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part 1 of the story
The Stiff Smile Of Salvador’s Cat

Antoni “Summer” Klopotowski

    “Sometimes the nicest people you meet are covered in tattoos and sometimes the most judgemental people go to church on Sundays.”
    Facebook post, 2010’s

    The men are to show up for work at 5 a.m.
    It is still night to the west, but the eastern sky has just begun to bloom gray. The fog that floats into the San Francisco Bay from the Pacific Ocean every night lays softly like a brisk, gray, misty shawl. The fog changes sounds, absorbs them, bedews them, so the night is near silent. This is the sole little charm of having to awake for work at such an early hour. The men wear dirty jeans, cheap, drugstore-bought long sleeve shirts, dirty gloves, worn work boots, and bright orange safety vests. The vests shine under bright white glaring floodlights. Two dozen garbage trucks stand in rows. In the shadow of one of these trucks, the sanitation workers smoke cigarettes and wait.
    “Where the hell is he?” Bryan’s brows furrow as he takes a drag. He is the tallest of the men, with blonde hair that looks freshly cut, a scar down the cheek of his newly-shaven face, and a rough, strong build. “I forgot y’all are new. He always does this...”
    “Maybe he got his schedule mixed up. He works 3 jobs, you know.” Matt says in his quiet, frail voice. He sits on the steps of the truck. His clothes hang heavy on his skinny, lanky body. His shoulders slump. Greasy brown hair falls over his eyes. His cigarette crackles as he takes a drag; the end glows.

    “You want a cigarette, Salvador?” Bryan asks.
    “No,” Salvador says, “I do not smoke.”

    Salvador doesn’t strike as somebody who’d played many sports as a youth. His arms crossed, he stands at the side of the truck, his worried gaze behind glasses down-cast. He is a short man, a whole foot shorter than Bryan is, yet he makes up in burliness for what he lacks in height. The leg of his jeans has a long white stain. His work boots are torn.
    “Every goddamn morning...” Bryan sighs, his breath visible. His arms crossed; he flicks the ash off his cigarette. “He had to be on a day like this...”
    Matt takes a heavy, deep, thoughtful drag and exhales smooth gray smoke into the morning.
    “You smoke that like a guy who’s smoked his fair share of cigarettes.” Bryan smiles a stiff smile.
    “I’ve smoked a lot more than that, man...” Matt takes another deep, crackling drag and inhales through his teeth. “This is better than the alternatives available, you know what I mean?”
    “I do, man. Those alternatives you’re talkin’ ‘bout are awful and cruel. They’ll ruin a life. Best thing to do is keep your eyes the other way, work, and stay clean, man.”
    “Maybe we should go.” says Salvador, uneasy. “I have to get my pay this week. I can’t be late another time.”
    “There’s no way they can tell when we get out of here, but you’ve got a good point man.“ Bryan says. “I’ve got bills to pay that are late already. They turned my power off last night; I could see my breath by 11 pm. Plus there’s gon’ be more waste this mornin’ due to Christmas... Where the hell is he?”
    “Let’s wait one more minute.” Matt says, enthusiasm in his voice. “He’ll show up.”
    Bryan looks ahead at the edge of the sky that is still night and takes a drag of his cigarette.
    “There’s a lesson y’all young men ought to learn.” Bryan’s voice rumbles. “Despite what you’d think from shows and movies and religion and such ways of sharin’ ideas, the world is cold. She gives no handouts, no miracles, no second chances. Nothin’.” Bryan laughs. “Well, she can. But only if the next move in her plot is to screw you. No, this world will give you a raw deal and laugh ‘bout it.”
    Matt and Salvador are silent. Bryan itches the back of his neck and looks down. After a moment, he looks back up and smiles a stiff smile.
    “Eli’s a good guy, though.” Bryan says, more calmly and with more force than the tone he’d used before. “Sure, let’s wait. He should show up.”

