Useless Junk

           “This storage unit is full of useless junk. Throw it away.” 

           But he wouldn't. I keep telling him this stuff is worthless. Nobody'll ever care about it, ever. It belongs in the dumpster. All of it. But he won't listen. And today he tries to explain to me why. We go one piece of shit/garbage at a time.

1.     A rusty book. It reeks. You don't need this book. Throw it out. Read another book. But, as expected, he explains to me the goddamn memory behind the book. Every piece of shit in this junk unit has a story. Everything. So, this old, smelly book. Well, one time this man worked for his uncle for two weeks helping his uncle making French Bread from scrap. I interrupt. “This isn't a cook book.” He says he knows that. But, his uncle and he shared similar religious beliefs. “What? You worshipped moldy, old books?” He gives me a dirty look. But, he continues. He helped his uncle bake bread from scratch using flour and water and baking the bread in a hot oven. He says he decided to take his Teddy Bear on this trip instead of a water filter, which was a bad choice, since the water in this place tasted like manure. Then, he showed me things I never knew before. It was the first time in my life I used a gun, but it wouldn't be the last. We went into his backyard in the middle of the day and got two empty liter bottles and he put them on a fence post and we walked about 100 feet away. He showed me how to hold a gun and I felt the kick on the rifle, but got used to it. He had dogs and we made sure they stayed out of the way. It was weird. I'd seen all these things about guns on the news, but it was bonding.

“Great. Bonding. What the hell does that have to do with an old, rusty book?”

He says he's getting there. But, he continues. So, we were by this beautiful mountain and he said he wants to leave and doesn't care if he never sees this fucking mountain again. He says to never touch the guns by his bed and I obey this. He teaches me about A Course in Miracles and I start doing the daily affirmations and do them at the right time. Every fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, etc.  

I looked at the book and I looked at him: “This isn't A Course in Miracles”. He says he knows that and to shut up. He says his Uncle took him to fairs where he sold bread at the fairs and he learned when to sell and when to wait.

           I look at the book The Prophet by Kahlil Kibran. It's not A Course in Miracles but I shut up. He goes on. So, I worked for him for two weeks. Then, my uncle told me he was planning to move to south California instead of Washington state. There'd be more people there and he could make more money. 

           He went back home to his parents, but before he left for home, his uncle gave him this book. “You could just call up your uncle”. He continued though.

           His uncle was in his fifties and my parents, aunts, and uncles were all married, but he wasn't and we all knew that. He tried dating people and starting a family, but my uncle was always moving, trying to find somewhere he could afford. His mom had about twenty addresses in her address. So, he made plans to move and he followed through on them and he moved to South California and started baking his bread, but a neighbor called an authority who visited his Uncle and told him the area where he was living wasn't zoned for business and this was a business. So, his uncle had to move in with his uncle's father, this man's grandfather. And his uncle borrowed money for his business from the grandfather, so they argued a lot. Then, the uncle got back on his feet, kind of, and moved in with an old friend. 

           He then says his uncle had problems with depression his uncle's whole life and he'd been in the psyche ward several times because he was single and unsuccessful in business. He wanted what everyone wanted. A house, a wife, a stable environment. But, he couldn't because of his financial situation. His uncle thought his uncle had Bipolar Disorder whereas his mother thought he had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. But, it didn't matter. He said his mother and his father cried at the funeral and told this young man to never kill himself and to see all the pain it caused. It didn't solve anything. His uncle gave this other woman a check and his mom convinced her to destroy his late uncle's check. Then, there was the nightmare with the motorcycle. I told him I was getting confused and to just tell me why he cared about this book.  Because the Uncle's dead? He said, “Yes”. See, this man has memory problems and when he feels and/or looks at items, he remembers the person or situation he was in and he wants to keep the memory of his uncle. I asked if he had any pictures of his uncle and he said his mom did. But, it's about the memory of the object, not the object itself. Everything has vibration. He remembers his uncle with the old, rust book. He remembers the girlfriend who gave him the pillow with cartoon characters. The people who gave him the CDs. Etc. So, it isn't about the value of the object, but the memory of the object. So, I thought about what he said and went to my local Walmart and got a digital camera. I gave it to the young man and a pen and paper I had in my car. 

           We got each object out and took a picture and he wrote down the memory behind each object. His letter of acceptance to college, the t-shirt his sister gave him when she was in college from her college, canned food that was expired, because . . . and I took pictures and he wrote and we made a scrap book after we got the photos developed and even though it was hard for him (he hugged a lot of the items), he let me throw them away or donate them and he still had the memories. He'd go through the photos, tell people about the photos, and tell the stories behind the photos of his junk. I shrugged and smiled. I got him to get rid of his junk. Mission accomplished.

           This is my mission in life. People keep junk for different reasons. Some people are afraid of being poverty striken again, some people wanted to not have their possessions “handed down” like when they were kids, in memory of someone they've lost, and a bunch of other BS. But, one more mission accomplished and more to go. A lot more.