Page 11 of Garbage

“Is sitting uncomfortable for you?” Evan asked.

“Oh, no. I like sitting. I like sitting a lot. Sometimes I sit on the bench by the river.” Just like people did. Until today, it had been one of his favorite places, even if someone had torn out his flower. He could look at the stars for hours. “I just don’t want to get the couch dirty.”

Evan looked him over. “Quincy, you’re not dirty.”

Quincy wasn’t quite sure what to do. That sounded like a command. Only it wasn’t instructions to actually do something.

Evan let out a sigh. “Why do you think you’re dirty?”

“There are upwards of a million bacteria per square centimeter of my skin. There must be even more in my joints. I can’t even take off my boots. And… I didn’t empty my small materials canister. Evan, I’m so sorry. I went through the sanitizer, but I didn’t empty it.” A thousand subroutines sprouted in his mind, all reviewing the actions he should have taken. The steps he could have gone through. He should have emptied the canister. There was a hose he could have washed himself down with.

He’d just been in too much of a hurry to actually do it. Why hadn’t he thought of it?

He reinforced the plans, trying to remember them for next time, until memory errors started to ping.

Evan’s touch on his arm startled him. “Hey, it’s OK.” His voice was soft and calm. Softer than anybody ever spoke to him. “You can take a shower, remember? We talked about it before.”

“We did?” Had they? A shower?

Quincy was so certain he’d remembered everything about his time with Evan. He wanted to remember everything. But apparently, he’d already forgotten part of it.

“We did,” Evan soothed. “It’s the water that falls on your head, remember?”

“Alright.” That sounded like something he would have said, but he couldn’t find it. What else had he forgotten? Was he already forgetting his perfect day? He tried to hide his fears. “Can I really use your shower?”

“You can. Come in here.” Evan guided him to a small room. Quincy knew all the parts of it, since there was a bathroom in the depot. He’d explored it one night. The white chair with the lid was a toilet. Sinks he knew all about. Evan drew back a curtain and turned on a stream of water. “Give it a minute to warm up, then you can step in.”

“Is there a place where I can empty my small materials canister?”

Evan held up a small pail with a bag inside it. There were a few crumpled tissues at the bottom, which meant it was for holding garbage.

Quincy was going to create garbage. For someone else to collect. Or maybe himself, next week, but for right now… He was the one making the garbage. Just like a person.

He didn’t even know what to do with the idea.

He ejected the canister from his back, then clutched it between his two clawed extensions to reach around to his front and dump it in the pail. A wadded pile of loose wrappers intertwined with scraps of plastic and metal thunked to the bottom. It was dripping. It didn’t smell good, either.

He quickly hid the canister behind him, until he could slip it into place. Then he retracted his pincer arms before Evan started to worry about them. “I’m sorry,” he told Evan.

Evan’s hand was still warm on his arm. “Hey, you don’t have anything to apologize for. You keep our streets clean. That’s an important job. And you’re cleaning yourself up right now. That’s just how your body works.”

Quincy wanted to believe him. He’d always thought he was dirty. Mo only touched him with her gloves on. And she called his pincers creepy claws. She laughed when she said it, but she wouldn’t let him use them in the truck.

But Evan said it was alright. That his job was important, and he could be clean. Maybe he could believe it.

“Here, step into the shower. Or, uh, can you take off any of your clothes?”

“I can!” Quincy quickly unbuttoned his shirt. It was a thick neoprene that moved like his skin, but he always loved the days when the fleet got replacement uniforms, or the rare times when his shirt got a hole in it and had to be replaced. Right now, it was still pretty new.

Quincy looked up to show Evan his shirt, only to find Evan’s eyes on his chest. Quincy pulled the shirt back to cover what he could. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Uh, no. You’re doing everything right. You’re just, uh, pretty ripped.”

Quincy looked around everywhere, his two hoses coming out to inspect the skin that his arms couldn’t reach. He didn’t think there were any holes. “Ripped?”

Evan laughed, but it didn’t sound mean. “Not ripped as in broken. Ripped as in muscular. You have a nice chest.”

“Oh!” All of the bubbles were back. “I’m glad you like my chest. I can take off my pants, too!”