The Trashcan Robot, page 1

He pulled up in his driveway and stared from his car at the faded lace curtains hanging in the picture windows. He always tried to see her there, sitting in her chair reading some 'mushy love story.' She loved those things. He didn't have time for it, but appreciated how her eyes would light up when they made the trip to the second hand book store and found another one she hadn't read yet. The back room was still full of them. Every Saturday for God knows how long he would pretend to be interested in what she was looking for. He knew she made him what he was and he was proud to be holding her hand. What a dish.

As soon as he had turned the key in the deadbolt, it snapped him back in to reality. It did it every time. A stale breeze would creep out the door and the dark, empty, quiet vacuum that was once filled with love drew him in and attached him to his chair.
The small table between his and her chairs in the living room still had those damn coasters she wanted so bad. He had given her such a hard time about how gaudy they were but he couldn't make himself get rid of them. In fact, he couldn't make himself get rid of anything. On the refrigerator was the last grocery list. He had it memorized. he had read it, stared at it thousands of times. Sometimes during the day he would read it back to himself. 'Pepto, TP, Veggies, fufu.' He never stopped to think about the significance of the items, just focused on her writing. He traced the curves in his mind's eye like he could still touch her.

The TV guide was from a month ago. he picked it up anyway, out of habit and turned to Tuesday. Nothing seemed to ever really change anyway. He felt ridiculous again, for being such a 'basket case' and made a funny inaudible noise, as if to express disgust or disappointment at himself and threw the magazine down right where he had found it. Like he had for so many years, he turned his head to the right. He liked to look over at her and watch her read with her glasses on the edge of her nose. He teased her about how 'sexy she was for a grandma.' They both knew by now that his bark was worse than his bite.

He thought about making some soup. It had been quite a while since he had eaten anything. Chicken noodle just didn't sound good, so he decided he would wait until dinner time. His daughter would come by later to make sure he had eaten something. For some reason, she was easily placated and wouldn't push the issue, but she was a lot more observant than he gave her credit for. She was her daddy's girl after all.

Like he had done so many times before, he stared at the blank television and fought the lump forming in his throat. The sounds of his breathe and the low humming of the water cooler was all he could hear. Above the TV was their wedding picture. His daughter had told him a dozen times that he should 'put it away' but she knew better than to push dad too far. He could make out the seven small ceramic bears that represented the extent of his gift giving to her. They sat in the corner curio, lit up light they were Faberge eggs. She had always displayed them with such pride and kept them meticulously cleaned and arranged. He knew the smiles and features of each as if they were his own children. He was often angry with them for smiling when he felt so bad.

With the familiar knocking of the mailbox on the front porch, he knew that 'weird looking' mail man had just dropped off some more bills and that it must be fifteen after eleven. He looked over to the kitchen where that god awful chirping bird clock, which had long since been 'fixed,' confirmed his suspicions. 'Right on time,' he thought to himself. He knew he had an hour and half to nap before he had to be back at the office, but he never napped that long. He closed his eyes. For an instant, he actually thought about pretending to enjoy the peace and quiet. That lasted less than two seconds. He remembered why it was that he came home for lunch; why it was that he sat in his chair; why it was that he reached his arm across the table to touch the hand of the love of his life.

He was safe here and could feel whatever he wanted to. With no one to scorn or ridicule him, no one to impress with his stature, resolve or fortitude, the pretension left his face; his body got that familiar heavy feeling; he was relaxed. His mind went back, as it always had for the past six years, to his favorite of the weird stories. He caught himself tearing up, ever so slightly and put a grimace on his face to stop his eyes from overflowing. 'Keep it together, old man,' he thought to himself as he pondered the genius of an old man with a trash can robot.

[edit on 13-8-2009 by KSPigpen]