Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Fourteen)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

When Evergreen Estates was acquired by Coastal Reserve American Properties, out of Tehachapi, California, the trailer village experienced a resurgence in activity. After years of changing owners and languishing as a redlined asset, the park found new life with displaced citizens looking for affordable housing amid the economic pressures brought on by tariffs, war with Iran, and profligate government spending. So at first, the entry of a replacement trailer for Lot 13 did not raise any eyebrows. Yet gossip about its potential buyer traveled around the isolated development at a rapid pace. Unconfirmed rumors spoke of the possibility that their most unconventional neighbor might be returning to his rented space. And when chatter about that eventuality reached the ears of Linn Speck, there was a predictable and vehement reaction.

 

The failed association leader paid a visit to their on-site office, where he pounded at the front entrance, for attention.

 

“DAMMIT MS. ALVAREZ, UNLOCK THIS DOOR! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON UP MY STREET! IS THAT OLD DRUNK COMING BACK HERE? PLEASE TELL ME THAT I AM MISTAKEN! I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BEING STUPID ENOUGH TO ALLOW HIM IN OUR COMMUNITY AGAIN! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!”

 

A peek through the window confirmed that indeed, the central hub for their rural oasis was unoccupied. But he continued to protest despite seeing that the desk chair inside was vacant.

 

“THIS IS HORSESHIT! WE’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE A MANAGER ON DUTY, EVERY WEEKDAY AT LEAST! WHAT IF THERE WERE AN EMERGENCY RIGHT NOW? WHICH, TO BE HONEST, I DO THINK IS REALLY THE CASE! YOU CAN’T GIVE T. C. LINCOLN ANOTHER CHANCE AT LIVING IN THIS DEVELOPMENT! HE DOESN’T BELONG HERE! HE NEVER, EVER BELONGED HERE! HE’S NOT OUR KIND OF PERSON, NOT ONE OF US! NOT A GOOD HUMAN BEING, OR A CHRISTIAN, OR A PATRIOT! AS A MATTER OF FACT, I CONSIDER HIM TO BE NO BETTER THAN A PILE OF RUBBISH! DO YOU HEAR ME? THAT DIRTY BUM IS NOTHING BUT TRASH!”

 

With no employees at work, the maintenance garage and office had basically been abandoned for the moment. So, the only reaction came from leaves scattering across a courtyard, next door. They were dry and colored in fall hues. A crackle of seasonal decay made them tickle the air.

 

Linn decided that an organized event was his best hope of stalling the reentry he feared. But he would need allies to bolster this effort. Upon returning home to his vintage singlewide, he reached out to various members listed on a residential roster, first created during his feeble attempt to take control. People who he was certain would agree with banning the alcoholic loner from their ranks. Aimes Hefti, the junior militia commander who had been promoted when Esmeralda Jonovic committed suicide, was particularly enthusiastic about repelling the shaggy hermit as he tried to return. Garter Haines, who no longer lived in the park but still visited frequently, agreed to help with patrolling their perimeter as a sentry. Several others around the enclave agreed to participate in one way or another. But Darby Stronelli, always one to sit on the fence regarding any serious issue, decided not to join.

 

Her rationale was simple, especially when expressed in the noncommittal words of a neutral party.

 

“Link always keeps to himself, so I don’t see where it matters if he wants to come back. And I don’t! The guy is an oddball. I always thought it was pretty much like living next to an empty trailer. I never saw him anywhere but on his porch! Shit, I don’t think he can walk any farther than that, though! Who cares if he is over there, again?”

 

Her neighbor on the corner did not appreciate this note of civility.

 

“NO NO NO! WE NEED TO GET TOUGH WITH THAT OLD DRUNK! JUST GIVING HIM A PASS IS THE WRONG STRATEGY! I TRIED TO CONVINCE MS. ALVAREZ, BUT SHE WOULDN’T LISTEN! AND SHERIFF RATH WAS JUST AS STUBBORN! THEY SEEM TO THINK HAVING HIM BACK AT LOT 13 WOULD BE THE BEST SOLUTION TO THIS DILEMMA. I THINK BOTH OF THEM HAVE ROCKS IN THEIR HEAD! THAT HERMIT OUGHT TO BE ARRESTED ON SIGHT! JAIL IS WHERE HE BELONGS, NOT HERE IN OUR LITTLE SPOT ON THE MAP!”