    “Mornin’,” an easy, laid-back voice says some 10 minutes later.
    A tall and skinny African American man walks with haste. He has tied-up dreadlocks, bags beneath his eyes, stained, dirty jeans, gloves, and boots, and a shining orange safety vest.
    “Well, look who’s decided to show up!” Bryan shouts, “You’re 20 minutes late!”
    “Yeah,” Eli says, “my daughter didn’t want to go to day-care this mornin’. Had to sit her down and talk to her. ‘Bout the friends she’ll make, the songs she’ll sing, the stories she’ll read. It was one of those mornings.’’ He shrugs. “And then I had to dry my own tears so I could show up to this job.”
    “Daughter my ass.” Bryan’s voice rumbles. “You were probably busy smokin’ a blunt.”
    Eli shrugs and breaks into a grin.
    “Well, I’ll be honest with you, I did smoke a lil’ one back in the car.”
    Matt laughs from where he sits on the truck’s steps. Salvador stands with his arms crossed and the same expression, as if he doesn’t understand what was said. Bryan laughs in earnest.
    “Hey, as long as you can work it’s alright.” Bryan says, “If I wasn’t on parole I’d be right there with you, brother.”
    Bryan crosses his arms. His smile becomes a frown. He sighs.
    “Well, let’s get to work,” he says. “The landfill ain’t goin’ to fill herself.”
    He treads up the truck’s stairs and takes a seat at the wheel. The men follow. Bryan turns the keys, the truck’s engine rumbles, he backs out, and he drives out of the lot.

    The moon is lost behind clouds. Fog rests gray, brisk, and heavy; the truck’s headlights beam that just chisel through. Bryan turns the old, torn, stained black leather wheel and guides the truck off the highway ramp and into the town of San Carlos, California, a suburb of San Francisco. The men gaze drowsily out the windows as big, grand, stately homes pass one after another. Most of the houses still have Christmas decorations; a glowing white polar bear waves a paw; bright lights switch from red to white to green; silly, oversized ornaments hang on a Redwood tree; Santa Claus smiles with a bag of gifts on his shoulder. All of the house’s windows are still dark.
    “San Carlos, the City of Good Living,” says Bryan as they pass the sign; his strong, gloved hands on the wheel. His glove has a long green stain; the palms are black. “Double story houses. A family town. The American Dream. We’re here to collect their waste...”
    “We’ve got the graveyard shift.” Eli says. He puts a gloved hand to his mouth and yawns, “This place don’t run without us. We’d be surrounded by mountains of trash right now if we ain’t been getting paid our 13 dollars an hour...”
    “Nope, not us!” Bryan laughs loudly. “So, how was y’all Christmas?” he asks, smiling a stiff smile.
    “I spent the whole day with my daughter,” Eli says. “Me and my Baby Momma bought her a lil’ mansion for her dolls. The next move is to make em’ pay the rent. It’s expensive as hell out here.”
    “Well, that’s great.” Bryan says, his smile a bit too wide. He grabs a paper coffee cup from the dashboard, spins the coffee around, and takes a sip. “How’d she like it?”
    “Loved it,” Eli says as he rubs a baggy, weary eye with the back of his glove. “She’s the reason I work 3 jobs, man.”
    “Well, would you look at that!” Bryan shouts. He picks the coffee up again abruptly, swirls it around a little, then drinks. Then, as if to come to a decision, he places the cup firmly back on the dashboard. “How ‘bout you, Matt?” he says with a stiff smile.
    “I went to Church.” Matt says softly, a cigarette glowing in his fingers. “The church in San Carlos, actually. The pastor did a great service. I could sure feel God’s presence. It was amazing, man. Then I went to my Grandpa’s and we had dinner on Christmas Day.”
    “Been religious your whole life, Matt?” asks Bryan eagerly.
    “No.” Matt looks down, shakes his head. “Definitely not, man. Every sober day is a day I thank God for.”
    “You’re right. Sobriety is a new life.” Bryan says enthusiastically. “My relationship to God’s a different story, though.” He laughs loudly. “How ‘bout you, Salvador?”
    Salvador sighs and looks out the window, his eyes wide.
    “It was good. I had food in a diner,” he says after a moment. His head nods up and down as the truck hits a speed bump. “I called my family in Mexico. They were all together.”
    Bryan smiles a stiff smile, leans over on his side, and pats Salvador heavily on the shoulder.
    “Hey, it’s the little things, man,” Bryan says, “That sounds good.”
    Bryan’s coffee spills a bit. He grabs the cup before it falls. Coffee spills onto his jeans. His brows furrow as he rubs his hand over the stain. Then, he takes another sip, smiling a stiff smile, eyes on the road ahead.
    “Well, my Christmas was the most joyful and peaceful I’ve ever had,” Bryan says, his eyes hard. “I had a rotisserie chicken while I watched Home Alone on the couch at my new apartment. Didn’t finish it though, I fell asleep, and I slept like a baby. Then I woke up and went to my Safeway job. I know it don’t sound like much, but, let me tell you, it’s better than spendin’ it in San Quentin.” Bryan laughs again. He itches the back of his neck. The men are silent.
    Bryan pulls the truck over and parks. The men sit for a moment, gazing into the dark morning, minds slowly coming to terms with the day of physical labor before them.
    Bryan sighs.
    “Well, another day of work, y’all...” he says. Bryan stands, opens the door, trudges down the stairs, and walks with heavy steps towards a driveway.

