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30 Chapter Ten The Trash Bin “Hey, girls,” an old man in a wheelchair says to my cousins and me. His voice rattles like a worn-out machine gun. “Could you get my plastic spoon and fork out of the trash bin?” “What did he say?” I ask my older cousin Maggie. “I’m not sure. I think he dropped something in the trash.” We lean over the trash bin, see nothing of importance, and ask him what he dropped. “My plastic spoon and fork.” We’re at a city park, the trash bin is full of plastic spoons and forks. Maggie is thirteen, Gwen’s twelve, and I’m eight. Neither of us is tall enough to lean into the trash bin and scoop out his utensils, but we were raised to be respectful to our elders, so we don’t question his request. Since I’m the youngest, I’m the one who gets boosted into the trash dumpster. I grab a couple utensils and hand them to my cousins, but the old man grunts. Those aren’t the right ones. He wants me to find his spoon and fork. “They all look alike,” I say to the old man. He mumbles something in a low guttural whisper, sounding inhuman. “Just grab him some other utensils,” Gwen whispers to me. After spending fifteen minutes digging out dirty utensils, he finally seems satisfied and wheels away in his chair. My brother, sister, and I are staying with my aunt while Mom’s in the hospital. Aunt Carol has five kids. Her husband is another one of my dad’s brothers that Mom calls a “good for nothing pig” because he left without paying child support. She’s the only relative that will take all of us kids at one time. As we walk home, we mimic the old man’s voice, and when we tell my aunt about him, she says, “You girls should feel ashamed of yourselves making fun of him that way. He probably doesn’t have any dishes.” Diane Payne 31 The next afternoon we’re at the park and the old man asks us to get him a newspaper out of the trash, though he already has a large stack of newspapers sitting beside him. Once again, I fetch the dirty papers out of the garbage and he always insists on a different paper, never the one I have pulled out. Leaning over the edge of the large trash bin is hard work. I’m careful not to fall in and when I finish there’s always a crease left on my stomach. My cousins hold my legs so I won’t slip, but being held upside down like that makes me dizzy and my long hair gets covered with ketchup and garbage. Today we try to talk to the old man, but he shoots unintelligible words out in that rapid whisper, leaving us uncertain as to what he’s trying to say. About all we can do is wish him a good day and go on. On the third day, I see the old man and dread saying hello, but I remember what my aunt has said and feel sympathy for him. Today he asks for a plastic fork and I once again get hoisted inside the bin. When I get out, he pats his hand on the bench, suggesting we sit near his wheelchair. While we sit, he reaches out and grabs me onto his lap, trying to pull my shorts down, jamming his fingers up my crotch. My cousins grab me free and we race home. The first thing they do is wash my hands under scalding water and tell me to take a hot shower while they tell my aunt about this man. Aunt Carol is furious and comes upstairs to make sure I’m all right. “Don’t you girls go to the park without your brothers. Stay away from that man. You point him out to me and I’ll call the cops on him!” The next day she comes to the park with us but he isn’t there. A couple of days later, we pick Mom up from the hospital and while sitting by my aunt’s dining room table, the old man wheels past the window. “That’s the man!” I scream. Aunt Carol knows this man, a neighbor. “I can’t believe he’s the one!” Mom has no idea what we’re talking about...

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