 

Darby only cared about keeping the refrigerator stocked in her party barn, with light Budweiser products of the bottled variety. Otherwise, she spent little time fretting over episodes of drama that were happening on their streets.

 

“You worry too much about bullshit, buddy! Not me, I’d rather listen to music and play beer pong! I ain’t gonna waste my time being a pain in the ass! Count me out!”

 

Aimes wanted to take a more direct and militant approach, when discussing this subject. He suggested smashing windows and walls, when the new mobile home arrived. Or perhaps, severing electrical and plumbing connections, before it was inhabited. Making the boxcar dwelling unlivable seemed like a smart way to communicate their opinions in a non-verbal fashion. Yet that sort of bold gesture was guaranteed to produce a harsh response from the township police, and county officials. With newspaper and television reporters gathering to document the mayhem in real time.

 

Finally, Linn called upon Pastor Cabriel Forester, at their Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven. He decided that if parishioners were informed about the return of this contrarian outsider, they might be motivated to participate in a lobbying effort to stall the plan.

 

The veteran clergyman had been busy in his study. But paused in reading scriptures to listen when confronted by the former community organizer.

 

“Brother Cabe, I need your help with something really serious! The manager at our property wants to welcome back someone who we were all glad to see expelled. I think it is a disgusting idea. How do you feel about this awful mistake?”

 

The longtime minister took off his thick spectacles, and bowed graciously. He wore a white polo shirt, with the church logo on its front pocket.

 

“Mr. Speck, you know my beliefs very well. Every concept of right and wrong that I hold to be valid comes from the Holy Bible. Love, forgiveness, redemption, kindness, it’s all in the Word of God. I would suggest that you do some reading on your own, if your heart is troubled...”

 

Linn gasped and growled while stomping his feet. All the respect he held for their preacher had suddenly vanished.

 

“WHAT KIND OF BLEEDING-HEART NONSENSE IS THAT, PASTOR? I WANT TO HEAR SOMETHING DIFFERENT FROM YOU, SOMETHING TOUGH ENOUGH FOR BATTLE! REMEMBER THE LYRICS THAT SAY, ‘ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS, MARCHING AS TO WAR? WITH THE CROSS OF JESUS, GOING ON BEFORE?’ THAT’S WHAT I BELIEVE! NOT SOME KIND OF WOKE GARBAGE FOR PEOPLE WHO WANT TO HOLD HANDS AND SING ‘KUM BA YAH!’”

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Thirteen)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

T. C. Lincoln found his exile from the junkyard village in Geauga County to be a sort of resurrection. For the first time in many years, he felt unencumbered by the habits and opinions of others. While being able to live without a sense that his existence was predicated on avoiding conflict with neighbors and park employees. Yet strangely, he could not escape the mental imprint of this bygone experience. Being shunned and shamed as an outcast had given him an indelible identity. One of purposeful antagonism, in the midst of blue-collar, social decay. Now, he was simply a tumbleweed. Homeless, faceless, and alone. Invisible against a backdrop of those who were busy chasing after the possibility of trophies, rewards, and accolades that would fail to fulfill their true aspirations. A condition that Janis Joplin had once vocalized artfully, in song.

 

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose

Nothin’ don’t mean nothin’ honey, if it ain’t free...”

 

This realization came as a shock to his system. He had believed that escaping the restrictions of a cultural continuum such as their trailer oasis would restore him to what he had been, before. A liberated spirit, who did not need a crutch of alcohol to prop up his sagging personality. But without the negativity of that previous environment, his inner gyroscope had been sacrificed. He wallowed in a mood of vertigo. Off-kilter, and unable to track the course of his own well-being.

 

Eventually, he allowed the Econoline van to find its own direction. They wandered together across the eastern flank of Ohio, and over the border into Pennsylvania. Then, across the region of western New York. He passed communities that were barely familiar, forgotten for the sake of time and expedience. Findley Lake, Mina, Sherman, Bemus Point, Jamestown, and finally, Falconer, where he had once paused during a motorcycle run on the way to Corning and Ithaca. Cities where friends from his younger days had remained. The joy of that stopover from antiquity glowed in his head, and yet rattled him with its contrast to the current climate. He was no longer ambitious and carefree, or mobile as an individual. His bones ached, and the seasonal tilt toward winter made him cautious with anticipation. A round of gas-station coffee helped to steady his nerves. But then, the chirp of a ringtone interrupted this lazy break in the action.

