The Last Plastic Straw

“How much is there left in that desk?” Sasha asked her daughter, calling up the stairs to her.

“Nearly done, there seems to be something at the bottom behind the drawers,” Alex replied. “I can't get to it.”

“Have you tried pulling the drawer out?” her Mother asked, going up to see if she could sort it.

“Got it!” Alex shouted.

“What is it?” Sasha asked.

“Covered in dust,” Ales replied sneezing.

“Give it here,” her Mother said, taking it and shaking the dust down the toilet. “Looks like an old plastic bag,” she said turning the object over in her hands. “However, we need to go home now or stay the night.”

“There's no food or power here,” her daughter said. “So, I suppose it would be best to head back.”

“There isn't much more to sort, but it'll have to wait for another day,” Sasha sighed. “Let's go.”

“How did things go at your Mother's house?” Mark asked Sasha that evening as they put the last of the washing away.

“I'll be glad when we're finished,” she sighed. “There are so many memories that it's throwing up, it's difficult to get through it.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Like today, just before we left, Alex found a plastic bag in the bottom of the desk.”

“What was in it?” he asked. “Anything useful?”

“I don't know, we had to leave, it was getting late,” she said. “I think I brought it in, we could take a look now.”

“Might be interesting,” he said.

“You don't have to look if you don't want to,” Sasha said quickly.

“She's gone, I shouldn't hold grudges,” he said. “Let's see what the old girl had hidden in her desk.”

“I don't think it was hidden, just got pushed to the back and then fell behind the drawers, she always had way too much in every drawer,” she said quickly.

“Whatever, lets see what it is,” he muttered as Sasha brought the bag out of the box of things they had brought from the house.

“Alex, do you want to see what was in that old bag you found at Gran's?” Sasha shouted to her daughter. “And you can take that look off your face,” she added to Mark. “I wasn't referring to Mum when I said old bag.”

“I didn't say anything,” he smiled.

“You'd better not,” Sasha hissed as Alex walked in carrying the bag.

“It's one of those saleable bags. Do you know how to open them?” he asked.

“Of course,” she smiled, pulling it open and trying not to sneeze as even more dust fell off it.

“There are a couple of pieces of paper in here,” she said pulling them out. The first was a printout of a news report about the end of plastic straw production. The second was another print out entitled “The Last Plastic Straw”

“This was written by Mum's Mum,” said Sasha slowly.

“I don't think I met her,” said Mark.

“You and me both,” Sasha smiled. “Her and Mum didn't exactly see eye to eye on anything.

“I think I might have liked her,” he smiled. “What does it say?”

“I have just heard that the last production line for plastic strews has stopped work and is being dismantled, it doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem all that long ago that no one gave a second thought to plastic straws or a million and one other one use items, disposables. The people started to notice the amount of plastic blowing around in the wind, literally on windy days, you'd see plastic shopping bags flying around. They were the first to go. Then there was news that there were plastic islands floating around the oceans. Animals were dying because of the amount of plastic they were getting tangled in or eating. To my way of thinking, if there are large islands of plastic waste floating in the sea, it would be simple, send an old whaling vessel there or a trawler, fish it out and recycle. Yet all they seemed to do was monitor it, but it was the start of something. I suppose a more reasoned way of living and realising we aren't the only ones on the planet. So, here we are, a lot of petitions later and the plastic straws are no longer being made. They will be something for the museums, that was what I was thinking whilst tidying out the old place, when I came across the remnants of a packet of plastic straws, so many memories, they brought back, I bought them for the kids, God knows how long ago, at that time every drink was accompanied by a plastic straw and it seemed picky, nay cheese paring not to get them. When I was young I'm sure the straws were made from waxed paper, but that could be my memory playing tricks with me. Anyway, back to this packet, we didn't think there was any harm in them, they were only straws, but then then, part of the problem was how many straws there were, not just one or two, but millions or billions and they didn't rot down, just kept floating round the world following the currents, them and all the other bits of plastic. Now they have ceased the production of plastic straws, it's all part of making the world a cleaner and more caring place.

“I can see why your Mum and her Mum didn't get on,” said Mark, turning the sheet of paper over in his hands. “There's something handwritten on the back, very neat handwriting, your Gran.”

“To whoever finds these, don't throw them away, I wouldn't want to think of any creatures being hurt by them, also there might be a museum that would like them, possibly pay you a lot for them. I remember hearing a man from a museum saying they would like some of the plastic daffodils that were given away with soap powder. It was just after my Dad had chucked out a load of plastic daffodils his Mum had in a vase, when he was clearing her house out. It's not that I think he should have sold them, but they could have been an exhibit somewhere, not landfill.”

“I think she was right about that,” said Mark.

“It would be hard to throw them away,” said Sasha.

“She's right, they should be in a museum,” said Alex looking at the straws in the plastic bag. “Just to show everyone how harmless they look.”

“Looks can be deceptive,” sighed Sasha.

By Janice Nye © 2018