Theo was the master of pauses. He didn’t seem to mind that a gigantic silence spread out, hovering in the middle of the conversation. He just sat there, thinking about an answer. “I wonder why we need that space to bury garbage,” he finally said. “The town hasn’t grown very much.”
Mrs. Peters gave us a big smile. “Looks like you’ve already figured out why this is an interesting issue.” She wrote our names and the topic on her chart.
After school Carrie and Victoria left the building together, giggling as if they had known each other forever, just like a pair of turkey hens.
11
After school Theo waited for me at the bike racks. He wanted to check out Pete’s Pond. I could hardly say no since we were working on this project together. But I made sure he was out of breath by the time we got there. After we parked our bikes, we walked around the pond, and I showed him the landfill behind the trees to the east.
“You see,” I said, when we returned to our bikes, “it’s not just a pond. It’s more a kind of wetland with lots of birds.”
“How come you know this area so well?” Theo asked, his face flushed and his cowlick now dissolved into wisps.
“Sometimes I come here when I want to be alone,” I said vaguely. He didn’t need to know what the place meant to me.
“All of this is going to be a big garbage dump,” he said. “That’s kind of sad.”
“Kind of sad? That’s not what I’d call it,” I snapped. “I’d say it’s a terrible, awful destruction of nature. Tragic, really.” I glared at him as if it was all his fault and pushed my bike closer to the road. The cloud was throwing a dark shadow over me. I needed to leave.
Before I could get away, Theo said, “I know you don’t want to work with me. So let’s get it over with quickly.”
“It’s not like that —” I started, but he wouldn’t let me finish.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said calmly. “You wanted to work with Carrie, but she preferred Victoria.”
“I’m sorry, I…”
“No need to be sorry,” Theo said. “Let’s just work swiftly to get it over with.”
I couldn’t look at him.
“Mrs. Peters recommended that we start with a list of questions,” he continued. “The public library is closed today, but we can go to my house and work there.”
After what he’d just said about me not wanting to work with him, I couldn’t say no. So I nodded and followed him on my bike.
* * *
Theo’s home was an older house. The dark gray paint was flaking off around the eaves and windows, and the lawn needed cutting. When I stepped on the middle stair of the porch, a board popped up. I almost stumbled.
“My dad will fix that this weekend,” Theo said, opening the screen door with a creak.
I followed him into the house. Inside, it smelled like old garbage. I’d heard a rumor at school that Theo lived with just his dad, but I wouldn’t bring it up. I didn’t want to give him the impression that we had something in common.
On the way to the staircase, we passed a room filled with bookcases and a leather chair next to a reading lamp.
“Wow,” I said. “You guys have a lot of books.”
“My dad likes to read,” Theo said, sliding his hand up and down on the banister.
“What does he do?”
“He teaches history at the university.”
“That must be interesting,” I said.
Theo shrugged. “I wish he was more interested in practical things.”
I followed Theo upstairs. For a boy, his room was tidy. The bed was made properly, and a row of shoes was lined against the closet door.
Without another word, Theo opened his computer, and we got to work. It was actually easy to work with him. We came up with good questions without any arguing, and he quickly typed them up. When I’d worked on a science experiment with Carrie last week, she’d let me do all the work alone. I hadn’t really minded, but working with Theo made me realize how different it was when you truly shared a project with someone.
I didn’t want to make it look like I was in a hurry to leave after we were done with our list of questions, so instead I pointed to the shelf near his bed, which held several large photo albums and several cameras. “What kind of pictures do you take?” I asked.
“I take photos of all kinds of things,” Theo said hesitantly. “Mostly objects that don’t move.”
“Like what? Trees? Houses?”
“Not really,” he said. “You want to see some?”
I nodded, and Theo opened one of the albums to a photo of different-colored gummy bears arranged in ten rows of ten.
“It’s an array of one-hundred gummy bears,” he said. “I did one with peanuts, too.” He pulled the album onto his lap and searched through it. “Here!” He pointed to a photo of five rows of five peanuts on a checkered background. “I’m working on an array of screws.”
While I studied the image, I searched my head for something to say. There was nothing wrong with taking such photos. The items, set against contrasting backgrounds, made you look at them in a different way. It was a little weird, maybe, but kind of artsy.
“I think they’re kind of artsy,” I finally said.
Theo gave me a small smile. He seemed to like hearing that.
I opened a page toward the end of the album. There was a black-and-white photo of a dead raccoon. Its tail and lower body were squashed onto the pavement. A bloodstain spread like a dark aura around the furry body.
I swallowed and didn’t look at him when I asked, “Why do you take pictures of dead animals?”
“I used to be attracted to sad things,” Theo said quietly. I could tell he would have rather not shown that photo to me. “I bet you find that kind of weird.”
“No, no,” I said, rubbing my hands on the sides of my jeans.
“I can show you some other photos.”
“It’s okay. I have to go now,” I said, wishing I hadn’t seen the picture of the dead raccoon.