 

Somehow, his device had reactivated itself, despite being intentionally disabled. The exchange registered in his call history was for an office line at Evergreen Estates. When he punched up the related voicemail, a breathy accent of Latin inflections filled his ear.

 

“Ayyyyy, you don’t answer this phone no more? Hey, I get it, you must be pissed off about your trailer, right? But I got good news maybe. You wanna come back here, Link? The owners are bringing in new trailers, well, sorta new I mean. Better than some of the shacks we already got in this park. They gonna put one on your slab, after the bull mierda gets cleaned up. I figure you should get first pick. They said the company will give you a discount, because of what happened. I always liked you, because your rent check got to my drop box on time, every month. No excuses, no arrastrando el culo! No dragging ass! So, hit me up, bruh!”it me up, bruh!

 

Lincoln wiped java residue from his mouth. The thought of returning to that isolated development in Thompson Township caused his stomach to ache. And yet, it was entirely appropriate as a nod to convenience. He had lived on the property for a quarter-century, longer than anywhere else in his personal history. While he never felt loved or accepted on that isolated patch of dirt, it had been a comfortable landing zone for desperate souls. He belonged there, somehow, by staying aloof and detached as a general rule. That placed him on a solid footing, as one of many individuals who were battered and broken, but still alive and able to endure despite the harsh realities of their residential status.

 

With his hands trembling, he returned the call while battling emotions of regret and remorse. Responding to the solicitation proved to be more difficult than he expected.

 

“Dana? Hey, I’m out of the area right now. What is all this shit about bringing in more trailers? You’d really want me back in that rathole?”

 

The property supervisor was cheerful and loud when she answered.

 

“Ayyyyy, you kidding me, Link? Of course I want you back here! Maybe that bastardo on the corner would hate on it, but I don’t care. Like I said, you paid your rent on time and didn’t start crap with nobody. I like peace and quiet, you know? Give it a thought. Those guys in Cali will offer you a good deal on another trailer!”

 

Her former tenant sighed heavily while pondering the possibility.

 

“You’d need an EMT crew on standby with their ambulance. Linn Speck would have a cardiac event! I guarantee it...”

 

Ms. Alvarez snorted and tapped her red nails on the desktop.

 

“That gordo cabrón can kiss my ass! All he does is stir up things, and get people fighting with each other. Like I said, peace and quiet is good. I don’t need headaches! Dios mío!”

 

Lincoln did not feel happy about going back to the rustic neighborhood from which he had been expelled. But there was a measure of comfort in having his membership in the group reinstated. It would put him back on his assigned lot, and in a geographical location that was convenient for family members and his doctors.

 

“What will this cost me, Dana? I’m busted right now, my wallet is empty...”

 

The park manager whistled through her teeth.

 

“YOU AIN’T GOTTA PAY NOTHING, LINK! NO DINERO DOWN! WE’LL WORK IT OUT LATER, YOU DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. MAYBE THE SHERIFF WILL TAKE IT OUTTA THAT DUDE’S ASS! HE OWES YOU, AND HE OWES US, TOO!”

 

After concluding their brief conversation, the shaggy misanthrope reclined on a narrow bunk in his homemade camper. His face burned from the moment of surrender. It was out of character for him to accept returning to the cluster of manufactured homes, without some kind of justice being won. Yet winter was about to arrive, and his joints throbbed from injury. He needed a proper bed where rest would come more easily. And the amenities of an actual dwelling, instead of his boxy rig. A place that he could call his own, however humble it might be as an asset.

 

But most of all, Lincoln needed a stiff drink.

 

 

