Calvin's Monster is running well this morning. Its engine is roaring and its mouth is sucking up everything in sight: leaves, twigs, pine needles, forgotten deflated tennis balls, dismembered dolls, newspapers. Almost everything. The Monster doesn't suck dog shit, which some people have hidden underneath their leaves. Calvin occasionally steps in it while he is raking the piles of leaves into his Monster. When that happens he has to scrape his feet over the finely trimmed lawns. Harry, his partner who has done this for thirty-one years this December, tells him to toss the dog shit up on the lawn with his rake. "That'll teach 'em!" he barks.
    The leaves are shot into the enclosed dump truck that pulls Calvin's Monster, better known as a four-cylinder, circular action, shredder-chipper device. A large tube extends from the top of the circulating drum and pierces through a rubber gasket in the back of the truck. The seal is not very good and, as a matter of fact, none of the seals on the truck enclosure are very good. A fine mist of chopped up rotting leaves, along with God knows what else, leaks out from fissures all over the enclosure and descends down upon the street and into Calvin's hair. It coats his lungs and slips under his collar and crawls down his back. Sometimes, this mist clogs up the radiators in the Monster and the truck and the engines overheat. This morning, however, there is a late November chill in the air and the engines are behaving nicely.
    A geyser of mulch begins erupting out of the top of the gasket where the rubber has pulled loose from the nails that hold it in place. This means that the truck is full. The driver gets out of the truck, turns off the Monster and the three men unhook the trailer. Harry and the driver climb into the cab and drive off to dump the leaves, leaving Calvin behind to have a smoke and guard the Monster. He can't imagine who would possibly want to steal the Monster, but he is happy to have a break. He smokes the second of three cigarettes budgeted for this morning. He has cut himself down to half a pack a day so that he still has money to buy a cup of coffee for lunch. He worries about the news that cigarette taxes will soon be going up. It might be time to quit.
    Sometimes there are children outside, playing. The other day, he had a conversation with a boy named Gregory, who was four fingers old, wore a bright green wool cap over his fiery red hair, had a runny nose, a rip in his little designer jeans, a boo boo on his knee, a two finger old brother named Christian, and his very own two wheeler. Gregory wanted to know why Calvin was wearing the funny looking vest over his jacket. "It's bright orange, you see?" Calvin explained, "so that people driving their cars can see me."
    "Oh," said Gregory, still a little perplexed.
    This morning, the neighborhood is quiet. They have stopped near a corner where a house sits facing the other street. Its large backyard lies along the street they have been cleaning. The yard has not been raked very well and there is only a small pile of leaves at the curb. The house they have just passed is a two floor white colonial with sky blue shutters, a huge picture window, and a stack of neatly cut firewood along the side. A new silver mini-van sits gleaming in the driveway in front of the garage. It is foreign made and still has a sticker in the back window. There had been several large piles of leaves in front of this house before Calvin's Monster devoured them.
    The door of the house opens and a little girl in a yellow hooded ski jacket comes toddling out with a toy rake in her hand. Platinum blond bangs sneak out from under her hood. She is followed by her mother who has long, brown hair that sits lightly on the shoulders of her puffed up, navy blue down jacket. She is wearing faded jeans and lavender running shoes and carries her own rake. They begin raking the lawn in front of their home, the mother with long aggressive strokes, the daughter doing the best she can with her little plastic rake and singing a little song in her own little language.
    The mother rakes the leaves into little piles and begins pulling them across the driveway and pushing them in front of the sleeping Monster's mouth. Calvin is sitting on the trailer hitch on the tail end of the Monster. That's right, feed the Monster," he says.
    The mother stops raking and says "I'm sorry, do you mind?" she asks, blushing.
    "No, not at all ma'am," Calvin says. "Rake all you want."
    "Jessica and I were sitting in the house waiting for the cable TV repairman," the mother says, "and I figured we better clean the yard while we can. This is the last week you're coming around, isn't it?"
    "Next week," Calvin answers, "but I guess every little bit helps."
    The mother's face is still a little red, from being out in the cold, no doubt. "I have nothing better to do all day anyway," she says. She is still smiling. Her daughter is still struggling with the toy rake.
    "The man who lives here," the mother says, pointing to the house on the corner, "never rakes."
    "And all his leaves blow into your yard," Calvin adds.
    "That's right," she says. "And we rake them up for free. Tell me something, do you have to go home and rake by your own house after doing this all day? That must be awful."
    "Well, I live in an apartment, so the landlord has to take care of that. He's supposed to, anyway," Calvin says. "Thankfully, it's not my problem."
    "I guess you're sick and tired of leaves."
    "I've had my fill."
    "Is that man all right?"
    "That man?" Calvin asks.
    "Two weeks ago I heard that one of your men was hit by a car."
    "Oh, I didn't know anything about that," Calvin says. "I'm just temporary help. I'm working this week and next."
    "Then what do you do?"
    "Find work someplace else."
    A white van comes up the street and parks in front of the mother's house. A man steps out of it and pulls out a tool case.
    "That's the cable guy." She smiles and says, "Have a good day. Come on Jessica," she calls to her daughter. "Let's go inside and watch the man fix the TV."
    The little girl drops her toy rake and runs to her mother who is walking to the front door of their home. "Bye bye", she calls out to Calvin. The cable guy follows them.
    "Bye bye, Jessica" Calvin calls after her. "Have a nice day."
    "Maybe we'll see you next week."
    "Maybe, maybe not. They move us around on different routes."
    "Well, good luck then. Nice talking to you." She opens the front door of her home and lets in her daughter and the cable guy.
    A few minutes later the truck returns. Calvin helps Harry guide the tube in to the rubber gasket and hook up the trailer hitch. Calvin turns the ignition key; the engine sputters and then catches. He engages the clutch, hits the throttle and the Monster roars. Its mouth begins sucking up leaves and the air is filled with the earthy aroma of rotting leaves mixed with engine exhaust. Calvin picks up his rake and walks over to the little pile of leaves the mother has left behind. He taps the pile with his rake and the insatiable mouth of Calvin's Monster hungrily gobbles it up and whines for still more.



About the author:
Fred Bubbers grew up in Elmhurst, New York, where he attended Newtown High School. He received his Bachelor of Arts in English from The State University of New York at Albany in 1982.

His work has recently been seen online in: Seeker Magazine and The Angler.

Mr. Bubbers lives in Columbia, Maryland.

© 2009 Word Riot