After a hearty dinner, it's good to dispose of the food on your plate. My mother used to say, though, it's not good to waste your food. But, this is different. Scraps need to go somewhere, right? There is no use for scraps on your plate.
It can be bothersome, having to scrape food off of china and tossing it in the trash, where it sits to rot. Everything from scrambled eggs, to torn lettuce, tomatoes, chicken and rice, avocado, and sandwiches. That's when I was thrilled to get a garbage disposal in my new house, because cleaning relaxes me.
I'd just gotten a divorce with my husband after he completely left me with our child, Anthony. He's almost four. Anthony is very loud and somewhat bothersome. To be honest, I kind of wish I'd never had him. Not with the scum of a husband I had.
Anyways, just last week I moved into the new house after finding it during a drive around the neighbourhood. My mother and I stayed together in her house for a month until I could get back on my feet. This house, though, is amazing. It's got everything from a high chandelier, wood floors, a spectacular yard and three bedrooms with tons of space. I have to say that the kitchen is my favourite. The counters are a beautiful white granite, and the tiled wall is peppered with gorgeous patterns that I can't even describe. Like I said before, the sink comes with a garbage disposal. It works really well.
I tend to clean when I'm stressed. I'll leave dishes in the sink just to clean them later for ease. It sounds strange, probably, but we all relieve ourselves differently, right? The disposal's noise is almost like static. Somewhat calming yet ear-filling. Anthony usually watches his television shows while I clean our plates and pans, so I won't have to worry about him.
One day, I was finishing up cleaning. The noise of the disposal filled the room as I rinsed off pans with tortellini I'd made earlier in the afternoon. That's when the doorbell sounded. I looked over, and couldn't see who was at the door from where I was at. I turned off the disposal, and walked over to the entrance of the house, opening it with deep caution. And guess who was there? My ex husband, standing still with a look on his face as if he'd felt sorry for me. I can't quite remember what he'd said. He had some kind of bouquet of flowers in his hand--a plethora of roses and tulips wrapped in an orange plastic. I wanted to scream just then. No, I didn't want him back. He's nothing.
I turned around and started walking away, the door ajar. I immediately began cleaning again, turning on the disposal as thin tortellini was pushed in. The blades ate the tortellini like a savage. Footsteps followed me as my ex called my name, before he found me in the kitchen. He set the flowers down next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
But, I knew just what to do.
I took his wrist in my hand, and began to pull it over and around my side. I didn't bother looking at the awful man as I set his hand into the sink, the disposal running and grinding. In my head, I imagined I was cleaning off a plate of tough meat as I sent his hand quick into the disposal. This is where he began to struggle as the blades began to eat at his fingers and hand. I thought I could hear screaming over the comforting sound of the disposal as blood began to rain upwards from the sink. It was probably just my imagination. I looked downwards, and a flurry of red filled my eyes. I was in denial as I simply thought to myself, "What a waste." As my mother would say. The man's arm was eaten up to his wrist as of now, but I kept going. From the corner of my eye, his left hand was flailing about pathetically as the screams intensified. I felt droplets of what I imagined was ranch or steak juice rain against my cheeks from the sink.
There was a lot of it.
That's when the disposal got caught with a whirr, struggling to grind the arm. It was stuck now, and my ex's screaming stopped. Maybe the disposal needed a break? I moved to the switch and turned it off, taking a step to the side as the man fell against the sink; caught in the drain.
What a waste.
I looked over at the flowers, and there was a note tied to the plastic. "I'm sorry." It read. There was also a picture of Anthony on the note with some more writing I couldn't care enough to read.
Well, garbage is garbage.
I picked up the bouquet and tossed it in the bloodied sink to take care of later.