“Genetic Curve”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

Stalled by a genetic curve

Some say this is an inherited judgment that I deserve

But from wherever it comes

This day is done

I used to move from one place to another

Stealthy and easy on my feet, always under cover

A special agent, searching for clues

But now I don’t know what to do

The bend of my knees is uncontrolled

Limbs going wide when I languish in the cold

Stiff and sore, slouched on my spot

Crouching in a shadow that Father Time begot

Gray strands on my brow

I want to find the exit, but don’t know how

A petition to heaven is made

But the lines of communication seem seriously frayed

And there is a peg in my ear

Inclined to listen, yet unable to hear

I need to know what password will suffice

To cause the gatekeeper to key his device

And let me step over the threshold

A commoner, turned bold

I conjure up such images in a watercolor splash

With my brush tip tracing the lines of a carnival crash

Which I am certain will come

When my balance is surrendered for a pricey sum

Last in the queue

Last one permitted to be going through

This is the boardwalk where I step along

Counting the tiles like verses of a song

In a succession of tones

A journey that I must take alone

Arthritic, and fraught with muscular fits

A refugee held in a cavernous pit

Voice calling upward against the walls, for relief

A ritual that transpires while in my sleep

One that causes me to toss the bedcovers aside

And beg God not to be denied

The genetic code contained therein

Is a sequence summoned by spirits who rule my kin

As much a part of what I become

As the names of mothers, daughters and sons

Once, long ago, my birth was considered to be

A miracle of life, a planting of the seed

Yet now, when the garden has grown so well

I have only a cautionary tale to tell

An opening of the puzzle box

A tinkering with mechanical locks

Which in time, will reveal

That this breaking of the seal

Has brought me to the point of cursing my coil

How much better it would have been to slumber in the soil

For a longer passage of days

I did not germinate and mature

Did not become fully assured

Of a long run toward the horizon

In a marathon, neither lost or won

And I must weep

With these secrets to keep

Fear of falling when I need to stand

At the crest of a new endeavor, to be taken in hand

Why does the clock tick and chime, when time itself is still?

At the hour when I surrender my will

Stiffly stooped over, in the manner of a mortal relic

Not ready to embrace a mood, angelic

Over this graduation to the portrait gallery

Where those of antiquity

Are remembered in palette hues

Swaths of color, too quickly passing through

Breaths breathed and exhaled

It is the season to trim my sails

“Forgotten Man”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

My bed was cold this morning, when sunlight brought the day

I wanted to ignore the call, but it didn’t go that way

I had to face myself, in a glimmer of the sun

And that reflection reminded me of things that I had done

Now I used to be a family man, living right with God

And I walked the straight-and-narrow, a figure to applaud

But I put a step asunder, and it took me off the line

I ended up alone, and running out of time

You might think this story is a tale of woe to sell

But in my sad confession is advice for living well

If you see what I have done, and wish to turn aside

I’ll cheer your better nature, to shun this death, defied

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

My bed was once a happy place, a throne for king and queen

Where love and all devotion, made the heavens gleam

But when my wife grew weary, she opened up the door

Because I had lost sight of what my working days were for

She went home to her family, a choice that made good sense

And I was left to struggle on, paying all the rent

Eventually, I realized that the fight was not to win

I could not find a victory in the fleeting fires of sin

By that time, my better half had disappeared from sight

I could not find her anywhere, searching day and night

It broke me like a swayback mule, no longer worth its keep

And I found only restless hours, as I tried to sleep

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

My body used to boast the strength, of a dozen men

And I could always beat their best, right to the very end

But age and consequences, have now taken a toll

And I sit in a pew as the preacher prays, in defense of mortal souls

My hands they are a-trembling, with guilt and a touch of guile

Never did I understand that fool’s gold is an ashen pile

No luster of a treasure, that glistens in the light

It would have been much better to do, what I knew was right

The final moment found me weak, I gave it all away

Everything that I had learned from the time of my first birthday

My pockets all were empty, I had no claim to hope

Nothing left but a reputation, vanished into smoke

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

If you see me at the park, head down against the wind

And wonder about the man I was, what I once had been

Perhaps you’ll take a lesson, and repent of your own deeds

The hour is not too late, my friend, to hear and then believe

I’ve never thought about the world as owing anything

I expect no gifts or accolades, no seeking of a brass ring

But the yield of pride is slim and slight, when the rooster crows

I could have held the crown, but it was not the prize I chose

As darkness filled the sky, I saw the sands run out

And that view made me shield my eyes, from bitterness and doubt

The dice-roll that I cast, paid a debt of failed intent

And I was left to face the scrolls, with my final judgment

 

I had no such intention, to follow a fateful plan

But now I’m on the outside, a fallen, forgotten man

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Twelve)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

Linn Speck had always been an insider at Evergreen Estates. Someone who was part of the herd, intellectually aligned with other residents, and socially connected because of his gracious wife, Haki. He still had a Trump campaign sign standing in his front yard. And regularly attended services at their township’s Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven. In addition, he had much experience with organizing groups and activities, from time spent serving in the National Guard. He had never been tagged as a contrarian figure by anyone. Except perhaps the drunken loner who once lived on his street, at Lot 13. So, he felt comfortable being at the rural development. It was a community that perfectly reflected his own view of right and wrong.