    In the quiet dawn of twilight the truck roars. Headlights shine down a San Carlos street; an American flag waves in the breeze as it hangs on a porch adorned with Christmas lights; a 1965 Ford Mustang rests with the top down in an open garage for lack of fear of being stolen; a Tesla Model X charges; patio chairs stand around a fire pit on freshly-mowed grass.
    Plastic wheels rumble on rough concrete as Matt drags a black San Mateo County trash can. He passes the can off to Bryan, who lifts it in his strong arms, fixes it on to the rear of the truck, hits a button, and there is a loud machine roar as the trash is lifted, turned upside-down, and dumped.
    “I love the smell of shit in the mornin!” Bryan shouts over the roar, his breath gray. “Well, another present for the landfill...”
    “Or is that old fish?” Matt says as he tries to keep the wheels of two trash cans straight. “Can’t tell.”
    “Might be both.” Bryan shrugs. “Well, merry Christmas... Santa’s come, alright. We’ve got the real Christmas spirit now. It’s lookin’ like double the waste in a single shift. Extra boxes and extra Christmas trees for today, tomorrow and the whole of next month. Ain’t that just great.”
    “Another day of work!” Matt smiles a stiff smile, panting. He leaves the trash cans beside Bryan. “Could be worse, man.”
    Bryan lifts the trash, attaches it, and hits the button. He looks down, his arms crossed.
    “Yeah, you’re right. It could be, man,” he says. “I’m in a sour mood.” Bryan sighs, “First they cut off my electricity ‘cause I didn’t make rent in time. Had to sleep under three blankets with my breath visible, then I show up for this damn job and Eli’s 20 minutes late. Sometimes you wake up glad and ready to work, other days you just want to lay down on a couch and smoke a pack of cigarettes.”
    “It’s all good, man.” Matt laughs as he goes up to another driveway. He wipes his forehead in a sleeve. “Well, at least we’re getting paid tonight.”
    Bryan raises a trash can and attaches it.
    “Yup, we’ll be gettin’ our pay.”
    Bryan sighs again as he hits the button.

    Dim yellow light flickers in the truck’s cabin. Eli rests an arm on the wheel, covers his mouth with a gloved fist, and yawns. He puts his hand down and rests his gaze on a bedewed front yard, grass illuminated in the truck’s headlights. In the seat beside him, shoulders slumped over, Salvador sits with a list of house addresses on a clipboard. He looks down and back up again, his eyes thoughtful and sad. He shakes a pen back and forth in his hand. Down and back up, down and back up, and down again...

