“That’s not really a smile, you know?”
He tore away from the desperate look on her face and immediately looked around, fishing for an alternative. A few meters away, stood a closed trash can with the generic “Please Recycle” logo etched in front.
He then forced his cheek muscles to contract, producing the saddest, widest smile believable.
“Good.” She smiled slightly, convinced with what she can see. She slumped back her chair, never taking her eyes off his face.
It was an impressive trash can: black, sleek and surprisingly clean and unused. It was almost as if the blackness shone quietly and modestly away from the people and the writings were glowing from within. It was attractive, eye-catching, even without it meaning to. The location contributed to its beauty. It was conveniently placed and it look snug and comfortably hugged by the concrete wall.
It was beautiful. It was right.
Silence followed.
He reluctantly glanced away to look at his companion, only to find her brown eyes burning a hole on his head. He sighed. The image of his partner was too much and too heavy to carry. Teary eyes and crumpled smiles weren’t his thing, but it was unavoidable.
He scanned the room once more for the trash can. His eyes trashed from side to side, as he scavenged past the litter of people obscuring his view. The surreal beauty of the trash can was a refreshing sight, a cheery sight.
There in his corner, it stood, hauntingly captivating his attention. Black. Sleek. Elegant.
A weird sensation ran through his veins: an inexplicably wasted sensation.
“So…”
As if filtered by the real world, he snapped back to the current situation and looked curiously at his counterpart. He was about to reply when he saw the trash can being used in the corner of his eye.
A kid carelessly threw a cup with the unwanted residue of Hagen Daaz at the trash can. It hit the edge and the yellow mess was splattered all over the screaming white font.
His eyes widened and he hit the table hard with his clenched fist. He wanted to smack the kid so bad. He wanted to drown him in molten cream. He wanted to…
“What’s wrong?!”
She was shocked, obviously horrified. There was confusion, shock, concern and a frightened expression on her face which all blended to a distorted grunt.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to speak. He knew he can’t explain, he knew it was impossible to comprehend, even by himself.
He looked back at the tainted trash can with concern. He wanted to wipe it off, he wanted to make it black and sleek as it was.
But he can’t.
“Are you alright?”
What a dumb question, of course not! But he just nodded and smiled. The trashcan – his trash can – was desecrated. The once perfect trash can was now soiled with unwanted waste.
“L-look at me, please.”
She was pleading.
He’d rather be anywhere else than the dirtied neon chair he was sitting on. He wanted to close his eyes and disappear into another time, another place; but he looked anyway. He was well aware of the fact that she can probably see the shattered glass in his pupils.
He darted back to the corner where his trash can stood and was struck once more with the sight he saw.
Trash were constantly thrown on the unloosening lid, causing hundreds of non-biodegradable waste to pile up. It was everywhere. It was choking his trash can, and he felt that it was his fault.
He let the kid splatter the yellow goo all over his trash can.
He let his vision stray, neglecting this perfect thing he had.
He let people throw somewhere they shouldn’t.
He let people degrade his trash can.
He saw the closed lid and he did nothing about it and settled for the perfection it initially brought.
He looked at it, and he claimed it as his own.
“It was meant to get dirty.” He finally spoke.
“What?”
He turned to her and was bemused to see her still sitting there, instantaneously hanging on every word he said.
“It was never meant to last, this perfection.”
He stood up, kissed her sweetly on her forehead and silently joined the people throwing unwanted things to the can.