Plastic Cups and Confetti

I could feel the music reverberating throughout my entire body, infecting my being in the best way possible. All of my thoughts were a mushy, distant memory, and all that surrounded me in their absence was the bass wailing through the air. People swirled all around me, dancing, laughing, singing, some of them trying in vain to talk to one another. What a beautiful, jumbled mess. Here, in this time and space, nothing mattered. Not the big issues like the politics of the world outside or the shameful atrocities of mankind. Not the little things like the mindless argument I had with my mom the week prior. None of it mattered. It was just people flowing with the wind, enjoying the music and the company of one another. 

And, like a butterfly lost in a gentle breeze, the moment fluttered away as quickly as it came. The music ceded, leaving behind nothing more than a faint ringing in my ears as the only insinuation that the melodies had ever existed in the first place. I laid still in the grass, clinging to the fleeting moments that I wished I could wrap myself in for an eternity. I could stay lost in the music for a lifetime, if only the world around me would allow it. But alas, cruel fate decreed that the world intended to move forward and drag me along with it. 

I stand, slightly wobbly and covered in grass, and find myself swarmed by a sea of plastic. The illusion of beauty in humankind can only exist for so long, I suppose. In their wake, the swarm of men and women of all designs have left behind a raging storm. Plastic cups and confetti litter the ground as far as the eye can see. Crushed cans lay barren beneath the warm bodies of those yet to vacate the premises. Empty cartons tumble across the grass and plastic bags lay crinkled along the dirt. What a mess. How quickly the beauty of mankind makes way for unrestrained disarray. 

My overwhelming degree of disappointment is impeded by a woman scurrying in the opposite direction of the lingering crowd. In her hands, she holds a small mountain of garbage that I can only assume is not solely from her alone. Indeed, she continues to stoop low among the crowd to pick up trash that clearly is not her own. Perhaps she works here? 

No, that wouldn’t make sense. None of the other workers are focused on the trash just yet, and I can only assume that they are waiting for the remaining crowd to leave. Even more, she is certainly not dressed as if she works for the venue. Rhinestones are glued across her glittering eyes haphazardly, as if many of them have fallen off over the course of the past few hours. The soles of her sneakers light up with every movement she makes, a burst of light serenading the darkness. 

As I continue to watch her pick trash off the cluttered lawn, her bright green eyes catch mine. She looks beautiful with her eyeliner smudged all across her eyelids and traces of mascara left behind in clumps below her eyes. She passes me a quick smile, and then suddenly her attention is recaptured by the mound of debris falling out of her hands. I rush over to her as swiftly as I can while avoiding the splayed out limbs of people sprawled across the damp grass. By the time I reach her, half of the pile has already been knocked over by the wind. 

“Ah, it’s okay, I can get it” she hurriedly exclaims as I bend down to pick up the pieces tossed aside. “I’m just trying to help clean up the mess before everyone leaves so the people working the venue don’t have quite as much to do.” 

She looks around at the chaos around us. 

“It doesn't seem like I’m making much of a dent though…”

“Well, twice as much can get done if you let me help you. Is that okay?” I ask. 

She presses a timid smile. “I don’t see why not.” 

And with her acceptance, I trudge through mountains of debris, wondering how on earth people could willingly consume so much beer. I stifle a laugh each time I come across a candy wrapper from a treat most certainly not sold by the venue, and suddenly I find myself craving gummy worms. 

Suddenly, she tosses a half empty pack of gum in my direction, silently breaking my reverie. There’s a chewed piece of gum delicately holding the lid down, and dirt is stuck to the sides of the package. 

“Thought you might like a piece of gum for yourself, as a thank you for your help.” She laughs. 

“Oh yeah, gum from the dirt. You already know me so well.”

She smiles to herself before tossing a heap of garbage in the trash can. Walking in my direction, she pulls a pack of gum out of her pocket and hands me a piece. 

“Here, I promise this one wasn’t stuck in the mud.” 

With that, she walks away without another word and gets back to work clearing the field around us. For a moment, I debate taking the time to ask for her name, her number, or anything about her really. But her arms are filling up before I can make my decision on what to say, so I return my attention to the mission standing before me. 

People groan beneath my feet as the glow of my flashlight disturbs their substance driven stupor. Some of them gather the strength to begin the long trek out of the venue, most likely regretting many of their life decisions in the current moment. Several take notice of the rapidly growing heap of garbage in my arms, and in response they so generously hand me their own empty bottles and wrappers on the way out. I suppose it is more helpful than if they had left the remnants of their day strewn along the damp grass. 

I make my way over to the trash can, carefully throw in everything I have gathered, and let out a big sigh. One look around the lawn tells me that my assistance is essentially futile. Honestly, I begin to question if I am really helping at all… 

But then I catch the eye of the beautiful girl with the smudged eyeliner and even less rhinestones than when I saw her last, and she gives me the most magnificent smile I have ever laid eyes upon. Who knows how long she’s been trying to help the venue workers clean up this mess. Who knows how many piles she has dropped in the process, either because of the bodies sprawled across the lawn or the blowing wind. Who knows how many people have walked by and silently handed her their trash. Yet, she carries on with steadfast resilience and the hope that maybe she will make somebody else’s life just a little bit easier. 

And with that, I find the strength to press forward. Although I may not feel like I am doing much, I am doing something, and that counts for everything. 

After what feels like a small fraction of an eternity, and with cuts caressing the tips of each of my fingers from all the crushed cans and broken bottles, the venue workers begin scurrying onto the lawn. 

“Thank you for your help, but we do need all attendees to vacate the premises at this time. We have it covered from here.” 

And just like that, my assistance is no longer needed. At least I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight knowing that maybe I made a small difference in someone’s day all because I helped as much as I possibly could. 

I look around among the new sea of faces swarming like bees along the grass and find, much to my dismay, that the beautiful girl with rhinestones is nowhere to be found. I walk along the edge of the venue for as long as bitter time will allow, before another worker asks me to leave once more. 

At the very least, I hope I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight with the gleam of her smile flickering behind my eyelids…