I used to be attracted to sad things. Theo’s words echoed in my head as I hurried toward the door.
12
The next day as we were walking out for recess, Victoria held up a glossy magazine. “My mother bought me a Miss Magazine.” She pointed to the photo of a girl in a pink dress on the cover. “Isn’t she just gorgeous?”
I glanced briefly at the photo before my eyes wandered to a pair of robins chasing each other on the other side of the schoolyard. I didn’t care for Miss Magazine, but I was afraid I’d have to fake interest if I wanted to fit in with Carrie and Victoria.
“This issue has a quiz,” Victoria continued. “‘Are You and Your Friend Compatible?’”
“Let’s do it,” Carrie said. “I have a pen.”
Victoria adjusted the magazine on her lap. “What’s your favorite food?” she asked Carrie as she read.
“Fish fingers!”
Victoria sighed. “Mine is pizza. I wish it wasn’t so fattening.”
“Uhh! Bad girl!” Carrie scolded.
“How about you?” Victoria asked. They both looked at me.
“Pizza,” I said.
“What’s your favorite animal?” Victoria asked, focusing on Carrie again.
“Poodle!” Carrie squeaked. “I hope I get one for my birthday! My dad wants me to volunteer at the shelter first to prove that I really know how to take care of a dog.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to come with me?”
Victoria shook her head. “I’m allergic to dog hair.”
“That’s okay,” Carrie said quickly. “You can still come visit even if I do get a poodle. They don’t shed.”
“I’ll go with you to the shelter,” I offered. “I like dogs.”
“Okay,” Carrie said, shrugging. “I’ll have to go next Thursday.”
“Green. I love all shades of green,” I said.
“Next question,” Victoria said. “If you had to spend a week on a deserted island and could only take three things, what would you take?”
“That’s easy,” Carrie said. “I’d take my gel pens, my journal, my pink sweater.”
“I’d take my photo album, my favorite quilt, and my pink jacket,” Victoria said.
If I had to spend a week on a deserted island, I would take matches so I could make a fire. I’d take my binoculars to observe birds or watch for a boat to come. I’d also need a pocketknife. But I knew I couldn’t say what I really thought.
“I would take…” I began slowly.
But Victoria was already reading the next question. She looked at me, and when I didn’t finish my sentence she said, “Okay, you can come back to that one.” Then she read the last question: “What is your favorite hobby?”
Carrie spit out her answer. “Playing tennis.”
Victoria nodded eagerly. “Mine is playing tennis too!”
They both looked at me. “What’s yours?”
I didn’t want them to roll their eyes when I said I liked watching birds. Maybe I should tell them I liked to read. That was also true and much safer. But before I could give an answer, the bell rang, and I was glad we had to go back to class. It was easier to avoid answering than be true to myself.
13
Theo and I agreed to do our research in the public library right after school. “It’s quieter there, and Mrs. Russo, the librarian, is way nicer than our school’s librarian,” Theo told me after class. “I’ll introduce you to her.”
He was right. Mrs. Russo was nice. I liked the way her gray hair was cropped so short that it looked like a bath cap. She wore a purple turtleneck without any jewelry or makeup. And her office smelled like sandalwood.
“Welcome to Pyramid,” Mrs. Russo said after Theo introduced me. She took off her reading glasses and gave me a firm handshake.
Theo explained our project, and Mrs. Russo told us she thought we’d picked an “awesome topic.” She helped us find books we could use for research, and we settled in at the oblong table in the back of the reading room. My task was to find out about the landfill’s history, while Theo checked on environmental protection regulations.
After a while I zoned out and stared at the magazine rack next to the window. On the glossy cover of Aviator, a jet like the one Dad used to fly hung suspended in midair over some snowy mountain peaks. In my mind, the jet began to move and gain altitude.
“Wren? Are you listening?” Theo looked at me across the table, with the book Garbage and You in his hands.
I turned away from the magazine and refocused on Theo. “Sorry, what’d you say?”
“In 2013, Americans generated about two hundred and fifty-four million tons of trash,” Theo said. “Imagine!”
“Hmm, that’s a lot of garbage,” I replied.
“It says here that Americans composted and recycled eighty-seven million tons of trash,” Theo continued. “That’s a recycling rate of about thirty-four percent. Did you know that recycling rates in Austria and Germany are much higher?”
I nodded.
“You did?” he asked. “I had no idea.”
“No, sorry, I didn’t either,” I said, shaking my head. “I wasn’t listening.” I looked back down at my book and tried to refocus on my reading, but I had to get up. I couldn’t concentrate. “I think I’ll do some research online.”
“Maybe you could add something to the report about why other countries have higher recycling rates,” Theo suggested. “They might not need to destroy wetlands to expand landfills.”
