The Dump

The truck rumbled. The engine so loud it drowned out the low music. I sat cross-legged next to dad on the bench of the truck, only space between us. The smell of motor oil filled our lungs. As the truck moved along, I bounced on the spring loaded vinyl seat. It was the ’80’s and no seat belt held me in place. Instead the black upholstery with rigid seams held me tight as I strained to peer over the cracked dash board.

Dad in his cut-off shorts, tank top, knee-high white socks, and tennis shoes pulled us into the gas station where we stopped for beef jerky and soda--an-anytime-we’re-in-the-truck-with-dad-tradition. I waited in the cab for my grape-flavored Crush. He’ll be just a minute. Soon he returned and asked me to open the beef jerky, teasing me not to take any in the process.

We were headed to the dump, a favorite of ours; a special time for dad and I. What more could a young girl ask for, but time with dad, soda, beef jerky, and trash? We had spent the morning cleaning and clearing. The anticipation of the trip making it all worth it. Soon we near my favorite intersection. We crossed one street into another part of town, all that closer to our destination. Dad sped up, well above the limit in anticipation of the jump, the cross street having a slight rise. I grabbed hold of something, anything. Here we go. Dad laughs. “Ready?” he asked. Soon the truck jumped over the intersection, my bottom separating from the seat as I giggle with just a little fear.

After what feels like minutes, we settled back on the ground, both of us laughing. “Did you like that?” “Yep!” We pulled into the dump, but I was already thinking about the ride home, thinking about the leap we will take again. In the meantime, I watched the seagulls circle the piles of “stuff people just couldn’t live without.” The Christmas and birthday gifts, the impulse buys, the replace-ables, the rejects. The smell of trash surrounded us, a mixture of rotten apples, dirty diapers, and dust. Yet somehow the smell brought comfort. Somehow it symbolized this time with dad.

Soon we headed home. Another trip to the dump, done. We head home to resume accumulation, and these trips continued till junior high deems it uncool. I didn’t realize how important these trips of trash were for many years. I will only knew I liked the soda and the beef jerky and the jump of the truck. Not till adulthood did I recognize the time spent with dad was what I would remember the most.