Trailer Park Vignettes – “Plunge”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

The popularity of ‘Polar Plunge’ events held on New Year’s Day is a phenomenon found all over the North American continent. Particularly in places like northeastern Ohio, where such happenings are often used to raise funds for charities, or to bolster the goodwill of community organizations. But at the Evergreen Estates trailer park, only one cause could inspire having an above-ground pool set up, for the purpose of taking a frosty dip on the first day of January.

 

Getting shitfaced in the snow.

 

Rand Reskewicz had barely been awake for an hour, when the din from next door became so loud that he couldn’t hear an old radio crackling with reports about college football, in his storage barn. He stood over a Harley-Davidson chopper, while cursing and wrenching and attempting to prod the Shovelhead beast to life. Though temperatures were right below the freezing mark, little precipitation had fallen over the weekend. So, with a new calendar hanging on an interior wall, he felt confident in adding a different wrinkle to the festive day. Instead of getting soaked to the skin with his drunken neighbors, he planned to ride a victory lap around the village of mobile homes. Drag pipes on his iron steed, shorn of their mufflers, would offer a better soundtrack than the ‘Pop Country’ that was currently rattling his frosted windows.

 

Across the street, Zelda Reed and her daughters were all wearing bikinis hued in rainbow colors. Their apparel had been purchased during a college trip to Florida. The tall, statuesque woman felt bold when striding down a trio of front steps from her outside deck. She wore yellow pool slides, and a Spongebob Squarepants beach towel around her shoulders. But the chilly air quickly made her large nipples perk up to the point of being painfully erect.

 

Stunned by this raw display of feminine appeal, Rand dropped a ½-inch spanner on his boot. The tool bounced off of its steel-reinforced toe, ricocheted across the floor, and landed by a box of vintage beer cans. A collection he had gotten from Wisconsin, during his second marriage. Some men might have been excited or aroused by such a treat in winter months. Yet he shielded his eyes, in moderation. His cheeks blushed, under a thatch of beard stubble.

 

“DAMMIT! WHAT’S THAT BIG, BLONDE MILF DOING OUTSIDE? THIS AIN’T A CIVILIZED BURGH FOR ANYBODY. SURE AS HELL NOT FOR A MAMA ON THE PROWL! Y’ALL CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL IN A TRASH HEAP LIKE THIS ONE! I DON’T TRUST NOBODY!”

 

Down the block, Reba Duchese was busy running water into her fiberglass pond, with a kinked garden hose. She was short and skinny, and wore a sweatshirt over her one-piece, racerback swimsuit. Her spiky hair was standing on end, because of the seasonal freeze in effect. But a high metabolism kept her active. Her joints were still limber and supple. She sang to herself while topping off the reservoir from a spigot on the side of her longbox hovel. A Marlboro cigarette dangled from her mouth.

 

“Polar plunge, polar bear! I’ll take an excuse to get blitzed, anytime, anywhere!”

 

Rand stood outside for a moment, to catch his breath and monitor the gathering that was taking place nearby. A flash mob of sorts had formed at Lot 42. Everyone was shivering and swearing. But jugs of cheap bourbon were passed around, to keep the participants buzzed enough to continue. Tall cans and bottles of Busch and Bud Light were in every free hand. Marijuana smoke clung to the air, oddly thickened because a mist of snow had started to fall.

 

Fatty Fontaine, a balding hulk of a man who lived on the corner, liked seeing Zelda in her summer mode of dress. His wife had already gone through half a bottle of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, mixed with fruit juice. So, she was oblivious to his drooling mannerisms. The middle-aged lecher strutted around like a barnyard rooster, assessing hens in the coop.

 

“GAWWW! THAT’S A PRETTY SIGHT I’D SAY! ESCPECIALLY WHEN WE’RE ALL CELEBRATING A NEW YEAR IN THE PARK! HOT DOGG, I THINK THAT LADY DESERVES A GOOD SQUEEZE! YEAH, TO QUOTE W.C. FIELDS, ‘DON’T MIND IF I DO!’”

 

Granny Gertrude Parker stood under her canopy roof, at a space diagonally situated across from the pool yard where Reba was at work. The neighborhood matron folded her hands and prayed in a whisper while shaking her head. She was mildly disgusted by the impulsive display of seedy ebullience, yet somehow, also amused.

 

“Those children are a wayward bunch, Dear Lord! Don’t let anyone drown, or get frostbite!”

 

After about 30 minutes, half of the community had migrated to the overflowing lot. Music and firecrackers broke the afternoon silence. Icicles were spread over the grass from leaks in the oversized, artificial tub. A few residents tumbled from lawn chairs and perches around the yard perimeter. But the mood remained upbeat.

 

Zelda strode through the clustered mass of humanity with a sense of defiant glee, as a few who had walked over from adjacent streets rubbed their arms to stay warm, while spitting tobacco chaw on the ground. A parade of diesel rigs spun their turbochargers, and huffed black smoke that eventually drifted skyward. As the stylish mom climbed a short ladder, and prepared for her plunge, there was a howl of wanton desire.

 

Flabby Fontaine beat his chest like a caveman projecting strength. His spouse had disappeared behind a hedge in front of their vinyl-sided dwelling. She was wrapped in a dirty blanket, normally used to cover a gap in their trailer skirting. Inebriation had overwhelmed her endurance. Those witnessing her exit figured that she must have gone back inside, to recuperate.

 

The libertine lump who was her life partner reached out a calloused paw, and managed to work one finger under the strap of his target’s colorful attire. With a pop of stretchy spandex, he freed the trembling woman’s breasts, right before she hit the water. Ice had already begun to form around the makeshift pond, and its screwed-together walls shook and shimmied from the waves that resulted. There was a wail of protest, as the wild mom felt her courage evaporate. All of her daughters shielded their eyes, and grimaced.

 

Reba was so shocked that her jaw hung open, and limp. Her bottle of suds fell to the frosty turf.

 

“WHAT THE HECK, DUMBASS? WHY WOULD YOU RUIN OUR PARTY! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BRING EVERYBODY TOGETHER FOR THE NEW YEAR!”

 

Growling and grumbling resounded from the redneck horde, as Fontaine looked left and right. He picked up vibrations that were not so friendly. This made him decide to ditch taking a ceremonial jump in the tank, after his new love interest. Instead, he turned toward the street. Escape seemed to be a better choice. He stumbled over a snowbank, and ran down the driveway.

 

Music was still playing at a high volume, from a Sears & Roebuck boom box, in Reba’s shed. But suddenly, a cacophonous clatter negated this happy chorus. The burly blast of a Milwaukee steed split eardrums around the prefabricated oasis.

 

Rand had kick-started his motorcycle at last. He dropped the transmission into gear with a metallic thud of inner components, and burned a streak of rubber all the way to his neighbor’s home. While balancing the hawg with his body, he extended his left arm and swung mightily. A gloved fist caught the fleeing miscreant square in the side of his head.

 

Fontaine rolled on the asphalt like a supermarket turkey used for bowling practice. His elbows and knees were skinned and sore. The crash made him whine woefully. He scampered away while sliding on the slick street, and cursing. This pitiful fall inspired catcalls and hoots from everyone in attendance.

 

Zelda covered herself with one arm. Her daughters recovered the Spongebob towel, and brought it to hide their mater’s embarrassment.

 

“GOOD RIDDANCE, ROCKHEAD! YOU WERE ALWAYS A JACKASS!”

 

Reba lowered her chin, and frowned.

 

“I feel sorry for his wife! Being married to a canned ham on legs can’t be much fun. Anyway, did you see where she went just now? I wasn’t paying attention!”