 

Yet curiosity about the suspicious fire that had expelled his nemesis aroused a measure of uncertainty that he had never faced, before. After being released by Sheriff Rath, and returning home to the trailer enclave, he found himself isolated in a bubble of shame. Friends who once shared his concrete-block fire pit, and coolers full of macro brews, now stayed away. No one called on the telephone, or contacted him via the internet. He was shunned in a manner that seemed completely inappropriate for someone with such a good reputation.

 

Meanwhile, any mention of T. C. Lincoln now evoked an odd form of sympathy for the reclusive hermit. Though he had never been popular in their group, and had the combative disposition of a mountain goat, his exit from the junkyard oasis left a lingering hint of empathy in its wake. Despite being hard-headed and grouchy, the shaggy loner had never actually harmed anyone. Indeed, he generally avoided interacting with others, face-to-face. His presence outdoors, throughout the year, represented a puzzling spectacle for those who passed by his singlewide abode. But did not represent a threat of any kind. He stayed quiet, and inebriated, as a matter of course. Off the beaten path, by choice.

 

Linn decided that having a fall party would help to revive his standing at the distant venue. But after distributing fliers around the property, and filling his storage barn with drinks and snacks, he sat alone in the side yard. Classic Rock echoed from a boom box in his kitchen window, as he waited, anxiously. But there were no visitors arriving. Finally, Darby Stronelli appeared, with her spiky hair tipped in frost, and a Carhartt jacket to compensate for the seasonal chill. She had tucked bottles of Bud Light in her oversized pockets. Along with a bag of Goldfish crackers.

 

“Hey buddy! Am I the only one who came over today? Shit, that is crazy! This damn dump is no fun anymore! I think everybody must be burned out! Like that shitty shack up the street, you know?”

 

Her neighbor on the corner nodded with embarrassment, while chewing on a pretzel.

 

“That’s a poor choice of words, lady! I don’t want to hear anything about a fire!”

 

His counterpart giggled and pinched her nose.

 

“Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to get your ass upset! And I didn’t! Maybe this park is just getting tired, I don’t know. We used to party all night. I can’t keep up with the kids. We don’t even play beer pong anymore! That really sucks!”

 

Linn stroked his jowls, to wipe away the crumbs.

 

“Look, you get along with everybody. That’s why you’re here by yourself, probably. So tell me, what’s the scuttlebutt out there? What’s grinding out of the rumor mill? Why am I all of a sudden, a pariah in this neck of the woods?”

 

Darby rolled her eyes and whistled.

 

“A what? Is that the name of a singer?”

 

Her associate cleared his throat and winced.

 

“NOT MARIAH! I SAID PARIAH! YOU KNOW, AN OUTCAST! SOMEBODY THAT NOBODY LIKES!”

 

The mannish femme shrugged and continued sipping her beverage.

 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever, buddy! Don’t ask me what happened, ‘cause I don’t know nothing. I never paid that much attention to Link, but he has been next door to me for a long damn time. I kinda hated to see his house get fried! But you know, he had lots of junk in there. It was a trash pit. I remembered that his legs were shot, so I always gave him a pass. I think just getting out to his porch was a struggle...”

 

The former residential organizer sputtered with irritation.

 

“SEE, THAT’S IT RIGHT THERE! YOU FEEL SORRY FOR THE OLD SON-OF-A-BITCH! AND HE DOESN’T DESERVE YOUR SYMPATHY! THAT’S WHAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND! ALL THESE PEOPLE IN OUR COMMUNITY ARE GETTING SOFT! THEY’VE GOT NO BACKBONE ANYMORE! IT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH! AND HONESTLY, YOU MAKE ME SICK TO MY STOMACH, TOO!”

 

Darby spit a mouthful of her light libation.

 

“Yeah well, don’t get an attitude about it! I’m here drinking with your flabby ass, give me some credit! Which makes me think, what happened to your wife? I haven’t seen her in a week or two!”

 

Linn blushed bright red. He did not want to discuss the fractured state of his marriage.

 

“My other half is... visiting her relatives right now. You know, catching up on family stuff!”