I nodded and walked over to the library computers, sitting down in front of one. But when the browser opened, I typed the words remains of plane crash victims. A list of links appeared on the screen. I clicked on one and read:
… results from a 2008 study published in the magazine Forensic Science… different conditions of remains retrieved from airplanes crashes… One victim, found off Sicily a month after death, was still fully dressed. A three-month-old body discovered off the coast of Africa had been fully skeletonized by flesh-eating shrimp-like creatures.
The words expanded under the cloud. I imagined Dad’s body on the ocean floor… skeletonized by flesh-eating shrimp.
“What are you doing?”
I heard Theo behind me, and quickly closed the site. “Sorry,” I said, feeling myself blush. “I’m distracted.” I was glad I was facing the computer screen so he couldn’t see my red face.
“How’s your research coming along?” Mrs. Russo asked, walking into the reading room.
Theo threw me a long look before he gave her a short summary of what he’d learned, making it sound like we had done it together. I was glad that Theo had covered for me. But I couldn’t let him do all of the work by himself. I needed to contribute something. And to do that, I needed to get out from under the cloud.
14
The next day after school, Theo and I rode our bikes to the landfill. On the way, I reminded myself that I had to concentrate more on our project. Things couldn’t go on as they had the day before in the library.
Mr. Zusack — Carrie’s dad and the owner of the landfill — had an office in the back room of an uninspired-looking flat-roofed building to the right of the entrance gate. We locked our bikes to a chain-link fence and told his secretary that he would be expecting us.
“Welcome to the Pyramid Landfill,” Mr. Zusack said, motioning for us to come closer to a map hanging on his office wall. “Carrie told me about your school project. I have to say, I’m a little surprised you chose this topic since there’s actually nothing controversial going on. But I’m happy to tell you about the landfill.”
He started talking, but again I couldn’t focus. All I could think was that Mr. Zusack should buy bigger shirts. His belly pressed against the buttons, and his fleshy arms stretched the fabric of his shirt like sausage casings. At one point I caught him using the words sanitary landfill, and I couldn’t help but think of a sanitary napkin.
With a big false smile on his face, Mr. Zusack added, “That means we can only store nontoxic waste such as household garbage.”
While he continued talking about daily volume, excavation lining, and gas release, I stared out the big window. In the distance, a man stopped his car near the rim of a low excavation filled with garbage. He pulled a carpet roll out of his trunk and threw it on top of a heap of other large items. It joined a jumble of shelves, sofa pillows, and a mattress with its springs exposed, in this junkyard cemetery.
“Why don’t you recycle?” Theo asked.
“There hasn’t been enough interest,” Mr. Zusack said.
“Did you know that in Austria the recycling rate is more than sixty percent, while in the United States we only recycle about thirty-five percent of our trash?” Theo asked.
Mr. Zusack shrugged. “They do a lot of things differently over there.”
“Don’t you feel bad about destroying the wetland?” I asked.
“It’s a business, Wren,” Mr. Zusack said. I really didn’t like the condescending tone in his voice. “People need a place to drop their waste, and I provide that for them.” Then his face broke out into a shark-like smile, and he added, “It’s all about supply and demand.”
He made it sound totally logical that he had to destroy the wetland so more people could throw carpets into a big ditch.
Just then the door opened, and the sheriff’s massive body filled the frame. “Howdy,” he said, lifting his hat. “Has my brother here told you how to turn trash into gold? That’s what he does here, kids!” A deep laugh bo
unced the belly under his shirt.
I caught Theo’s glance and knew we were both thinking the same thing: The sheriff and Mr. Zusack are brothers?
* * *
We didn’t stay much longer, and when we were back outside, I shuddered. “I don’t like Mr. Zusack,” I said. “He talked to us like we were in kindergarten. And I can’t believe the sheriff is his brother.”
“It’s no surprise that the men who have influence in this town are sticking together. My dad calls them a ‘ruling clique,’” Theo said.
“Did you tell your dad about the landfill and our project?” I asked.
“No,” Theo said, “but my dad is interested in politics. Or at least he used to be. A long time ago, before we moved here, he was even a city councilman.”
“But he’s not in politics anymore?” I asked.
Theo shook his head. “Since my mother died he hasn’t shown interest in anything.”
“Your mother died?” I said. “When?”
“Two years ago,” Theo replied. “She had cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
That’s all I could say. It made me uncomfortable that Theo had told me about his mother. He shouldn’t be so open with me. That was something you shouldn’t share with anyone unless you really liked and trusted that person. Didn’t he realize that I could never be his friend? Sure, we had things in common, but an interest in roadkill and a dead parent were the wrong things. Being with someone as sad and lonely as Theo would only make my loneliness worse. I didn’t want to know why he took photos of roadkill, and I wasn’t about to ask him about his mother.
15
Carrie caught up with me after social studies class the next day. “I’m sorry you ended up with Theo,” she said as she checked her reflection in the glass door leading to the janitor’s office.
“It’s okay,” I said. “He knows a lot, so the work is easier.”
Carrie shrugged. “That’s the good thing, I guess. But he’s such a nerd. Does he ever laugh?”
Be Light Like a Bird Page 4