drive me crazy worse than the rest of it.

It’s not that I’m some kind of Scrooge. Well, okay, maybe - but who can blame me? I run a nice, respectable recycling park here. I got a big, crazy part-pit bull to prove it, you know what I mean? An’ no one bothers Patsy O’Connell if they know what’s good for 'em.

Except it was different this year.

So I’m down at Ruff’s Tavern, not too far from the park, and it’s almost five in the evening. It’s darker than Margaret’s raven hair, God rest her soul, and it’s cold, too. I don’t think it’s gonna snow on account of it ain’t snowed here in fifteen years, and then it was just a hailstorm but everybody remembers it like it was snow. Anyway, I figure it’s just gonna be cold and I’m gonna need a few to warm me up before I go on back to the house.

I got me a little place fixed up back behind the office in the park, but I only stay in there if I have to work late or wait for a delivery or something. People end up in accidents at all hours of the day and night, you know, and I gotta take the junk for recycling. But I know it’s no good just movin’ in there and forgettin’ all about the house just 'cause Margaret’s gone.

So I spend the evenings at Ruff’s and then go on home. I leave Trasher at the park, though. It’s his job to guard it at night, and he’s a mean sumbitch dog. I never had no trouble with thieves since I got him.

Ruff’s is a big, warm place with sawdust and God-knows-what on the floor. There never was a Ruff or nuthin', but Buddy, the guy at the bar, is part owner and sees to everything there. I got my own place at the bar, too, and my own cup if I’m in there just for coffee. Well, maybe I get my coffee with a little something extra, but who could blame me? Buddy always has something on special in the kitchen, too, and nine times out of ten I eat my dinner on the barstool, watchin’ the news on the old TV up behind Buddy. I’m so tired by the time I go home, I don’t even notice I’m the only one there any more.

It’s not a bad life, and every so often there’s a little excitement in town to liven things up. Or I get somethin’ real exotic in at the park.

But Christmas, well, that can be hard. Margaret was big on Christmas, and we always had a tree and lights and everything and the kids would come to visit. But they don’t come this far any more and they’ve all got kids of their own now. An’ I guess I’m not much fun to have around, either. I just don’t have the patience for kids. I really never did.

So go figure when this little guy starts hanging around the park and instead of chasing him off, I let him pet Trasher. Trasher liked him, too, licked his little face and let the kid tug at his fur. I never seen Trasher wag his tail before. But he sure liked the kid alright. Kid musta been nine, maybe ten years old, an’ he started showing up one day when it was cold as all get out. He just looked through the fence at first, and I was gonna shout to him on account of Trasher making a beeline toward him, but it turns out Trasher liked him and I didn’t have to shout anything after all. After that, he showed up every afternoon to pet Trasher.

An’ me, well, I’m a softy I guess. After a few days, I opened the gate and let the kid come in, pet the dog and get a cookie in the office. I dunno why I started keeping cookies in the office, I just did, that’s all. He took one, said thank you like a polite kid, and then left. He never smiled or nothing, didn’t say much, either, but I got to looking forward to seeing him at the fence.

I had me a good Thanksgiving dinner at Ruff’s. Buddy’s wife cooked up a big turkey and me an’ a coupla other guys, we had a dinner with all the fixings, right there in the middle of the place, all the tables pushed together and Mrs. Buddy serving like we was all her family. It was great, and afterwards, we all sat around and watched the TV above the bar. I musta fallen asleep after my third piece of Mrs. Buddy’s pumpkin pie.

When I went home that night, I got out a little string of lights and fixed 'em up around the front room window, the way Margaret used to. Didn’t look half bad, either, twinkling there in the dark. I sat in my old easy chair next to Margaret’s empty one and watched 'em until dawn.

Next day I was back at work. Things are always busy around here, and I can’t take off too much time. Margaret always said I needed an assistant, and she was right, God rest her soul. I just never got around to getting one, but it’s clear I need one now. I worked like a sumbitch until dark that day, and I forgot about the little kid. Trasher just kind of mooned around the park, so I let him out for a run to Ruff’s with me after I closed up. He sure is a good dog, but I brought him right in back on account of the problems in my business with thieves.