 

His fellow leaseholder belched a spray of foamy liquid.

 

“C’mon dude, that’s a load of horseshit! I heard all about you two having a fight in the kitchen. And I did! It’s been all over the park, you know how rumors ‘n shit travel around this place! And these trailer walls are thin, the noise really gets around. Nobody can keep a secret in here!”

 

Her rotund neighbor began to sweat profusely. She had struck a nerve with the impulsive query.

 

“I DON’T WANT TO DISCUSS IT, OKAY? IT’S NOBODY’S BUSINESS WHAT HAPPENED! NOT YOUR BUSINESS, NOT THE SHERIFF’S BUSINESS, NOT EVEN PASTOR FORESTER’S BUSINESS, UP AT THE CHURCH! NOBODY, NOBODY, NOBODY! NOBODY NEEDS TO STICK THEIR NOSE INTO MY LIFE!”

 

Darby stood up as if pulled by puppet strings. Her bottle was empty.

 

“It’s all good, buddy. I’m gonna let you finish drinking on your own. Have a good one, dude! It’s getting too damn cold outside for me anyway! This weather makes my back ache! See you later!!!”

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Eleven)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

When Linn Speck awakened from his bout of self-pity and overindulgence, he had a terrible hangover. This condition made it difficult to see anything clearly. But as the middle-aged fellow stood up after a brief interlude, battling an episode of vertigo, he realized that his current location was now very different in character. There were few amenities of any kind in his room, literally a spartan environment provided to house inmates during a transitional period. Bars fronted his space with a severe display of confinement. He heard noises of all kinds echoing down the hallway, outside. And when finally regaining his eyesight in full, he realized that somehow, he had been transported while unconscious to a new venue which was cold and unfamiliar.

 

Instead of being in his bedroom at home, the rotund instigator now was being held in a cell at the Geauga County Safety Center.

 

Once he had grasped the situation in real terms, he began to shout for attention. An act which only intensified his mood of desperation.

 

“HEYYYY, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT? I DON’T BELONG HERE, YOU HAVE MADE SOME KIND OF MISTAKE! ARE YOU LISTENING? THIS IS SOME KIND OF INCREDIBLE MISTAKE!”

 

A deputy appeared from his station, nearby. He was clean-cut, young, and notably indifferent.

 

“Sir, you need to pipe down. It doesn’t help anything to make a scene in here...”

 

Linn rubbed his face, which was swollen from impacting the floor before he had been arrested.

 

“PIPE DOWN? THAT WON’T HAPPEN, TRUST ME! I WANT A LAWYER, DAMMIT! BRING ME AN ATTORNEY! DO IT NOW!”

 

The greenhorn officer huffed with amusement.

 

“Sir, you are not in a position to make demands here. I would suggest lowering your voice, and adopting a more cooperative attitude...”

 

The former residential leader was about to experience an emotional collapse.

 

“ARE YOU DEAF, JUNIOR? I SAID I WANT A LEGAL REPRESENTATIVE, RIGHT FREAKING NOW! IT’S MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN CITIZEN! DON’T YOU GET IT? I AM A PATRIOT AND A CHRISTIAN, DOESN’T THAT MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU?”

 

The department underling nodded politely, and shrugged.

 

“You are here for questioning, when one of my bosses is ready. Sheriff Rath was given a piece of video evidence regarding an arson attack at the trailer park. If I were you, I’d stay calm and hope for the best...”

 

Linn grabbed the bars of his cell and spit saliva, angrily.

 

“STAY CALM? HOPE FOR THE BEST? ARE YOU NUTS, BOY? I DON’T DESERVE THIS KIND OF TREATMENT! THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WHEN A GOOD FAMILY MAN LIKE ME ENDS UP IN YOUR FACILITY! IT’S NOT RIGHT! I HAVE TO SAY THAT IT’S NOT RIGHT AT ALL!”

 

Other people being held started their own protesting, in response to this outburst.

 

“HEY DEPUTY DAWG! SHUT THAT GUY UP, I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF THINK! USE YOUR NIGHTSTICK ON HIS SORRY ASS! OR GIVE HIM A SHOT OF PEPPER SPRAY!”

 

The youthful lawman was irritated at this break with decorum.

 

“Now see what you’ve done? You’re getting things stirred up in here, which we don’t need! Sit on your bunk and wait! There will be someone to get you for interrogation, very soon!”

