c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
Gina Marie Puchevsky had a bad feeling about her move to Evergreen Estates. The rural community of mobile homes was situated away from her native area in Painesville, a more metropolitan and diverse location where she knew lots of people. Yet after her grandmother had passed away, only that forlorn piece of property in the trailer village remained. The boxcar-brought-in-on-wheels was her meager inheritance. A pitiful possession to behold, but better than working the streets of Lake County for a clandestine, cash reward.
She moved in on a Saturday, while the weather was unusually mild for February.
The young upstart soon discovered that residents in her new oasis were not so different from those left behind. There were lots of blue-collar, tattooed people on the street when she arrived. Many were smoking tobacco or marijuana, or drinking out of cheap bottles and cans purchased from a convenience store around the corner. She parked her Jeep Wrangler in the skinny driveway, skipped up the front steps with a duffel bag full of clothes, and turned her key in the door lock. Inside, the air was musty and stale. Smells of arthritis cremes, baby powder, and menthol cigarettes filled her nostrils.
There were three ceramic crosses on top of the vintage, console television. And a portrait of Jesus, in silent repose.
Gina did not know anyone at the distant property. So for the first time since childhood, she felt completely alone. Her grandmother had been a rock of sorts, always providing comfort when other members of the family had abdicated their parental responsibilities. Alcoholism and unemployment dogged her through grade school and beyond. Only the gray-haired matron stayed true to her words. When she said ‘I love you, girl!’ it actually meant something. No one else had that kind of staying power. No one else could mute the sting of her shame as a sort of orphan, parading on high heels along Mentor Avenue. A rag doll tossed carelessly into the fray.
But now, Granny was gone.
Park Manager Dana Alvarez had plenty of paperwork to sign, on the afternoon of her first day as a landed citizen in the rustic development. The busy, professional steward showed up in a golf cart that had been stored in their maintenance garage. Both women had navigated through lots of perils and pitfalls while coming of age. This made them bond almost instantly. Yet when it came to the subject of adhering to rules and guidelines, her tone hardened.
“You’ll hear things said around here that don’t line up with the facts. Comprende? If there’s a question, come to me. These caballeros and chicas like to talk. Don’t fall for their mierda, okay? These big toros are full of caca. But if they pay the lot rent on time, I let it slide. Otherwise, they get kicked to the curb!”
The urban immigrant nodded her head with acquiescence.
“My grandma owned this longbox for years. She was a widow before I got born. I never knew her any other way. She used to visit whenever I lived in Painesville. My ma kept moving all the time. Dad was a trucker, but also a bad drunk. He kept getting fired and starting fights at home...”
Dana smoothed her long, black hair with fingers spread wide like the teeth of a comb.
“Si, your abuela! I get it! I always relied on my gram too. That generation lived differently than us, they knew how to survive. I think it got lost along the way. But maybe urchins like you and me have learned to push on through when it gets tough. We know what our folks didn’t. Screw them! We don’t need nobody, right?”
Gina had dressed in a camouflage sweatshirt, and leggings. Her reddish hair was a stringy mess. She did not feel so confident about starting over. But tried to fake it while signing official documents.
“Yeah, I cried on my grandma’s shoulder a lot. She carried me when nobody else gave a shit. This is a new game for me, I’ve never made it on my own...”
After settling in, weeks and months passed quickly. The newcomer made friends and found a job at a travel plaza in Madison, waiting tables. Repairs on the prefab hovel scrambled her plans to save money and find another, better place to live. She fell into debt while trying to keep her donated residence from falling apart. A redneck boyfriend shared the space for a short period, but eventually disappeared with the roll of legal tender she had been hiding in her underwear drawer. He smacked her around before leaving, which evoked bitter memories of being shoved into the corner by her inebriated father, after speaking too boldly.
Finally, there was an eviction notice on the window by her front stoop. She hadn’t paid rent in two or three months. Their park representative showed no emotion when she pleaded for time to make things right and satisfy this delinquency.
“Hey, you thought I was kidding maybe? Dios santo! You gotta get your act together, woman! If I didn’t send the funds on time, I’d be out on my culo, too! The owners live out of state, all they see is a bottom line. Money in the bank. Or no money. If that account goes empty, they get very testy! Figure it out or leave. I’m sorry, babe!”
Gina knew the tank on her little 4x4 was nearly empty. Her job at the truck center barely yielded enough to keep the vehicle running. Options and resources were dwindling as she struggled. With bad credit and empty pockets, there was no safety net in place to keep her from crashing. Then, a wickedly ironic thought crossed her mind. One that made a chill run over her skin. She didn’t have the extra protection of a high-wire artist, but there was a different sort of open-mesh weave that might offer her absolution. One that had helped to fill her purse in days spent trekking over the cold concrete of cities along Lake Erie.
Not a safety net, but a pair of fishnet stockings. In luxurious, black nylon.
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