Charybdis
April 22nd, 2021
Starring: A & B
A’s apartment. Moving-out day. The entire place has been cleared and packed up. All except the carpeted living area, which is taken up by a mound of paper, files, books, photos, magazines, etc. It’s quite messy and imposing, taking up tons of space and standing a few feet tall.
A escorts B into the living area, showing off the mound.
B
Dang.
This is it, huh?
A
Just about.
A picks up and/or points to the various things as they say them:
A
Hotel keys, comic clippings, algebra 2 quizzes, overexposed disposable camera photos, video game mags, middle school string concert programs, travel guides for the year 2012.
The leftovers.
B
A feast.
...
So what now?
A
Feed them to Charybdis.
B
Who?
A smiles and runs to the other room. They return wheeling a gargantuan paper shredder, roughly the size of a two-wheeler garbage bin.
B
Oh.
It’s like—
A
A mythical marvel. Paid top dollar. Supposed to swallow anything you feed it.
B
You’re shredding it all?
A
Yeah. Something about recycling doesn’t feel full circle.
If I’m really moving on, I have to really tear it all up.
B
You don’t want any of it?
A
Don’t see the use.
B
I mean
I think it’s important.
A
How?
B
They’re like...tiny portals to the past. Stories. Feelings. Smells. Jokes. Stuff that would be impossible to remember otherwise.
A
But if I need to be reminded, are they really that memorable? I feel like we remember what we remember, and we don’t what we don’t.
B
But if this offers the chance to connect with your past, doesn’t that make this all worth keeping? To reremember?
A considers, looking at the mound:
A
I see it. I know there’s stuff in there. Deep memories.
But I don’t have the trunk space to be sentimental.
I want a clean slate. Full room for whatever’s next.
You know?
B
I don’t.
But it’s your life. Has to make sense to you.
A nods, then turns on Charybdis. It roars to life. A takes a breath, then grabs a first stack (paper, pictures, a couple magazines, a book) off the mound, holding it above the mouth of the shredder.
A
Hey, at least we’ll never forget this.
With that, A drops the stack into the shredder. There’s the initial expected noise of the items being crushed, but then it stops midway through, halted by a strange clanking sound. Then a whirring. Then the sound of a wire bursting/fizzling out. A moment or two.
Then a plume of smoke puffs out of the machine, setting off the smoke alarm, followed by the overhead fire sprinklers, dousing everything in a steady cascade of musty water. The stack remains jammed in the shredder, hardly torn at all. A looks shocked and helpless amidst the machine and the mound. Amidst the chaos, B tries to hold back a grin.
B
No. No I won’t.