Blue is your colour

“It’s been three years.”

He raises his eye-brows.

“We started work on the same day - 3rd January 2021.”

He nods.

“Hey, thanks for the coffee, man,” I toss him an off-hand gratitude.

Another nod. And a grunt.

It has been this way for three years. Verbal versus non-verbal.

I have not seen a young man in his mid-twenties look so ‘old’; if you know what I mean. His demeanour accentuates his overall looks. His baggy, crumpled shirt falls over his loose pants. I don’t think his pants have seen soap ever. I itch to tell him off. If I were his father I would have definitely hauled him over by his collar and straightened him out. I wish he would cut off that long unkempt beard. I hate the way he carries his smell with him. I get whiffs of him each time he walks past – an intermingling of sour mess.

I want to tell him many things. But one thing in particular. But… I can’t say it.

“Do you have a minute?”

He raises his right eye-brow. Is that interest or just young people sass?

I glance at the time on my watch.

“Never mind, time to get back on the rounds.”

“Old man, say what’s on your mind…I have no time for bed time stories. Get to it, man.”

I see something in his brown eyes. But maybe it’s all in my mind. I get back onto the truck.

“This is the problem with your gen, old man. Never straight forward. Worried about consequences. Worried about what people think.”

“Young man, speaking shit and trying to act cool does not cut it.”

Ernie ignores me and clambers onto the truck. Both he and Boyce disregard each other.

Does Ernie like Boyce- the toughie girl-driver?

As we wind down the familiar roads of Winchester, I hum a tune. I have an honest job. I work hard. I am happy, well, have been happier.

But… I do miss company. I wish I had someone to laugh at my silly jokes or fight over the last bar of chocolate with.  

The truck slows down. Ernie jumps off to pick up a huge garbage bag, slings it over his broad shoulder and hops back onto the truck at the back where I stand.

I try to banter, “So…Ernie, have you got a special friend then?”

“Mind your own business.”

He sounds disgruntled. I like that word: disgruntled. A very apt word for Ernie. I chuckle.

“It’s not a sin you know. A young man having a pretty thing on his arm…” I dally on.

“Now that Boyce is a fine young thing. You should ask her out,” I say boldly, testing waters.

“I need no silly girl. And Boyce is no girl!”

“Boyce, are you a girl?” he calls out. “Theo thinks so.” And laughs.

Boyce shows her middle finger and scowls.

Ernie puts on the sarcasm hat but somewhere I think I hear a thread of upset.

Perhaps I should ease off.  

I wait, passing house after house, for Ernie to jump off and collect the bin and roll it along to where Boyce stops the truck. We sort out the collection. I find a bag of clothes and throw that into the recycle pile. As I sort the next bag, I find a shirt. Blue denim collared long-sleeve shirt, with a breast pocket. Smart-looking and almost brand new.

“The things people throw away.”

I pick it up and tuck it away in a little groove. I turn and spot him watching me. He glares when I smile at him.

We rattle along more streets and lanes and many garbage bags later, it is almost end of the day.

And almost as if Boyce reads my mind, she calls out, “Okay boys, this is it. Once we sort this out we are done. I am driving back to the office.”

The truck trundles down a narrow road and turns into familiar Grafton Road. Boyce pulls up in front of our office and bellows, “That’s it, guys! See you tomorrow at 6am sharp.”

I am left to tidy the back of the truck. Hose down where waste has spilled.

I pick up the shirt from the corner where I had stashed it earlier before starting the cleaning work.

I catch Ernie watching me closely as I turn the shirt around in my hands. I roll up the shirt and with a quick hand movement, shout, “Catch!”

Ernie catches it deftly.

I wink as I mock-whisper, “Wear this when you go out with Boyce tonight.”

His eyes glint sharply in the light from the setting sun.

There is a palpable shift in emotion.

I try to apologise but he walks away quickly. He still has the shirt with him.

I call out, “Do you like it?”

He looks back, without stopping in his stride.

Was that a nod? It was getting dark and it was hard to tell.

I continue to clean up.

Some part of me pushes me towards an imaginary conversation between Boyce and Ernie.

“Hey Boyce, so how about it? Shall we grab a bite? Let me shower and change?”

“Why don’t I join you in the shower? That might whet my appetite…”

I cringe as I create their dialogue in my head. It sounds like something from a cheap third-rate movie.

Shut it old man! Boyce will never say that and Ernie…does he even know any pick-up lines?

I feel old. I can’t do this.

I hop off the truck and walk unsteadily towards an old bench just outside the office. Birds chirp, calling in the young to retire for the night. I inhale deeply and shiver slightly as the air cools further.

I am weary of games. Perhaps my time has come and gone.

The winds pick up. I smell sandalwood and citrus. I turn around.

A clean-shaven face smiles down at me from behind the bench.

“Old man, what do you think?”

I can’t say it.

Instead, I say, “Blue is your colour.”