was out there with water up to his chin, swiping at fish. I was with Gilman and Parker and we hadn’t had a bite all day, but this guy, Crotch’s dad, the Garbageman, he pulls this two-foot bluegill right out of the water in front of us. With his bare hands! Seriously about blew our minds.”
My head was spinning. I couldn’t imagine the inert figure I had met the night before doing anything demanding such bizarre resourcefulness.
Woody did not see it that way. “It’s sad, man,” he said, his eyes landing on me once again. “A working man like that having to fish without bait or tackle. What they’re paying garbagemen these days must suck.”
“They get paid very well,” said Rhino knowledgeably. “Very well.”
“Well, then you must be right, Rhino.” Woody sighed. “Resorting to crazy shit like that? The Garbageman must be a thief.”
Celeste was merciful. Wordlessly she decided it was time to go, and everyone else followed suit, forgetting me in an instant. Even without explicit violence I was shaken. The lunch period was short, only thirty-five minutes, and just when I had settled enough to seriously contemplate my food, everyone began hastening away. The room rose almost in unison; it felt as if I were the one sinking.
The day crawled. I kept my head down. Weaving through the crowded hallway during the next class break, I heard “Crotch!” called at me. By the time the last bell had rung and I was speeding for the nearest exit, I heard it from multiple sources. Not me, I pleaded, knowing that every school has one untouchable pariah. Please let it not be me.
9.
I WELCOMED THE HEAT that singed me all the way home; it dulled my anguish and hunger. I even welcomed the prospect of a second round with my father. This abysmal day and any others like it still to come were his fault, and I would not be quick to forgive.
His truck was still missing. Despite myself, I almost sobbed in relief. I broke into a run. Inside the cabin, I flung myself to the floor in my corner by the sink. I buried my eyes in my hot elbow and felt my chest hitch up and down in alarming jags. In the darkness my mother comforted me and, after a while, whispered me away.
When I returned the sun was setting. The refrigerator buzzed and my stomach cramped in reply. I got up, gripped the rusty handle, and opened it. Yellow, stained walls greeted me—there was next to nothing inside. A wad of questionable meat, a row of condiment containers crusted shut. In the lower compartment, called the crisper by my mother, whips of onion skin were trapped in a black gel.
I closed the door, turned my back to it, and slid down until my butt hit the floor. There was nothing to eat and I had no money. These were the facts, and I was prepared to shame my father with them when he finally returned. In the meantime, though, I would scour the house. There were things I could learn here; better to learn them while still alone.
There was plenty evidence of hard work—an upside-down boot healing beside a curled tube of superglue, a pair of work gloves with fresh patches meticulously sewn over worn fingers, a pyre of misshapen shovels and hoes—but nowhere did I see proof of my father’s occupation. If he picked up trash, where was his garbage truck? His uniform? Pay stubs from his monthly check? Yet the more I kicked through the crap that blanketed the floor and angled up the walls, the more comfortable I became with the moniker. He was the Garbageman because of the garbage of his life strewn out all around him: piteous scraps of food, mud-matted carpets, expired medicine, spare change in a mason jar, a brush so old it still clutched nongray hair in volume.
I opened drawers and cabinets—a few plates, a plastic bowl full of coffee grains, a scattering of utensils as random as twigs on a forest floor. Beneath the sink, to my surprise, I found an abundance of industrial-strength cleaning products. The abrasive perfumes of pine and bleach unsettled my empty stomach, but at least briefly overtook the gamey odor. Given the cabin’s state, I considered placing a cleaning product atop each newspaper tower in the room—who knew, maybe he would take the hint. Instead I threw open the front door and all the windows. Through the final window I discovered a