Her hands are stiff and the skin cracked. Fingerless gloves are no help in the cold morning hours, but there’s nothing she can do about it. She needs to work quick, they all do, if they want food on the table tonight. At least it’s not as bad as back in her days on the sorting crew. Her young hands bear a lot of scars form the cuts, but she counts herself lucky she didn’t lose any fingers, like Norma who had to be taken to the hospital when her left hand got all red and swollen last winter and the doctors had to cut her thumb off.
Life is much easier for the flatteners, no rusty nails or glass shards hiding in the mountain of plastic bottles and cans in front of them. The smaller kids still think it’s fun to jump on them with both feet and tease each other who can perfectly crush a big Cola bottle in one swift jump. Not Laurie. She’s 12 now, old enough to feed cans in the machine that flattens even twenty cans in one go. Sometimes she shouts at the smaller kids to cut it out and get to work before King Pete comes round and scolds them for slacking on the job. She’s long stopped questioning why is it that any kid able to walk gets a job. It’s just the way things are when you live in the rat hole. When they venture into town she’s seen other children, children with nice clothes eating fresh donuts in the park. Laurie likes donuts too, but the one they sometimes get are cold and stale, but what can you do?
No one knows how ole Pete manages to be up at sunrise, since he’s the last one to go to sleep. He likes to spend his nights in front of the fire, all huddled in his long gray overcoat, that goes all the way to the ground, like the habit of a monk. But Pete insists his is no ordinary coat, he got it when they cleared out the attic of that theater that closed five years ago. ‘It was a king’s costume, I tell you’, he says pointing to the scraps of fur still clinging to the worn out collar. Only men are allowed to drink with King Pete at night and only those who bring a bottle of liquor or some important news. Not politics, the landfill rats have no need for that, it has no bearing on their lives. The imminent death of Mrs. Fox, that’s really good news. They all know her late husband used to be one of richest men in town and now that’s she’s about to kick the bucket too, that girl of hers will surely want to get rid of all the junk in the attic.
‘I’ll talk to Steve to keep his eyes peeled’, King Pete says and the other men nod in solemn agreement. Steve is said to be the old man’s nephew, but he doesn’t live there anymore. He’s done well for himself and he now drives a garbage truck that makes the rounds in the best part of town, the streets where the mayor and many loaded people live. On special occasions, like the impending death of Eliza Fox, Steve will give word to his men to load everything carefully, on top of the regular trash, so Pete and his crew can sort through the stuff. He’s been in this business for decades old Pete and he can immediately tell what can be sold and how much it is worth.
Of course, not everything can be sold, moth eaten carpets and chipped china plates are notoriously hard to move. You wouldn’t believe what some people keep around.
But in old Pete’s kingdom every little thing is useful to someone. Like the bare-earth shack where Laurie lives, that could use a carpet.
Some say ole Pete spends too much of their money on booze or the occasional night out - that is when he visits with some lady friend in town, but truth is he is always mindful of his people and their needs. He knows everyone by name, even the smallest brat, too young to be of any help yet.
The day Mrs. Fox’s old trunks were finally delivered was a day to remember. King Pete was in a really good mood after he discovered in one of them chests an ivory chest set that was sure to bring in a lot of dough. The old man was so pleased with his lucky find he let them have their pick of the loot - old-fashioned hats, still good to keep the sun away on a hot summer days, faded velvet curtains that would make fine bedding for a whole family, a broken china doll that would brighten somebody’s squalid shack. Old Pete had a special present for Laurie, too - the most exquisite pair of gloves you could imagine. Red lace, long enough to go past the elbow, still carrying a faint scent of perfume. Laurie was afraid to pull them over her calloused hands, afraid she might tear such a delicate thing, but ole Pete urged her to try them on.
‘I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time, little one. You’re turning into a fine young lady. Almost time for you to start work in town’.
Laurie raised her head and looked at him wide-eyed. She knew what that meant, just as she knew one day it will happen. Only not so soon, she wasn’t expecting that. Yet, she’d be rid of the landfill and the rats and that was worth anything and those that say otherwise sure don’t know what they’re talking. Good old Pete, he always looks after them.
Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge, today's prompt was: habit! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.
Thanks for reading!
Image: Pixabay.