    “You’re lucky,” Eli says, smiling, “You got the easy job.”
    Salvador gives a nod, his eyes down.
    “Guess mine is easy right now, too,” Eli says. He sighs, “Compared to my other jobs. At least so far.”
    Salvador nods again, adjusts his glasses.
    “You smoke weed?” Eli asks.
    “No, ” Salvador says. “My brothers do but I have never tried.”
    “You look like you’d need some right ‘bout now,” Eli laughs.
    The corner of Salvador’s lip curls, then he frowns again.
    “Christmas time get you down?”
    Salvador’s down-cast eyes search.
    “I love weed, man,” Eli says, as he rubs an eye. “Helps me unwind, takes my mind off stress, helps me watch my daughter’s kids shows... I work 3 jobs, man.” Eli shrugs. “Figure I deserve it, man.”
    Salvador looks down at the ground, eyes wide.
    Eli looks to the side at Salvador, an arm stretched out across the wheel.
    “You got another job besides this, man?” he asks, smiling. “You got people you’re providing for out here?”
    “Yes. I’m searching for one.” He looks with his wide eyes down at the clipboard, shakes his pen. “I’m still looking.”
    Eli nods, gazes ahead, and stretches a gloved hand out on the wheel.
    “Work. It’s what makes you grown, man...”
    Salvador smiles a stiff smile, his eyes down.

    Birds sing. Street lights extinguish. The sky is all gray across, the sun now over the East Bay hills. Matt pants at the rear of the truck. Bryan stands with his arms crossed, a wistful look in his eyes. They watch as the truck does its work.
    “Lots of boxes and wrapping paper this morning!” says Matt, wiping his forehead with a sleeve.
    “Yeah, must have been great,” Bryan says. “Looks like they got some kind of video game... Nintendo... I remember that from when I -,” he looks up at Matt, “from back when I was a kid.”
    “That’s a Nintendo Switch,” Matt says excitedly. “It came out a few years back. You know, I used to collect old gaming systems. Which one did you have?”
    “Can’t remember, man. It was a long time ago.” Bryan looks downcast. “Well, what do we got here?”
    Bryan steps across the sidewalk and stands before a small, blue, yellow, and green painted house made of wood. Christmas lights are strewn around it. A sign on the house says Little Free Lending Library. Behind a little glass door stand two shelves of books.
    “This looks interesting,” Matt says. He pulls a book out in his glove. “Grapes of Wrath. You think there’s a movie?”
    “No idea.” Bryan says. “Folks read books in prison; it was one of the only things you could do. Passes the time, makes you think you’re outside and what-not. Never worked for me.”
    “I haven’t read a book since high school, to be honest.” Matt says. “I’m not too well-read. The Bible is an exception, though. I can’t get enough of it. I’ve read it three times already.”
    “Yeah....” says Bryan. His eyes search. “I’d rather live real life. What got me through it was to just work out and think ‘bout my next meal. At chow I’d only focus on the food I’m eatin’. All I gotta do is get to the next meal, man. I still do it. Gets you through the day.”
    “Yeah, man,” Matt says, “So you’ve never read the Bible?”
    “Nope.” Bryan gazes down, “Tried it once, didn’t speak to me. But if it works for you then go ahead...”
    “Okay, sure.” Matt nods good naturedly, “Maybe I’ll change your mind one of these days.” He walks to the next driveway.
    Bryan stands with his arms crossed, his eyes down, and lets out a deep sigh.
    Matt drags new trash towards the truck. Behind a window with curtains, a teenage voice shouts, “I didn’t want a hundred new shirts! I wanted an iPhone! All my friends have one! Even Amanda! You don’t even care about what I look like to my friends!”
    Her mother’s placating voice is far-off, muffled and can’t be distinguished.
    “Well, if I was a kid growin’ up in a place like this I’d be grateful,” Bryan says, his eyes hard, “I’d study in school, I’d play a sport, I’d get up early and cook breakfast in the mornin’ for the family. Ain’t no way to go back in time, though.”
    “God gives second chances.” Matt says. “You can always reach out to Him, you know.”
    Bryan shrugs.
    “Maybe he does for some folk.”
    They climb on to the back of the truck. Bryan slams his fist on the truck’s side.
    “Eli, we’re runnin’ late! Let’s go!”

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