I have two fans in my room. One is a ceiling fan, the other a window fan.
In June I moved in and heard them whirling. Whirling. Whirling. All day, all night. Always whirling.
By July I didn’t notice the fans any more. I left them on at all hours of the day. I, who was not used to having air blowing across his skin at night quickly got used to it. I would lie in my underwear on top of my sheets and fall asleep.
Until yesterday. Suddenly it was not that hot. Suddenly the weather switched to an average summer day 500 miles north. And due to the cooling air, a lethargy evacuated. Everything sped up.
I turned off the fans at night. There was no more whirling. I could hear a whole new racket — sounds rushed in to take the place of pushed air: heartbeats, doubts, confusions, and desires.
We don’t separate recycling down here. Well, not in this neighborhood at least since there is no city run recycling service. There is a huge dumpster for the complex and we put all our trash in it. But people regularly go through the dumpster to pick out the recyclables. Bums do it. If you saw it happening that’s what you would say: “Oh, a bum is going through the dumpster.” But families do it too. I’ve seen a family of four dig through our trash during the day. Two elementary school aged children had small carts that they filled with bottles and cans. I don’t know what you would say about a family digging through the trash. I doubt you’d call them bums, though.
People come and search through the trash at night sometimes. I think they are trying to get a jump on those who will arrive the next morning.
I still have clean and dirty. To me the trash is dirty. I would need to be desperate before I’d routinely dig through the Long Beach trash on Fourth Street. The mentality of those willing to rummage through a dumpster at night — well, I don’t know how to complete that sentence. They don’t use a flashlight. They grope darkness with bare hands, straining to hear the clink of glass or feel the bulge of aluminum.
Last night I heard someone like that. I was in my third floor apartment, but I could still hear him or her through my bedroom window. It was after 1 AM and I had almost fallen asleep. Whoever it was searched for quite a while. My guess is they either found a lot, or found a little. That’s why they stayed so long.
At night I had heard them before, but never so clearly — never without the blanketing hum of my two fans. I briefly put a pillow over my head to dampen the noise. But then I uncovered my head. Someone was telling me something important, and I wanted to hear it.
4 responses so far ↓
1 Jim // Oct 6, 2009 at 3:18 pm
Nice post. Well written and thought-inducing. How’re you doing in Long Beach?
2 Erica // Oct 7, 2009 at 10:35 pm
This piece might be your best yet. Subtle yet provocative.
3 Bowman // Oct 8, 2009 at 10:31 am
Jim – Glad you liked it, Jim. I’m doing OK here. Still haven’t completely settled in yet, but I’m getting there.
Erica – Cool! Thanks! I thought you would like it.
4 lou // Oct 27, 2009 at 5:29 pm
very poetic. people are so desperate for money these days. a shopping cart of recyclables can feed a family of your for a week! not literally, they have to exchange the goods for cash first.
some do worst for cash.
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