It got to be near Christmas, and I was wondering if Mrs. Buddy was gonna make Christmas dinner or if I was gonna have to bring a sandwich into the shop or something. I guess I didn’t really mind it, you know. Christmas was a day just like all the others, except somehow it made my job that much more important. I always liked to have just the right part available for folks on Christmas. It seemed to matter more then, I guess.

I figured this would be my last Christmas without an assistant anyway, so I might as well enjoy it. I sat at my old computer and took a look at what I had in stock. Things were always a little low this time of year.

I musta left the gate open, 'cause the little feller sort of sneaked up on me when I was working on the terminal and I didn’t hear him. I don’t know how long he had been quietly sitting there waiting for his cookie.

"Hey, sport," I said when I saw him. "How’s it goin’ today?" I got out the cookies and he took one. "You pet Trasher yet?"

He shook his head, so I walked with him out to the yard and Trasher came running over. He about knocked the kid down, he was so happy to see him.

"What’s your name, kid?" I asked him, but he didn’t seem to hear me. After he hugged Trasher, he waved to me and left. "Merry Christmas," I called out to him. I hadn’t said it to anyone all day.

Later on, Buddy’s wife dropped by with a picnic dinner of roast ham and the fixin’s, and a little wrapped present for me, too. I thanked her, and when she left I opened the present and liked to cried. It was a little snowglobe, you know, with a scene in it and when you tipped it up, it looked like it was snowing inside. It was something Margaret would have liked.

I seen the familiar red lights on the truck as it pulled up into the yard and the boys brought me another batch of parts. I logged 'em in and shook my head. They were little parts from car accidents. Accidents always happened at the holidays, spoiling someone’s holiday forever.

I fed Trasher a little of my dinner and was about to close down for the evening when the red lights showed up again, this time screamin’ on in through the gate with the siren going. I helped the boys get what they came for, kinda glad that my stock didn’t sit around until it expired.

"Hey, you got exactly what we want!" a young man in a white jumpsuit said. "This is gonna make someone real happy!"

That’s the way it was in the recycling business - one person’s accident was another person’s good luck.

Only I was kinda interested in this particular part, on account of the crash victim had been just a kid. There was another delivery, this time an accident out on the Interstate. I signed the paperwork and they sped off.

Next day I decided to see what had become of the parts from the previous day, Christmas Day. I almost never did this. Margaret always said it would just break your heart, and there were plenty of other ways to do that.

I called up and they said to come on over, that it would be okay. So I left Trasher on guard and carried my pager with me and went on over to County.

A little boy was in Intensive Care. Some guy who had too much Christmas cheer had missed a turn on the two-lane and went off the road. He didn’t even see the kid.

I looked at him through the glass. He was asleep, hooked up to about a dozen tubes and stuff. His mother was asleep in a chair next to the fancy bed. One of the nurses came over and touched my arm. "You know, Mr. O’Connell, that little boy is still alive because of you. Looks like the new heart is going to work out." I nodded, only it wasn’t me, of course. It was some other kid, it was my cookie kid. Alls I do is recycle the parts. I don’t even know how he died or where his mother was that night. I don't even know how I knew, but I did.

Margaret was right, of course. Going over to County just broke my heart. When I got back, I finished off the cookies and sat in the back room just holding on to Trasher. That little boy in the hospital was gonna make it, but the other little kid didn’t and on Christmas, too. That’s how it was in my business. I tried not to think about that part, tried instead to think that at least when something awful happened, maybe you could get some good out of it.

Like the drunk drivers. I got their parts on ice right now, just waiting for someone who needs 'em, maybe for New Year’s.

 

The End

Copyright © 1999 by Kate Thornton

Read Hearts and Flowers in the last Muderous Intent Mystery Magazine. Watch for a future issue of MIMM with Kate's flash mystery Half Full and check out the current issue (#9) of Blue Murder for Freudian Sloop.

E-mail: kittyf@hotmail.com

URL: http://www.sff.net/people/katethornton


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