Terry Sanville

Discarded Things

“Jackson, get your black ass down that bank.” The beefy guard waved his shotgun in the direction of the canyon floor.

Leon stared down the near-vertical slope from the fringe of Highway 198 at the tangle of poison oak, food wrappers, and cardboard. “Boss, ya gonna hafta lower me. I kills maself tryen to do it wid no help.”

“All right, all right. Can’t have you doing that. Blanco and Martinez, get over here…and bring the rope from the truck.”

The crew of thirty inmates had been picking trash since dawn, edging their way eastward from Lemon Grove into the High Sierras, on a work detail from Corcoran State Prison.

“All right, tie it around his waist,” the guard ordered.

Leon raised his arms as the two brown convicts looped the rope about his skinny midsection. He pulled on goggles, grabbed a roll of orange plastic bags and took an uneasy step. The soil was loose, like cocoa powder, and he slid and fell toward mounds of refuse. At the slope’s bottom he precariously leaned against a digger pine and untied the rope. Stuck down here all afternoon bagging this crap while my border brothers are smokin’ and jokin’…Blanco owes me smokes.

“Don’t get any ideas, Jackson.” The guard tossed him a water bottle. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Don’ worry, boss, I ain’ no rabbit. Jus please don’ forgets me. I be scared alone in dees hills.” Leon enjoyed playing the Uncle Remus routine…but only as a front with the bulls. The cons would stick a shiv in his ribs if he tried it on them.

He pulled on heavy canvas gloves and began stuffing rubbish into a bag. This place must never have been picked up. What a mess. A four-foot-high hedge of trash extended across the mountainside, held in place by the thick tangle of brush. At the bottom of one pile he uncovered Nehi and Canada Dry soda bottles along with a Prince Albert tobacco can. Sell this junk as collectibles on the outside…gotta stop thinking about that…two years left on my dime bit…get a date soon…too damn short to screw up.

He filled bag after bag with sun-bleached garbage. The spicy scent of sage and coyote bush made his eyes water. Steller’s jays taunted him and he slung a stone in their direction, remembering the time he’d almost thrown his arm out in Little League. Mama came to every game that year…saw me hit that cracker from Fresno with my fastball…then she had to go and…Leon stopped to catch his breath, his mind a jumble of boyhood memories. The orange jumpsuit stuck to him like wet bed sheets on a hot Tulare night.

“Hey Leon, ya want some lunch, man?” Blanco grinned from the road.

“Yeah. Haul my ass outta here, will ya?”

“Naw, the man says you gotta stay put. We’re goin’ up the mountain.”

“What the hell you saying. You can’t do…”

The guard joined Blanco. “Relax, Jackson. There’s enough crap down there to keep you working all afternoon. We’ll pick you up on the way down.”

“Yes sir, boss. But what about somethins ta eats… and I needs –“

“Don’t get your panties in a knot. Give him his lunch and some more water.”

Blanco put the brown sack in a bucket along with a couple water bottles and lowered it. Leon hungrily snatched the food and sprawled in the shade of a toyon bush.

“Here, you better take these.” The guard threw down another roll of plastic bags. “I want all of that picked up by the time we come back.”

“Yes sir, boss. Shouldn’t be no problem.”

Blanco covered his mouth to hide a smile. The two disappeared. A low rumble filled the valley as the prison bus and truck moved up the mountain. Leon ate slowly. Standing, he sucked in a lungful of pine-scented air and resumed picking. They might make it to Hammond by quitting time…haven’t been that way since the last time I hit the bricks…took Laetitia up to Mineral King…altitude made her sick as a bitch. He pulled old phone books and a bag stuffed with dirty diapers out of the manzanita. Shoulda listened to that girl…have a house full of squealers and a good job by now…shoulda listened to lots of people, starting with Mama.

The wind slacked off. In the August heat, pinecones cracked open and dropped their seeds. Leon stared at the cluttered hillside. Better keep at it… doze off and the man will dock my ass…can’t do another deuce…just can’t…one thing Mama always said: “Nothin’ comes easy for us coloreds”…she never forgot her years in Bama…moving us to the Valley seemed like a good thing…it could have been, but… He sucked on a water bottle and watched crows glide past. Can’t believe she left me. Damn, Mama, why couldn’t you have stayed? I wasn’t a bad kid…leaving like that, never telling me nothing, it…it…

Leon attacked the piles of garbage, working furiously, trying to clear his mind. It was quieter there at the forest’s edge than any place he’d been for the past eight years. He kept stopping to listen for the sounds of others. Man, this is the way it should be…peaceful enough to think…to get it the fuck together…wonder if Laetitia is still with Leroy…that fool couldn’t hold such a fine woman…course, neither could I…but still… The heaps of bulging bags grew: five, ten, fifteen. The whole eastern San Joaquin must have dumped their crap here. Why should anybody care? Can’t see it from the road. The bulls know I’m too short to run…Martinez or Blanco be halfway to Bakersfield by now. Twenty, twenty-five, thirty. Leon didn’t notice anymore what he stuffed in the bags, just kept his head down, gloved hands clawing the brush, an outlaw bandana pulled up over his nose.

The sun inched toward the western horizon. Then there was nothing more to collect. Leon slumped in the shade and yanked off his bandana. Beads of sweat clung to the ends of his neatly-trimmed goatee. The suffocating afternoon closed around him and he put his head down and sucked in deep breaths between parched lips. Sweat ran into his eyes.

