An Infinitesimally Small Spot

Driving home from Church, the cup

After a six week Environment Issues class this summer that focused on all the crap we've infused into the Earth's water, land and air; I have become hyper-sensitive to the plastics that are littering everything around me.  

On the way home from Church, I pulled up to a stop light--passing the cup above, left half-filled with some green tea concoction on the road by the dotted white line.  

I was first in my lane at the light.  

Cars pulled up at my right, stopped and then turned right onto Indiantown.  I looked in my rearview mirror--no one was behind me.  Another car pulled up to my right.  Still no one behind me.  I put the car in park and opened the door.

I slid down from the driver's seat and looked all around me.  It was a moment frozen--no cars moved.  I peered around the Expedition's back end:  the cup was still there.

It took a moment to get to the cup and flip it over--holding it as far away from me as possible.  While it was still dribbling, I turned to away and walked quickly back to my car--the cup still dripped green liquid.  I placed it by the hinge on the floor and closed the door.  

The light was still red.  I put the car back into drive, and the light turned green.  

I have picked up lots of trash--as I walk from a store to the car, walking dogs in a park, waiting on the sidewalk at Disneyland.  This time felt strange--like something staged.

It was as if I was finally forgiven.  

Years ago I was at a stop light and there was a girl in a small car in the left turn lane in front of me.  Obviously finished with her extra large fountain drink, she rolled down her window and dropped the cup onto the ground.  It landed upright, with a resounding "clop."  

Everyone could hear the sound of the ice compacting as it hit.  I wanted to yell at the girl--"Pick up your garbage!"  But I was stunned.  

It seemed as if everyone was--for instantly everything was completely soundless.  

In my mind I opened my door and walked over to her car, picked up the cup and emptied the ice out onto the road, handing her the empty cup, lid and straw.

"I think this belongs to you," I said loudly as I hand her the garbage.  Everyone stopped at the light watched as the girl's hand curls around the empty cup and she accepts it through the open car window. 

The light changed, the girl turned left--leaving the cup standing up right and unmoved.  Everyone drove off . . . and I have never forgotten.

It has been 25 years since I was at that light on East 12th Street in Des Moines, Iowa.  Today I got a chance to redeem myself--to protect an infinitesimally small spot on the Earth for a fraction of a moment.

It is a small consolation. 

My . . . I am terribly over-dramatic--to the point of of ridiculousness.

I like that word:  ri-di-cu-lous-ness.  Sibilant "S"--almost as good as quintessential.  

That word has is own story.