say
clean
foil, did it?
He pulled them out one by one. Three Hungry Chef TV dinner trays. The sight of them put a familiar lump in Arthur’s throat. He used to eat Hungry Chef dinners with his dad in front of the television whenever his mother worked late at the waitressing job she had.
Turkey and mashed potatoes with extra stuffing had been their favorite. Usually, they’d eat one each and split a third.
“Hungry Chef and a half,” his dad used to joke.
Arthur had tried them again, not too long ago. He’d cooked two when his mom was working late and he was watching Barbara. But he couldn’t finish more than a few bites.
“You want to have this one?” he’d asked Barbara, holding out the second steamy tray, which he hadn’t even touched.
“No,” she’d said, turning up her nose. “I don’t.” For some reason, it really bugged him. He’d told Barbara that she was a spoiled little brat, and the whole night kind of went downhill from there.
—
Arthur tossed the trays into his cart and slammed the lid back on the trash can. He needed to stop remembering things and do his work. Checking his watch, he sighed. He still had three hours to go.
The last things he collected that Saturday were the lightbulbs. He’d just found two coffee cans and decided it was time to give up. He hoped the nice wooden table and the big mirror and all the foil trays—people had eaten a lot of TV dinners that week—would make up for not finding Most Important Thing #1: Lightbulbs.
But then, as he was heading back to the garage, he noticed a tangled knot of discarded Christmas lights next to someone’s trash can. A few of the bulbs were missing, but the string still had more than enough left. The Junk Man could even choose from two different colors: white or green. Arthur tossed the Christmas lights on top of his pile.
Done.
As he pushed and pulled the stubborn cart back to Mr. Hampton’s garage, he decided nobody could accuse him of not following directions this Saturday. Of not having “vision.” He’d found everything on the list, including a pretty decent table.
What he really wanted to know was why. That’s what kept circling through his mind. Groovy Jim had said the guy always had a reason for what he did. So what was it? Why did Mr. Hampton want coffee cans but not ginger ale cans? Or lightbulbs but not lamps?
The list seemed totally random and pointless, but Arthur was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t.
THE FIRST IMPORTANT THING
“ H ow did it go?” Arthur’s mom asked cheerfully when he got home, as if he’d been out doing something fun, instead of serving four hours of his probation sentence. “Was Mr. Hampton nice to you?”
“Sure.” Arthur shoved his coat into the back of the closet, hoping his mom didn’t notice anything different about it. Hoping it didn’t smell.
“What did you do today?”
“Just moved some furniture and helped find some Christmas tree lights. Nothing big,” he said, keeping his eyes down as he tugged off his boots.
Too late, he realized the mistake he’d made.
His mom smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Good. Let’s get
our
Christmas tree down from the attic now that you’re back.”
So Arthur had no choice, really. He couldn’t exactly tell his mom he was still hoping his dad’s accident had been a bad dream and maybe, if they waited, he would be there to put up the tree for them. That would sound crazy and sad, and it would probably make her cry.
“Sure,” he said, keeping his voice as normal as he could. “No problem, Mom. I can do it.”
“I’ll help you pull down the steps.”
After the two of them had unfolded the narrow ladder that led to the attic, Arthur climbed up, while his mom stood at the bottom with a pencil-sized flashlight giving completely unhelpful advice.
“Be careful,” she kept saying. “Your dad would always hit his head going up. And watch out for nails in the floor. You don’t want to get a rusty nail in your
clean
foil, did it?
He pulled them out one by one. Three Hungry Chef TV dinner trays. The sight of them put a familiar lump in Arthur’s throat. He used to eat Hungry Chef dinners with his dad in front of the television whenever his mother worked late at the waitressing job she had.
Turkey and mashed potatoes with extra stuffing had been their favorite. Usually, they’d eat one each and split a third.
“Hungry Chef and a half,” his dad used to joke.
Arthur had tried them again, not too long ago. He’d cooked two when his mom was working late and he was watching Barbara. But he couldn’t finish more than a few bites.
“You want to have this one?” he’d asked Barbara, holding out the second steamy tray, which he hadn’t even touched.
“No,” she’d said, turning up her nose. “I don’t.” For some reason, it really bugged him. He’d told Barbara that she was a spoiled little brat, and the whole night kind of went downhill from there.
—
Arthur tossed the trays into his cart and slammed the lid back on the trash can. He needed to stop remembering things and do his work. Checking his watch, he sighed. He still had three hours to go.
The last things he collected that Saturday were the lightbulbs. He’d just found two coffee cans and decided it was time to give up. He hoped the nice wooden table and the big mirror and all the foil trays—people had eaten a lot of TV dinners that week—would make up for not finding Most Important Thing #1: Lightbulbs.
But then, as he was heading back to the garage, he noticed a tangled knot of discarded Christmas lights next to someone’s trash can. A few of the bulbs were missing, but the string still had more than enough left. The Junk Man could even choose from two different colors: white or green. Arthur tossed the Christmas lights on top of his pile.
Done.
As he pushed and pulled the stubborn cart back to Mr. Hampton’s garage, he decided nobody could accuse him of not following directions this Saturday. Of not having “vision.” He’d found everything on the list, including a pretty decent table.
What he really wanted to know was why. That’s what kept circling through his mind. Groovy Jim had said the guy always had a reason for what he did. So what was it? Why did Mr. Hampton want coffee cans but not ginger ale cans? Or lightbulbs but not lamps?
The list seemed totally random and pointless, but Arthur was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t.
THE FIRST IMPORTANT THING
“ H ow did it go?” Arthur’s mom asked cheerfully when he got home, as if he’d been out doing something fun, instead of serving four hours of his probation sentence. “Was Mr. Hampton nice to you?”
“Sure.” Arthur shoved his coat into the back of the closet, hoping his mom didn’t notice anything different about it. Hoping it didn’t smell.
“What did you do today?”
“Just moved some furniture and helped find some Christmas tree lights. Nothing big,” he said, keeping his eyes down as he tugged off his boots.
Too late, he realized the mistake he’d made.
His mom smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “Good. Let’s get
our
Christmas tree down from the attic now that you’re back.”
So Arthur had no choice, really. He couldn’t exactly tell his mom he was still hoping his dad’s accident had been a bad dream and maybe, if they waited, he would be there to put up the tree for them. That would sound crazy and sad, and it would probably make her cry.
“Sure,” he said, keeping his voice as normal as he could. “No problem, Mom. I can do it.”
“I’ll help you pull down the steps.”
After the two of them had unfolded the narrow ladder that led to the attic, Arthur climbed up, while his mom stood at the bottom with a pencil-sized flashlight giving completely unhelpful advice.
“Be careful,” she kept saying. “Your dad would always hit his head going up. And watch out for nails in the floor. You don’t want to get a rusty nail in your
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