“Hey man, check out the car.”

Leon jerked upright and stared at Blanco. “Where you been? I thought you assholes ditched me.”

“Check out the car, man, the car.” Blanco’s blurred image pointed. “What you talkin’ about?”

“The car, man, that damn car. Look, right over there.”

Leon twisted around but saw only pines and descending slopes of mahogany-barked manzanita and madrone. When he turned back, Blanco had vanished. That wetback’s been drinking too much pruno. Fry his brains in this heat.

“Hey Blanco, get me the fuck outta here.” Leon’s voice echoed in the hot silence. “Come on, Martinez, throw me the rope.” Speckled hawks circled silently.

But the stage between the blue alpine sky and highway’s edge remained empty. Leon stood and peeled back the top of his jumpsuit. His chest muscles ached. He moved downslope into the trees, the ground a dappled light field that reversed itself from positive to negative then back again. In the shadows of towering ponderosas rested a ’62 Chevy Bel Air. Smooth soul music poured from its open windows: But it was just my ’magination, running away with me. It was just my ’magination, running away with me. A black woman sat in the driver’s seat, her head bowed onto her chest. Leon wiped his eyes but couldn’t quite make out her face.

She must be really messed up…down here by herself where nobody can see. But that car’s not wrecked…not even scratched. He ran a palm over the polished door, the metal cold to the touch. He opened it. The woman didn’t move. Her purse and some papers lay on the front seat. Leon climbed in. The music stopped. What the hell…

“’Bout time you got here, boy,” the woman whispered. “I’ve been callin’ and callin’ but ya jus don’ listen.”

“You okay, lady? I should go for help and…”

“I’m fine. It’s you that needs help.” She twisted in her seat and adjusted her printed housedress. “You don’ know who I am, do ya?” she asked.

“I got something wrong with my eyes… but your voice…”

“Jus as well. You ain’t been seein’ right for years. What’s wrong with you?”

“Hey, I’ve had some bad breaks… and my Mama…”

“You’s not one of dem fools that blames everythin’ on his Mama, are ya?”

“No. I…I loved her…and she loved me. It’s just that, that…”

“What?”

“Sometimes people get off track. Need somebody to set ’em straight. I just never had…”

“So your Mama’s ta blame for you robbin’ that store and shootin’ that clerk?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I know lots.”

“Mama just weren’t around when I needed her.”

“So, thats be her fault?”

“I don’t know. She left and I never heard anything.”

“What didja do about it?”

“I was just a punk ass kid. What could I do?”

“You coulda given her a break. Maybe she wanted to be there but couldn’t. Maybe she wanted to keep you from seein’ somethin’ really bad.”

“What? Why the hell would a mother walk out like that… no Goddamn note… no nothing.”

“Don’ you use no swear words with me, boy.”

“Sorry. But I stayed in that house by myself for a week, waiting. Had to call Aunt Leonora to come get me.”

“I kin sees where that be tough on a child. But you’ll have them questions answered soon enough.”

“What are ya talking about?”

“You gots to start thinkin’ about what happens from here on out. The past won’ help you.”

“You sound just like my last parole officer.”

“You’d still be free if ya listened ta him. Your date’s comin’ up. Don’ you blow it this time.”

“Yes ma’am. Hey, look, I’d better go get help. It’ll be some job snaking this car up the bank.”

“You do that…and while yous at it, here’s somethin’ for yo’ trash.” She folded one of the sheets of paper and handed it to Leon.

“You sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’s just fine. But you gots to start thinkin’ straight. Ya know, nothin’ comes easy for us coloreds.”

Leon opened his mouth to speak. A torrent of cold water splashed across his face and down his throat, causing him to choke. He sat up. Blanco and Martinez stood on either side of him, laughing.

“Hey, man, ya having one of them sex dreams?” Blanco asked.

“Wha… where’d the car go?”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Martinez asked.

“The car, and that woman…”

“Yeah, thought so… it’s always about some woman with you rugheads.”

“Hey, you cons,” the guard hollered, “quit screwing around and send up those sacks.”

“Yes sir, boss. We be done quick now.”

Leon staggered to his feet. His right fist clutched a torn scrap of yellowed paper. He smoothed it out and read the faded typing:

Diagnosis: Ovarian epithelial carcinoma. Patient presented no symptoms until experiencing abdominal distress. Biopsies showed surface cells of both ovaries fully involved. Disease metastasized to surrounding tissues.

Treatment: No viable treatment. Use pain meds to keep patient comfortable. Death in 30 to 60 days. May need to induce coma near death.

Physician: Henry Stole, Resident Oncologist, Tulare County General Hospital

Leon gaped at the page. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He pulled hard on his beard, trying to remember something real.

“Hey Jackson,” the guard hollered, “it ain’t no fuckin’ library down there. Move your ass.”

Leon glared at the bull, ready to unleash a string of invective. But he fought it back, collected all thoughts about discarded things and pushed them out of his mind...all except that last scrap of paper.

“Yes sir, boss. I’m just gettin’ done.”

Slipping the folded scrap inside his jumpsuit, Leon stared downslope through the trees and across the vast valley floor to the far horizon, waiting for the rope to be thrown that would haul him up and away.