 

Howls and hoots resounded throughout the building. But then, an alarm stifled this brief uprising. Every captive suddenly fell silent. Then, a spoken warning blared from the intercom system.

 

“WE WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY DISTURBANCES IN THIS FACILITY! ALL PRISONERS WILL COMPLY, OF FACE CONSEQUENCES! THE SAFETY CENTER RUNS ON A RULE OF LAW! NO EXCEPTIONS, NO EXCUSES!”

 

The mobile-home exile felt a chill run over his skin. He was alone and friendless, for the first time in his life.

 

“Okay, I’ll sit and wait. I’ll do it. Just don’t forget that I am in here, okay?”

 

An hour or more passed before he had any notice of what was about to transpire. But eventually, he was accompanied by a guard who took him to a room across from the cell block, for his interview. Only a table and two chairs were in this small cubicle. His pulse quickened, upon realizing that the sheriff himself would be conducting their session.

 

Tom Rath was big, burly, and yet good-natured. He carried a pedigree of career service that spanned many years. So, every word he used had a measure of importance and authority.

 

“You aren’t under oath, Mr. Speck. Not at the moment, anyway. I am trying to get some information on what happened at the rural community on Pine Trail Road. Will you help me do that without creating any difficulties?”

 

Linn coughed and cleared his throat. He could see that a camera was in one corner of the room.

 

“I will help you in any way I can. But before that happens, I’ve got to plead my innocence!”

 

The county protector shook his head as an acknowledgement.

 

“What do you know about the fire that affected the home of T. C. Lincoln? Anything? Anything at all?”

 

His guest growled slightly, and began to sweat.

 

“Sheriff, our trailers do burn sometimes, you must know that yourself. Bad electrical wiring, junk piled everywhere, frayed insulation, cheap materials, you’ll find all of that and more! I’ve seen a half-dozen go up in flames since moving in as a resident!”

 

Rath was unimpressed by this casual explanation.

 

“We have a fire chief licensed by the IAAI who works for our county. He’s with the International Association of Arson Investigators. There was plain evidence of the incident being started with an accelerant of some kind. It appears to be a common fuel such as gasoline...”

 

Linn swallowed hard. He reddened with obvious guilt betraying his effort at perpetrating a falsehood.

 

“That’s awful to hear! We all get along in the park. I can’t imagine anything of the kind happening in our little neighborhood! I am really surprised!”

 

Rath clenched both fists, and leaned forward on his chair.

 

“Mr. Speck, your wife came to the department for an interview this morning. She confessed suspicions about you having some involvement with the fire. She also said that you and Lincoln have had a long-running feud about how the community business is handled. Is any of that legitimate?”

 

The self-appointed, citizen’s advocate ran short of breath, and trembled visibly. His mouth turned completely dry.

 

“SHE CAME HERE? THAT BACKSTABBING BITCH! SHE CAME HERE TO RAT ME OUT? YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY BELIEVE A WORD THAT SHE SAYS! NOT A DAMN WORD, SHERIFF! SHE IS BITTER AND WANTS TO RUIN OUR MARRIAGE!”

 

The safety professional thumped his right palm flatly on the conference table. He had heard enough. There was no need to continue their formal conversation.

 

“Thank you, sir. You’ll be going back to your cell, for the moment. A county judge on this case will decide what happens next! Sit tight and keep your mouth shut!”

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Ten)

  

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

When Linn Speck set fire to the singlewide home of his reclusive neighbor, that rebellious act had emboldened him to resume the campaign to lead residents of Evergreen Estates, as head of a community association. He felt powerful and victorious, whenever looking up the street at what remained of that spartan dwelling. Literally, just a heap of ashes and scrap metal, scattered over its original, concrete foundation. But as time passed with the arrival of fall, and a brightening of hues that heralded the seasonal change, he began to realize that his status within their rural development had not improved. Past supporters who previously endorsed his campaign to become their exalted defender now hid when he appeared in public. Attendance at his yard parties dwindled. Gifts of macro beer and salty snacks vanished from his redwood deck. For the first time that he could recall since coming to the junkyard oasis, he was an outcast. Shunned in silence, and no longer a favorite member of their group.

