can pick it. A word that won’t come up in normal conversation or is the answer to a question.”
I took a moment to think over her offer of a code word as I turned off the main road to the dirt drive which led into the center. I spied my answer stacked into a pyramid.
“Bowling ball.”
“Bowling ball?” she asked.
“Yes, bowling ball.” I pointed toward the stack.
“Oh cool. Look, over there’s a bird sculpture!” She leaned forward toward the window, eyes wide taking in all the magic of the found objects.
“I thought you might like this place.” Pulling the truck up to the bottle bins, I turned off the engine. “Let’s dump this stuff, and then I’ll show you around.”
“This place is so cool,” she said, turning her head to rubberneck behind us at the stacks of old rusted cogs, scrap metal and the brightly painted lavender school bus. “Weird, but cool.”
I led her over to the bus after we dumped our stuff. Inside housed a small collection of used books.
“It’s a book bus. At a dump.”
“It is. Since you like old books, I figured you’d love this.”
She climbed up the narrow steps and entered the bus. I followed her into the tight space crammed with shelves and the smell of old paper. There wasn’t much room to maneuver or turn around, and we found ourselves standing shoulder to shoulder while she scanned the shelves.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” I whispered back, unsure why we were whispering. We weren’t in a library.
“For bringing me to the dump because you thought I’d like it. I can honestly say no guy, or woman, has ever taken me some place like this.”
“I’m nothing if not a classy guy.”
“Do you bring all the girls here?”
“No, only the ones who’d get excited by some rusty metal and a slightly musty smelling copy of a bird book.” I pointed at the book she clutched to her chest.
“How many women do you know who fit that description?”
“Only one.” I smiled down at her. “Ready?”
“Sure.”
I stepped down and turned to help her off the last step. She gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.
“I love this place. It’s full of amazing things others have thrown away because they thought they were trash.”
“The saying is true. One man’s trash …” I didn’t need to finish the statement.
Bent over to examine a large triple-domed birdcage resting on its side in the mud, she turned and smiled up at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re kind of like this stuff.”
“Garbage? Gee, you think so highly of us.” I frowned.
“No, the treasure. Only they didn’t see it.”
Not getting her meaning, I asked, “Who?”
“Mr. Not-so-Perfect and Kelly. They tossed us aside, not realizing what they were giving up.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t getting it. “Which one of us is the birdcage?”
“We’re everything. Misfit toys, broken window frame, old Encyclopedia Britannica volumes.”
“Useless and outdated crap?” My eyebrows pulled together as I tried to figure out how this flattered either of us.
“If you want to see it that way. I prefer to think it takes the right person to see the treasure inside someone else. You’re not useless or worthless to me. Or to anyone else who matters in your life. That’s my point.”
She was either incredibly wise or crazy. Or both.
“I think I get it. I’m the cool stack of bowling balls, not expired meat.”
“Are you saying the code word?”
I licked my bottom lip and chewed on the scruff right below it before smiling at her. “Nope. I’m embracing my bowling ball status.”
“Good. I’m the birdcage.”
“And what a lovely birdcage you are.” Our tension lifted and we settled back into right. The even keel comfort between us returned.
“You have enough fun at the dump?”
“Best time at the dump ever.” She grinned up at me, her eyes alight with happiness.
“Glad to hear it. I still don’t know what your favorite ice cream is,
I took a moment to think over her offer of a code word as I turned off the main road to the dirt drive which led into the center. I spied my answer stacked into a pyramid.
“Bowling ball.”
“Bowling ball?” she asked.
“Yes, bowling ball.” I pointed toward the stack.
“Oh cool. Look, over there’s a bird sculpture!” She leaned forward toward the window, eyes wide taking in all the magic of the found objects.
“I thought you might like this place.” Pulling the truck up to the bottle bins, I turned off the engine. “Let’s dump this stuff, and then I’ll show you around.”
“This place is so cool,” she said, turning her head to rubberneck behind us at the stacks of old rusted cogs, scrap metal and the brightly painted lavender school bus. “Weird, but cool.”
I led her over to the bus after we dumped our stuff. Inside housed a small collection of used books.
“It’s a book bus. At a dump.”
“It is. Since you like old books, I figured you’d love this.”
She climbed up the narrow steps and entered the bus. I followed her into the tight space crammed with shelves and the smell of old paper. There wasn’t much room to maneuver or turn around, and we found ourselves standing shoulder to shoulder while she scanned the shelves.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” I whispered back, unsure why we were whispering. We weren’t in a library.
“For bringing me to the dump because you thought I’d like it. I can honestly say no guy, or woman, has ever taken me some place like this.”
“I’m nothing if not a classy guy.”
“Do you bring all the girls here?”
“No, only the ones who’d get excited by some rusty metal and a slightly musty smelling copy of a bird book.” I pointed at the book she clutched to her chest.
“How many women do you know who fit that description?”
“Only one.” I smiled down at her. “Ready?”
“Sure.”
I stepped down and turned to help her off the last step. She gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.
“I love this place. It’s full of amazing things others have thrown away because they thought they were trash.”
“The saying is true. One man’s trash …” I didn’t need to finish the statement.
Bent over to examine a large triple-domed birdcage resting on its side in the mud, she turned and smiled up at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re kind of like this stuff.”
“Garbage? Gee, you think so highly of us.” I frowned.
“No, the treasure. Only they didn’t see it.”
Not getting her meaning, I asked, “Who?”
“Mr. Not-so-Perfect and Kelly. They tossed us aside, not realizing what they were giving up.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t getting it. “Which one of us is the birdcage?”
“We’re everything. Misfit toys, broken window frame, old Encyclopedia Britannica volumes.”
“Useless and outdated crap?” My eyebrows pulled together as I tried to figure out how this flattered either of us.
“If you want to see it that way. I prefer to think it takes the right person to see the treasure inside someone else. You’re not useless or worthless to me. Or to anyone else who matters in your life. That’s my point.”
She was either incredibly wise or crazy. Or both.
“I think I get it. I’m the cool stack of bowling balls, not expired meat.”
“Are you saying the code word?”
I licked my bottom lip and chewed on the scruff right below it before smiling at her. “Nope. I’m embracing my bowling ball status.”
“Good. I’m the birdcage.”
“And what a lovely birdcage you are.” Our tension lifted and we settled back into right. The even keel comfort between us returned.
“You have enough fun at the dump?”
“Best time at the dump ever.” She grinned up at me, her eyes alight with happiness.
“Glad to hear it. I still don’t know what your favorite ice cream is,
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