I had no idea trashing could cause so much trouble. One minute, I’m assisting an elderly neighbor out of kindness. The next, I’m in a landfill staring at cash-filled garbage bags while she shouts at me like I betrayed her.
New beginnings have always been my life.
A corporate troubleshooter, I’m sent wherever the corporation wants me, so I rarely stay longer than a year or two.
Moving might be lonely, so I make a point to meet the neighbors. I bake cookies and help in modest ways. These modest acts have led to some beautiful friendships throughout the years, even if they were temporary.
When I moved into my newest rental, a little two-bedroom with a yard, I wanted to continue this tradition. The calm neighbourhood contained largely older couples whose children had left.
The neighboring house appeared neglected. Overgrown plants, peeling paint, and a sagging porch were all present.
On my first day there, when I was unloading boxes from the moving truck, a woman approached me from that residence. She wore a headwrap and appeared in her late 50s.
She said, “Hello there,” raising one hand. “I’m Melissa. My husband and I reside next door.”
I dropped the package and wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans before reaching out. Glad to meet Melissa. My name is Bethany.”
My hand was temporarily shook. From where are you moving?
I said, “Oh, about three hours north,” purposefully imprecise. I’ve learnt that oversharing my past can raise awkward inquiries.
“Big place for one person,” she said, eyeing my small box pile.
I answered, “I travel light,” smiling. Since company sends me around, I’ve learnt not to gather too much stuff.
“Hmm,” she hummed, inspecting me. “We’re here if you need anything. Though my husband works irregular hours, try not to be too loud at night.”
Though hardly the warmest greeting, I’d had worse.
“I’ll keep it down,” I said. “And please tell me how I can be a good neighbor.”
She nodded and left silently. Not the friendly start I wanted, but it made me more desperate to win her over.
Melissa’s garbage bins were at the curb two days later, on Saturday (my first day off since moving here).
I remembered witnessing her struggle to roll them out earlier that morning. They were full. Her husband was absent.
Perfect chance, I thought.
I was going to carry my rubbish to the local dump anyhow because my containers couldn’t fit some hefty packing materials. Why not aid her?
Without thinking, I took her rubbish bags and put them in my trunk alongside mine.
I thought she would like coming home to empty bins she didn’t have to carry home.
I had no idea my simple act of compassion would backfire.
One evening, I was vacuuming my living room when the doorbell rang. The strong, persistent buzzing suggested someone outside was pressing the button.
Anger-filled, I turned off the vacuum and left.
Melissa appeared furious on my porch via the peephole.
I opened the door with a sorry smile. “Hi Melissa—”
“HOW DARE YOU?” She screamed at me, eyes ablaze with rage disproportionate to any neighborly misstep. “How dare you remove my trash without permission? You were asked by whom?
I retreated.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I moved in and wanted to be nice, so I took out your trash with mine.”
“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” she yelled.
Before I could react, she raced to her car and drove to the landfill.
Left astonished, I stood there. What might have been so essential in those trash bags? Did I mistakenly discard family heirlooms? Vital documents?
It made no sense.
I followed her to the landfill in my car out of curiosity.
I kept my distance, trying to figure out what was going on, until I saw those dark green garbage bags she was so frightened about.
There they are! I called as I approached.
“DON’T YOU DARE OPEN THEM!” she shouted, running toward me.
Naturally, my curiosity won. Before she reached me, I carefully opened a bag—
My eyes widened.
A lot of money was in that sack. Many banknotes, lots of cash. Some were tied with elastic bands, while others were jumbled. Hundreds, fifties, and twenties would make anyone’s heart race.
Melissa raced up to me and grabbed the bag with amazing power for her age.
“What the heck?” I whispered. Melissa, where did you acquire all this money?
She ignored me and hastily counted the bag’s contents to make sure it was all there.
“Melissa,” I said louder. “Where did you get the cash? Why are you living in a rundown house if you have so much money?
Her gaze was poisonous. ‘Tis none of your concern.
“It became my business when you screamed at me, and I followed you to a dump to find garbage bags full of cash,” I replied. Look, if you’re doing something illegal—
It’s my inheritance, okay? Finally looking at me, she snapped. My mother died three months ago and left me this money. I want my husband to know nothing about it.”
I glanced at her, trying to comprehend her words. “You’re hiding money from your husband? That’s… Melissa, that’s wrong. To love him—
She snapped, “Don’t you dare lecture me about my marriage.” My life is unimaginable to you. What more do you know? You’re 35 and alone? Traveling like a nomad?”
“This isn’t about me,” I said. “You’re hiding thousands of dollars in garbage bags. You know about karma? Returns are inevitable. Secrets come out, especially when you toss them away.”
She sneered. «Save your fortune cookie advice for someone who cares»
She then held the bags to her chest. Stay away from my business and property. Got it?”
She ran to her car with the money bags held to her chest without waiting for an answer.
I tried to forget the strange occurrence when I arrived home. I prepared for my night shift.
I spent the night filing reports and fixing company difficulties. The garbage bag fortune of Melissa kept going out of my mind.
I pulled into my driveway the next morning fatigued and ready for sleep, but Melissa was there on my doorstep, appearing more angrier.
“HOW COULD YOU TELL MY HUSBAND ABOUT EVERYTHING!?” she shouted as I exited my car.
I froze. “What? I told your husband nothing.”
“LIAR!” she snaps. He found money last night! He took half and left me a letter claiming he was going to his brother’s! He knows everything!”
Bewildered, I shook my head. I went straight to work after the dum, Melissa. It was night shift. I’ve never spoken to your hubby. Not once.”
She looked at me and understood I was telling the truth.
Then how…?” she asked.
“Maybe he saw you hiding it when you got home,” I said. “Or maybe this is what I meant. Karma. Things balance out in the universe.” I had to add, “Karma would punish you. But he’s terrific for leaving you half!”
She didn’t reply. She turned and slowly returned home, defeated.
As I watched her leave, I thought about the unexpected turn of events. I had moved to several communities and attempted to help in hundreds of ways, but never had my goodwill destroyed someone’s life like this.
That odd weekend taught me that you never know what’s going on behind closed doors. peaceful dwellings on peaceful neighborhoods can hide the most turbulent secrets. I still believe in being friendly to neighbors, but I now ask before handling someone else’s trash while moving in.
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. The author does not imply any resemblance to real people, events, or places.
From thecelebritist.com