 

Being treated so rudely darkened his mood. He was unaccustomed to playing the role of an exile, particularly while still living on his corner lot. Eventually, he could not contain the emotions swelling in his gut. While quenching his thirst with chilled cans of Milwaukee’s Best and Jägermeister, sitting alone in a folding chair, the rotund instigator again decided to offer a first-hand protest. Teetering from alcoholic vertigo, he sluggishly walked from his own driveway to the vacant slab which T. C. Lincoln had occupied. Then, stumbled over loose debris at its edge.

 

“I HOPE YOU ARE IN HELL RIGHT NOW! BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE YOU BELONG, OLD MAN! RIGHT NEXT TO THE DEVIL AND ALL OF HIS POINTY-TAIL BUDDIES! SCREW HIM, AND SCREW YOU TOO! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT DOG CRAP TO ME! I AM GLAD YOU ARE GONE! YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

 

As before, he unzipped his fly and then let loose with a golden shower of urine.

 

On this occasion however, the nerd girl and gamer, Trina Trelane, had her exterior wi-fi camera activated from next door to the destroyed longbox. She was known by many in the park as ‘Miss Poindexter’ because of her thick, black spectacles, in addition to a nosey disposition that kept her always waiting and watching for things to happen in the park. Her buzzed hair always glowed in a shocking shade of red or purple. The surveillance device she owned had been mounted on a swivel joint, and was able to rotate for a broad-range view of the exterior yard. This meant that no one could pass without being seen.

 

Once an activity alarm brought the electronic unit to life, it started recording video evidence, automatically. Even after sunset, her distant neighbor could be easily identified in the moonlight. The data stored on an inboard memory-stick could be retrieved, remotely. As it happened, the yield offered damning confirmation of misdeeds that were transpiring, in a timely manner. And, suggested that the visiting perpetrator must have been responsible for what occurred, before.

 

Trina sputtered milk and sugary cereal, when reviewing the record on her computer.

 

“Holy shit! That bald bastard really did burn down Link’s trailer! I knew it all along! I knew it! I knew it!”

 

The isolated development had a Facebook page dedicated to sharing news and notes that related to their tiny enclave. So, she immediately posted a link to the clip, under an anonymous name. Though many who watched the video knew immediately who must have put it online.

 

Pokemon Queen 46821 – “Take a look at this, everybody! We’ve got a real troublemaker in our midst! Are you surprised? I’m not, not at all! He’s probably still pissed off about being knocked on his butt by the old dude that lived on my eastern side. We weren’t friends really, but I got a kick out of his attitude. That poor guy didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought about his life! I guess you might say he was a free spirit! I am too, yes I am!”

 

The contrarian boozer had never been popular at Evergreen Estates. Yet a measure of sympathy was generated by the thought of him being homeless. Evictions were common in the park, and always ugly. Therefore, every resident resented the thought of being expelled, under any circumstances.

 

Predictably, Linn attempted to deny his role in the fire. But with this subsequent demonstration of glee being put on display, he had little credibility with any of the other leaseholders. Horns honked as vehicles passed his vintage abode. Then, beer bottles began to fly. Trash accumulated on his lawn. And obscenities were shouted from the street.

 

None of these incidents made the flabby instigator feel guilty. He was defiant and proud of removing his opponent from their development. Only a protest from his estranged wife brought any hint of remorse. Her comment on the residential page caused him to chill with emotion.

 

“I knew it all along, mister! You’ve got no heart. To be honest, you are in love with yourself! I put up with that nonsense for many years, but it’s over now! You’re a fat weasel and a backstabber! You treat everybody the same, like they owe you some kind of worship! So believe me, I am thrilled to see you get exposed in this little community! You deserve to be outed! Good luck, husband! I hope someone kicks your flabby ass! You definitely have it coming!”

 

The public message provided a double shot of comeuppance. Not only had his role in the act of arson been revealed, but now those who lived in the neighborhood also knew that his marriage was failing. Everything that he depended upon was crumbling at his feet. Only a visit from their county sheriff could make his day any worse.

 

Linn sat at his kitchen table, swigging cheap brew and German liquor. He cursed and cried while flipping through pages of his wedding album. This session of self-torture eventually brought him to a point of total inebriation. After becoming tipsy, he fell on the linoleum floor. Then rolled from side to side, in an attempt to right himself. But darkness descended as he lost consciousness. He would snore and sniffle while dropping into a woeful state of obliteration that swallowed him, entirely.

 

His vengeful day of reckoning was now at an end.