c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-24)
Mama Molene Gant stayed busy over the weekend at her non-profit headquarters by Lake Erie. She still felt perturbed about the apparent withdrawal of her former student and promising advocate, Darcy Trelane, from their social circle. The former protest leader was now in her 70’s and had schooled along generations of counterculture activists since the Vietnam era. But her pupil who lived on the cheap, in a mobile home, had become a genuine disappointment. Someone she no longer recognized as a member of her extended family.
The gray-haired, hippie matron complained loudly to her office staff, while sipping Chai tea in the morning. Her nerves were frayed.
“YA COULDN’T HAVE CONVINCED ME THIS’D HAPPEN, NAW! NOT THAT GIRL WITH THA POINDEXTER GLASSES! SHE’S BEEN A STRAIGHT-UP SISTA! WHAT HAPPENED TO HER? WHAT HAPPENED OUT THERE IN THA MAGA HINTERLAND?”
Her crew of volunteers were all members of LGBT groups in the Cleveland area. A shy, waif of a woman named Orchid Kozlowski stood at the side of her desk, and tried to offer comfort.
“Mama, I‘ve always liked Miss Dex. She reminds me of Velma Dinkley from ‘Scooby Doo, Where Are You?’ That was my favorite cartoon as a kid! My mom had it on DVD and she played those old episodes over and over. When you told us about your friend having a change of heart over displaying the Palestinian flag, I wanted to scream ‘Ruh Roh!’”
Molene threw a handful of Sharpie pens at the wall.
“YA THINK THIS BE FUNNY, RIGHT? IS IT A JOKE OR SOMETHING? WHOO, NOW I’M REALLY GETTING WORKED UP, GIRLIE!”
The young aide started to tremble. Her lips curled inward.
“What? No! Not at all, Mama! Not at all!”
The professional organizer flipped her long, hemp skirt with a kick, under the desk.
“WE GOTTA PLAN ON THIS, LADIES! WE GOTTA PLAN, PLAN, PLAN!”
Neal Courtier, a skinny, non-binary student still attending Tri-C, added his voice to the mix. He wore a rainbow T-shirt and fishnet leggings.
“Mama, don’t! Please! Don’t get all hard on her, or on us! We’re still on the bus with you! We’ll ride until the Po-Po leave our campus! Ride, ride, ride! We’ll ride in style, I promise!”
Molene shook her gray curls and shrieked with irritation.
“THIS IS A BIG DEAL, CHILLEN! A DAMN BIG DEAL! YA THINK THIS GROOVE GOT DUG OVERNIGHT? NAW! NAW IT DIDN’T! A LOTTA FOLKS LIKE ME AND YER GRANDPARENTS DONE IT ALL! WE MARCHED IN THA STREETS! WE FOUGHT FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE! WE TOOK THE HITS FROM THA HARD-HAT LOONIES, WAVING THEIR STARS-N-STRIPES! WE DID IT! WE DID IT ALL! NOW, YA MIGHT SAY THAT WE AIN’T PART OF WHAT’S GOING ON IN THA MIDDLE EAST! YA MIGHT NOT BE FROM THOSE LANDS, NOT FROM ONE OR THA OTHER! BUT I’M TELLING YA, IT STARTS WITH PALESTINE, AND DEX TAKING DOWN THAT FLAG IN HER TRAILER WINDOW! NEXT IT’LL THA RAINBOW! THEN IT’S ANYTHING TO DO WITH PEACE, AND PROTESTING, AND JUSTICE! BLACK AND BROWN AND POOR AND WHATEVER THEY DON’T LIKE! IT’S ALL BALANCED ON THE HEAD OF A PIN! WE WON’T LET ‘EM KNOCK IT OVER!”
The submissive kid bowed his head and nodded.
“No, we won’t! We owe you, mama! We owe you everything!”
Their supervisor stroked her long mane, and reminisced over the decades that had passed since she started her own academic journey.
“WE NEED SOMEBODY! OHH, YES WE DO! WE NEED A BUNCH OF SOMEBODIES! WHO GOT THA BACKBONE TO TAKE ON THAT TRAILER CROWD IN GEAUGA COUNTY? WHO GONNA STEP UP AND SHOW THA COLORS TO THOSE TRUMP FANS IN THEIR BIG RIGS? WHO GONNA FIGHT FOR THA RIGHTS OF US ON THA WRONG SIDE OF THIS RICH-MAN’S FENCE?”
Orchid flushed red, which provided a stark contrast to her pale complexion.
“There’s a listing right on our webpage, Mama! I don’t know who put it there, but it’s for a progressive union of concerned thinkers. They call themselves the ‘Trailer Trannies & Troublemakers.’ I clicked on the link while you were talking, and it led to all kinds of event photos. Take a look! This is crazy, I like their design! It’s a long, pre-fab thingy, painted pink and purple...”
Molene crouched over her laptop. Suddenly, she had a new angle to ponder.
“WHAT’S THAT? ON OUR PAGE? LET ME SEE! WHOO, DAMN! IT’S A SINGLEWIDE TRAILER, HONEY! THAT’S WHAT THEY CALL THOSE KINDS OF LIVING SPACES! IT’S LIKE BEING IN A CATTLE CAR, I’D SHO HATE TO BE COOPED UP IN A LONGBOX MADE OUT OF PLYWOOD SHEETS! BUT IT’D BE BETTER THAN SLEEPING IN A TENT ON THA SIDEWALK, RIGHT?”
Neal raised his right hand, as if giving testimony in court. His nails were polished with gold glitter.
“Yes it would be, Mama! Hey, they used plywood for the perimeter wall at UCLA, I guess it wasn’t that bad, while they staged the campus sit-in!”
Their inspirational leader scrolled through pages of Drag Queens and Drag Kings, gender-fluid artists, and other non-conforming figures. There were references to a dozen parks throughout northeastern Ohio. A rating system declared which of these developments was ‘alternative friendly’ and which were known to be unsafe for anyone on the social fringe.
Orchid toyed with her faux-dreadlocks. They were bright blonde, and bouncy.
“I could call them about putting together a rally out where Miss Dex lives. You know what they say, Mama, there’s safety in numbers. I wouldn’t go out there alone, or even with a small bunch of us, but maybe if we had a crowd of supporters, that would send a message!”
Neal giggled and danced on his Doc Marten shoes.
“I bet we’d get your friend back in the ranks, Mama! She’d come to her senses! Nobody with half a brain wants to live in a place like... what is it called? Pea Green Escapes or whatever?”
His nymphlike helper in the office whispered and laughed.
“Oh my, I think you got that wrong, bruh! But it doesn’t matter, really. We can make it work, I think! I’ll get on my cell phone, right away!”
She hit the wrong icon, and opened her Apple Music app instead. The Clash began to perform one of their anthems, which was tagged in her playlist.
“This is a public service announcement
With guitar
Know your rights
All three of them
Number one
You have the right not to be killed
Murder is a crime!
Unless it was done
By a policeman or an aristocrat
Know your rights...”
Molene sat up straight in her roller chair. For the first time that day, she felt a surge of confidence. Finally, there was some kind of useful mischief, afoot.
“EVERGREEN ESTATES, BOY! THEY CALL IT EVERGREEN ESTATES! A NICE PLACE TO GET STARTED, OR TO RETIRE! LET’S GET THE BALL ROLLING! WE GOTTA LOT OF WORK TA DO BEFORE THE FREEDOM TRAIN PULLS OUT FOR THOMPSON TOWNSHIP!”
No comments:
Post a Comment