Seated, misplaced or abandoned at my side, on the picnic table in the park, was the plastic vessel for a soft drink from Taco Bell.
“So,” I said, “Do you have anything to say besides advertising for your unhealthy goods and services?”
“I might,” it said. “I just might.”
“You might, eh? Well, what?”
“Well, what is your name?” it redirected.
“My name is Tyler. Now what do you have…”
“And where do you live?”
“Nowhere. Would you ans…”
“And what do you do…you know, for fun?”
I just stared at it for a moment. I could smack it off the table and into oblivion. I know, it knows, we’re all sitting here learning so much…whatever…I place it diagonally about a foot and a half away from me.
“That’s the first time I’ve been relocated since being sipped by my former owner. Thank you,” it said.
“Why “thank you”? I asked.
“I was getting tired of being there. Something about the knot in the wood below me. Disorienting.”
“So now you feel clearer?”
“Clearer about some things.”
“What in particular?”
“What is it you said you like to do again?”
“Nothing, I live nowhere, and I’m asking the questions, unless you want me to help you into that trash bin.”
“Whatever you want,” it said.
Moments went by without speaking. Minutes. I looked around. Joggers jogging, dogs being walked or bear sized dogs taking their owners on a ride that was more than they bargained for when they were just puppies and cute. I noticed the ring of moisture the cup had left behind after I moved it. I dipped my right index finger in it and traced the circle. I got a sharp splinter for my troubles, graciously bestowed by the wood of the table. The plastic cup spit. It sucked in its breath and launched a bit of dark brown substance onto mu upturned index finger as I examined the splinter. The liquid began to fizzle on my skin. It tingled. I shook most of it off.
“What are you doing? Soda is not helpful right now.”
“My mistake,” it said.
“If you had any water to clear away the blood, that would be fine, but…”
The next in a long series of interruptions came not verbally, but garbly as the plastic cup seemed to be sucking in breath from the outside in order to make a vacuum powerful enough to blow bubbles on its inside. After a moment, it somehow swished its liquid from side to side, making it rock in place, and then stopped. It spat a clear liquid that hit my offended index finger with astonishing precision. This liquid did not sizzle at all. It simply seeped quickly into my skin, as if it was unsure of whether I would try to flick it off like I had the soda. Pushed from within – by the liquid? – the splinter was being edged out of my finger. It fell back to the table it came from and I cocked my finger to flick it off.
“Are you su…” the cup began, but I had already let loose my finger. The splinter had become wedged between a small crack in the wood, so when my middle finger made contact, the pressure exerted against the splinter drove it deep within my middle finger.
“I bet you would not have chosen to do that. I tried to warn you.” The cup looked a bit proud. But it hadn’t moved an inch or visibly altered its already mould perfect posture.
“Yeah, well you’re just an uppity cup. Huh, my other finger does feel better. I don’t know whether it’s because my middle finger hurts more or because your strange liquid actually worked.”
“You may never know.”
“Would you try again?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because,” and with that the cup spun on its base and faced its label the opposite direction. It began gurgling softly to itself.
“Please?”
“No.”
“Why not? I could dash you all over this park if I wanted to,” I said, but I wasn’t yet finished with a cup that had the power of speech.
“I’ll try something else if you answer my questions,” it said.
“Fine,” I said, waving my finger in the air, not wanting it to make contact with anything that might push the splinter deeper. “What’s your name? Are you male or female?”
“I have none, and it doesn’t matter.” The cup spun back around, let loose one huge bubble on the inside, and continued, “Have you ever wondered about your life, where you’re going, and how you are doing right now in the grandest scheme of things?”
“Of course, what’s your point?”
“Well, I wonder how you think you are doing in the grand scheme of whatever.”
“I don’t know. Well, I suppose. I have a job and a life where I have fun…sometimes not, but mostly I do.”
“Oh? What kind of fun?”
“You know, I have friends I do things with, family I am close to.”
“Oh, that’s terrific.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“So that means you’re doing well at Life?”
“I don’t know.”
Quiet. For a moment.
“Suppose you’re not doing well at all, you only think you are?” the cup continued.
“Well, then, someone ought to tell me. Could you please just release me from this spli…”
“What do you wish you had that you do not?”
“I don’t know. A wife. Security. A family.”
“And those are hallmarks of what you might call success? I’m glad my job is so easy. Be filled and then empty. Penetrated with a straw for a while, have the contents sucked out of you, and then it’s to the trash bin and maybe the recycling plant or landfill. It’s quite straight forward mostly.”
“I guess we’re more complicated.”
“No you’re not. You’re just human. You just do more things. Doesn’t make you complicated. You are good at pretending.”
“And you are good at insulting,” I said. Feelings hurt by a plastic nothing. I stared out across the park’s pond. The sun was going down. Why am I here?
“Why are you here?” The cup asked.
“Good question. I guess I should go.” I picked the cup up…I’ll assume it’s a he…I picked him up and headed for the garbage bin. “Now take out my splinter. Please.”
“So you can throw me away? No. You must take me to your home now. I will live with you. In your cupboard or on your night table, occasionally refreshed by the sudsing waters of the dishwasher, but no, I will not be tossed in any landfill or melted down and reformed this time.”
I tossed him in the garbage bin.
“Goodbye.” I called behind me, already on my way down the path towards home.
“Hmmm, interesting how this turned out,” I heard the cup mutter from the bin. He raised his voice so he could be sure I’d hear him. “Good luck! I know it’s creepy crawly and massively jumbled out there, but keep your head up, your fingers away from wood, and your spirits tuned high.”
I stopped. “Thanks, I will.” I turned around. I walked back to the garbage bin and looked at him. He hadn’t moved. He was just sloshing bits of the remaining liquid inside him up into the air, catching it again in his straw. I reached in and pulled him out. I looked at him some more. He said nothing. I said nothing. We walked back to the picnic table. I placed him back where I found him; in the original moisture circle. It was almost gone by now, but I found it without difficulty. The cup began blowing bubbles inside itself. I picked it up again and put my lips to the straw. It was the sweetest soda I’d ever tasted.
