Week 12: Specimen

 

            Southern Illinois was in a different dimension. Compared to the sprawling suburbs and the bustling Chicago area that resided in the northern part of the state, southern Illinois was a hell hole. Poverty and racism ran rampant down in those parts. Driving through the countryside, one would encounter a never ending field, dry grass that ran all the way down to the tip of Kentucky.

            So how did Marvine end up all the way down there? She had ten children, a husband with a good government job, and a desire to unearth the otherworldly truths of planet Earth. All of those years spent raising (well sort of raising) her children had caught up to Marvine. Her long silver hair was tied up in a beehive-like contraption. Marvine never bothered to let her hair down, letting it get matted, and it truly did begin to resemble a beehive.

            She had broken her hip awhile back but refused to go to a doctor and get it x-rayed. At least standing at 6 feet tall, Marvine walked with a pronounced gait. She utilized a worn down cane to aid her in her walks.

            Her hands were rough, crackled, and like sand paper. Her face was overgrown with wrinkles. Time had not been kind to Marvine, but Marvine had never really been that kind either—so maybe in a way the two forces balanced each other out.

            Yes, here was lonely old Marvine. Rotting away in her tiny government funded house, sitting upon piles and piles of crap.

            One could only wonder, what would someone like Marvine do in her free time? Her children had all but abandoned her—too many hurt wounds that never closed, her husband had passed away years ago. Her only child that lived near her was deaf, and Marvine childishly never learned sign language, so she found herself truly alone. What could Marvine do? Her mobility was limited, her contact with humans was limited, the only thing she had left was to fend for herself.

            So Marvine manifested her illnesses, her failings, her loneliness into dumpster diving. Today, she was going to engage in her favorite “secret” hobby. Slipping on a pair of worn out, musty old leather boots, Marvine snapped up a petticoat over her nightgown, allowing herself to fully prepare for the terrors of outside. Marvine’s favorite place to dive was the dumpster that resided to the side of her shanty house. There was always treasures to be found there.

             Walking outside into the hot and humid weather of summer, Marvine smiled. This was truly her calling. This was her purpose. To turn another person’s trash into her treasure. She was quite pleased when she turned the corner around her house, to see that someone had left the large black lids to the dumpster open.

            Flies hovered over the dumpster, claiming their territory, unaware of Marvine lurking around the corner. With a flimsy little hop, Marvine managed to push herself up to the dumpster just enough so that she could see what was happening inside.

            For Marvine had no one. No one except that dumpster. She couldn’t wait to find newspaper clippings to send to her eldest daughter, she couldn’t wait to find more dirty pairs of boots to wear around the house. Marvine was in her element, and no one could stop her once she started going.

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