Litterbug

As he headed down McCarthy Mall to the faculty union meeting in Kuykendall Auditorium, Dr. Terry Hong saw a boy emerge from the walkway on the right between the Chemistry and the Art Building. Hong watched as the boy, carrying a Subway sandwich, took off the plastic bag and the paper wrapper, and dropped them on the ground.

“Hey,” Terry called out.

The boy walked on, headed toward Campus Road.

“Hey!” Terry shouted.

This time the boy, in mid-bite, turned around. He pointed to himself with a questioning look.

“Yes, wait up.”

The boy, taking another bite, stood there.

“Young man,” Terry said, “I saw you drop your sandwich wrappings on the mall there.” He pointed to the rubbish.

“Yeah?” the boy said. He appeared to be about 13. Not young enough to be oblivious to the error of littering.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Terry. “And I want you to go back there and pick it up.”

The boy scoffed. “Get real, mister.”

He turned to continue toward Campus Road.

“Hey!” Terry shouted again. “Get over there and pick up that rubbish.”

The boy kept walking, shaking his head in a mixed message of disbelief and disinterest.

Terry, not just mildly perturbed now, ran over and picked up the wrappers, then turned, and trotted after the boy now headed up Campus Road. Just as caught up with him the boy tossed his napkin on the ground.

“Stop right there,” Terry shouted, more angry than he imagined this incident would make him.

The boy turned around with a look of surprise. It’s as if he was saying, ‘Wow, you ran all this way to yell at me some more?’

Terry held out the wrapper rubbish to him. “Kid, take this and that napkin, and drop them in the rubbish can up at the corner there. He pointed toward Maile Way.

The boy, not realizing the level of Terry’s anger, laughed. “Oh, so you think you’re going to make me do that? Who do you think you are? The Rubbish Police? Give me a break, mister.

The boy turned and strolled off.

“Hey!” Terry screamed. “Come back here.”

The boy flipped him a bird over his shoulder, then broke into a trot.

Picking up the napkin, Terry ran after the boy, and passing him, turned to face him. He held out the ball of trash.

“You little punk. Who do I think I am? Who the hell do you think you are? Do you think you can throw your rubbish anywhere? What? Because there’ll always be someone to pick up after you? Kid, I hope your parents are good cleaners, otherwise I’d hate to see your bedroom. You little slob. Take this rubbish and put it in that trash can.” He pointed at it, 10 feet away. Here!”

He shoved it toward the boy. The boy began to cry. This softened Terry immediately. The boy sat down heavily on the sidewalk and sobbed.

Terry knelt beside him. “Look, young man, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Please, just remember to dispose of your trash in a trash can, okay? There’s no need to cry about this.”

The boy stopped crying and looked in Terry’s face. “You don’t get it, mister, I’m not crying because of this rubbish thing. I’m crying because I’m putting you on.”

And with that, the boy jumped to his feet and took off across Maile Way and up into the parking lot leading to the Mid-Pacific School campus. But he wasn’t as fast as he hoped he’d be. Terry, now steaming like an out-of-control locomotive, stood in front of him before the boy knew it.

Holding out his hand, Terry stopped the boy. Not touching him, but close enough to look like he might strike the boy.

The boy, an evil grin on his face, said, “What? You gonna hit me? Go ahead, mister. And then you’re gonna be in big-time trouble. Hit me. Come on, hit me.”

Terry was bigger than the boy, and he knew better. If he were to hit the boy, which he would never do, it would be bad news. He could picture himself on the news being perp-walked into HPD to be booked for assault.

“I’m not going to hit you, young man. I want you to take this trash and drop it in that can over by the entrance gate.” He pointed to it. “That’s all I’m asking, okay? Here.”

He handed the trash to the boy.

“All right,” the boy said. “Okay.”

He took the trash and headed over to the rubbish can. Raising the ball, he then tossed it over the top. Laughing, he turned to Terry and said, “Oops. Missed.”

Turning, and strutted off through the Mid-Pac gate.

The level of Terry’s rage made his head ache. He’d not truly understood the term ‘blinded by rage’ until now. And ‘seeing red,’ for that matter. He couldn’t see anything because of the fury he was experiencing.

After what seemed like forever, Terry’s breathing slowed and his head stopped pounding. For some reason, he ached all over, as if he’d come down with some kind of flu or run a marathon.

Checking his watch, he saw he was very late for the meeting.

The meeting, what was left of it, flew by in a blur. The rest of the day went the same way. All day long, Terry’s body throbbed, and all he could think about was the kid who didn’t give a damn about littering. His haughty demeanor and surly comments. And that crying stunt. That was the topper. Could he have hit the boy? He wasn’t sure about that in retrospect.

By the time he dragged himself home, all Terry could think about was the beer calling his name. Grabbing a Coor’s light, he dropped on the couch and switched on the TV. It was the 6 o’clock news.

Mahealani Richardson was saying, “And the boy’s body was found stuffed in a trash can near the UH Mānoa campus back entrance to the Mid-Pacific School. Police spokeswoman Diane Thomas said that although the body showed signs of being beaten, the coroner said the boy died from asphyxiation due to a plastic bag and other materials being stuffed down his throat.

“If you have any information about this incident, please call CrimeStoppers at 808-955-8300.”

Terry popped open his beer and took a long sip. What a coincidence, he thought. What were the chances of two kids on campus having trash-related problems that morning?

Still miffed, he picked up his phone. He should report his own run-in with the boy that morning, how he was a litterer who probably attended Mid-Pac, and how he’d be happy to identify him. There would be a fine for littering, and the boy’s family would be shamed. That would be some justice. The little litterbug would be squashed.

But then, as he tapped in the CrimeStoppers number, something dawned on Terry. Smiling, he put the phone down and took another big sip.