c. 2024 Rod Ice
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(4-24)
Darcy Trelane grew up in a Cleveland neighborhood where people from diverse cultures had settled over years of immigration and urban renewal. Her personal world-view was shaped by the experience of going to Cuyahoga Community College, and studying for a degree in nursing. This attempt to set a career path went awry as she encountered members of counterculture groups, and artists who lived on the societal fringe. When she joined an organization of LGBT activists on campus, a new episode of self-awareness began. Yet this shift stunned her mainstream family. Eventually, she dropped out of school, and left the proximity of Lake Erie to live with a girlfriend at a rural, residence park situated near Amish country.
That hasty decision changed the direction of her life. She had never lived in a mobile home, before.
Evergreen Estates was tangentially opposite to the streets where she played as a young girl. The rustic enclave was populated with blue-collar folk who piloted ratty cars and pickup trucks with oversized tires. Citizens who were light on education, but heavy on family ties and American traditions. She had been accustomed to the sight of rainbow banners and protest signs, while pursuing the goal of higher learning. But now her surroundings boasted an assortment of Gadsden flags and Confederate emblems. Diesel motors rattled her windows. Shotgun blasts often woke her from slumber, with morning sessions hunting wild game, in nearby woodlands.
Her eyesight had always been poor. But after adopting a pair of thick-framed, black spectacles, she was tagged with the nickname of ‘Miss Poindexter’ in the boxcar community. Her intention had been to play off the vibe of Buddy Holly. Something retro and provocative for a lesbian gamer who had strayed far from native soil, in the city.
Eventually, she ditched the healthy guidelines of a vegan lifestyle, and tipped into an excess of eating Ramen and junk food staples, like Mr. Hero and Taco Bell. Her weight swelled dangerously. She dyed her hair a confrontational shade of metallic orange. Then, a new confidence filled her bosom. She organized a Pokemon fan club with kids in the park. Something that immediately made her a hero with disaffected youth, and a suspicious figure for their parents.
She put a pride standard in the front window of her longbox dwelling. That single challenge to the normalcy of their distant oasis caused a firestorm of discontent.
Linn Speck, who was considered to be a moral arbiter for the entire development, stood with his Trump Bible in front of the Schult singlewide. He had dressed as if going to play golf with friends, in a polo shirt and cargo shorts. The rotund, balding resident shook his fist with outrage, and shouted oaths, before bellowing lyrics from Lee Greenwood. In an atonal vocal style that seemed to have been inspired by the howl of a thirsty mutt left chained to a tree on a hot, summer day.
“If tomorrow, all the things were gone I’d worked for all my life
And I had to start again with just my children and my wife
I’d thank my lucky stars to be living here today
‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that away
And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free
And I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me
And I’d gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land
God bless the USA!”
Darcy stood on her back deck, which was enclosed by panels of chain-link fencing. She wore an XXL T-shirt, patterned with an image of the drag icon, Divine.
“Linn. Go home already! There’s no point in preaching your MAGA shit to me, I don’t buy any of your dogma. My grandma gave up trying to teach me that crap when I was 14 years old! I loved her, but she was nuts. I think she worked in a munitions factory, during the war...”
Her conservative visitor shook his head and spit fire.
“DON’T TALK THAT WAY ABOUT GOD! ARE YOU INSANE?”
The pudgy femme squeaked with laughter.
“What’ll he do, zap my trailer with a bolt of lightning? That’d be awesome, better even than watching the solar eclipse from my window! Holy fugg! That was like something on the Xbox!”
Linn held his stomach, which had started to ache.
“Miss Dex, you don’t belong in this place. Can I just say that out loud? Go back to Cleveland and be happy. This is a Christian stronghold. We keep things on the straight and narrow here, nobody cares about being politically correct, or woke! I honestly don’t give a damn about hurting your feelings! I don’t give a damn about your trans friends and tie-dye freaks! I don’t give a damn about pot smokers and meth heads!”
The university reject cackled, and slapped her curvy thighs.
“My dad bought this junker for cash. He’s plugged all the holes, shingled the roof, and replaced the windows. Everything is airtight now! All we owe is lot rent, every month. We couldn’t live anywhere by the lake for what it costs in this dump! So kiss my big ass! I’ll do as I please, when I please! Call the cops if your boxers are in a bunch! Those losers are probably your buddies, anyway!”
The stocky agitator stomped his feet and cursed.
“It’s appropriate that you live next to Townie Lincoln, the old drunk who bathes once a year. That shaggy son-of-a-bitch is the kind of next-door nobody that you deserve! Who’s a bigger pile of dung? That’s a toss-up, I think! A coin flip to decide! The two of you should have a debate about it!”
Darcy shrugged and scratched her belly.
“Are you done complaining? Jinkies, listening to you is like having my granny back all over again. Whine, whine, whine! I’ve got to smoke a joint! You’re giving me a headache!”
The back door slammed with a rattle of loose weatherstripping. Their brief confrontation had ended.
After lodging the formal protest, Linn wobbled back down the street, to his own lot. He rummaged through his storage barn, to find cold cans of Milwaukee’s Best, in a cooler by the back wall. Then, he sat down on a lawn chair, which was waiting in the middle of his driveway.
From a distance, he spied the rainbow banner at Darcy’s abode beginning to droop from its spring-loaded rod. This change made him unexpectedly hopeful. Was it a sign that his loud opposition to her amoral habits had produced some sort of positive effect? The thought caused a chill to run over his skin. He pumped his fist toward the sky.
“God bless the USA! Just like Lee Greenwood sang!”
Suddenly, a new set of colors filled the front window at Lot 12. They were oddly familiar, and steeped in controversy. Yet he could not immediately remember seeing them before. But a moment of reflection cleared his head. And made his eyes go wide with shock.
At least a dozen other women were crowded into the small bedroom. Piercings and tattoos gave them the look of attendees at an alternative rally of some sort.
He could hear a student chant echoing along their boulevard, from the glorified shipping container where his atheist opponent lived. One that used a word rarely, if ever, spoken in their pastoral county. It turned him numb with disbelief. And soured him on the taste of his brew.
“Intifada in America! Capitalist corpses are the real Walking Dead! Intifada! Intifada! Intifadaaaaa!”
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