I told Sam he’d have to do it, which he said he would. I told him he’d have to take the now stinky small bags out from the bottom of the bin and put them on top of the large bag, otherwise we risked them not being taken, and w'd be investigated for a dead body in the wheelie bin if they stayed in there through another hot week.
He seemed less keen on that idea.
“No, you have to,” I said. “Sometimes if there are small bags in the bottom they just don’t get taken.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“You have to.” I was getting my thirteen year old voice back.
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he said. "Don't worry."
I was the first in the shower, so therefore first to get dressed. I was sporting a classic Country Road look today, with camel coloured pants and a pale blue shirt. Sometimes, I just have to break from jeans every day cycle. It's good for the soul. I used to care so much more about that sort of thing once upon a time. I laughed at myself.
I got the bins and took them to the front yard. I rolled the big bins into the street and flipped the lids open. The smell was rancid. I walked away, took a big breath and then went in for the grab. There were three bags, two of which looked like they’d turned into some sort of slimy liquid. The pink of the plastic didn’t help the whole carnage aesthetic. It looked like a homicide specimen. I tossed them one by one into the top of the still open, kitchen bin garbage bag and then walked away for breath. I inhaled and, of course, got the waft of the "death" smell. I started to dry retch. My stomach convulsed like it twisted, I sweated, my eyes watered. The dry retching continued passed the point I expected it to. My eyes blurred with tears. I waited in the middle of the road for fresh air. I tried not to gasp out loud.
A guy coming along the footpath gave me a look. I looked away. He looked at the bins with trepidation as he passed them. I took another big breath and went in to finish the job. I pushed the offending bags further into the kitchen rubbish bag so I could tie the top of it over, but ran out of breath and had to walk back into the middle of the street again, where I dry retch again. I took my last big breath and went back in. I pushed the grisly bags further into the kitchen rubbish bag, I grabbed the edges of the black bag, tying them off quickly, as my breath ran out. I lifted the kitchen rubbish bag out of the kitchen rubbish bin and slid it into the big rubbish big and quickly flipped the lid. I walked away, gasped for breath, calmed myself, nearly retched, steady breathing, tried not to think about. Puppy dogs and kittens. The guy on the footpath looked back. I didn't care. Whatever?
I grabbed the kitchen bin and the recycle bin and headed inside. I could still feel my watery eyes.
“Did you do the bins?” asked Sam from upstairs.
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you vomit?”
“Yes,” I said. I raced up stairs to show him my watery eyes.
He rubbed my face with his fingertips to feel the moisture around my eyes. “Poor you,” he said.
I was on my own again today. Fatty had some family thing on.
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