c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-24)
Morning sun filtered through the curtains, as Nacelle Breech dozed lazily on the sofa. She was covered in a plush blanket with the Harley-Davidson crest repeated over and over in a geometric pattern. While awakening, she meandered through thoughts of home, and breathed pleasant aromas of bacon and eggs, and fresh coffee.
Suddenly, she sat up on the long furnishing.
“OH MY GOODNESS! WHERE AM I RIGHT NOW?”
Townshend Lincoln was busy in his narrow kitchen. He had started breakfast in anticipation of his guest rising to greet the beginning of a new day. Disability meant that he had to handle cooking chores while leaning on at least one cane. His left-handed routine was somewhat awkward, yet served to keep him able to cope.
He smiled while tending to cast-iron skillets, including one in the oven full of cornbread.
“Rise and shine, ma’am! I hope you were able to get some rest...”
The reporter swung both feet forward. She sat rubbing her eyes and yawning. Her blondish hair was a mess.
“What happened to me? Did I pass out on your porch?”
The old loner nodded and stood with his back to the countertop.
“I managed to get you inside, somehow. It was cold last night. I didn’t expect to have a visitor sleeping over. But I hope you were comfortable...”
Nacelle checked her cell phone. There were ten calls from New York City.
“I was supposed to go back to the hotel last night! My editor had expected a call with story details. He must be livid! Stan is a worrier. This did not turn out how I expected!”
Lincoln shrugged and brought the groggy woman a mug of java.
“I don’t see too many people over here, so forgive me if I was gabby last night. I get talkative when there is someone to listen...”
She laughed and fretted with her tangled mane.
“I got good vibes from our conversation. There were lots of quotes I can use, you really helped to build a narrative for my feature. I appreciate it, truly!”
The contrarian hermit raised his eyebrows.
“Most people tell me that I’m full of dog poop. So, thanks for the endorsement, miss. Honestly, I never had anyone ask those kinds of questions about our little dump, or my neighbors. As you can see, we’re off the beaten path here. Even being in a rural setting like this county. Evergreen Estates is considered to be something of an embarrassment by the township trustees...”
The professional wordsmith sipped her hot beverage, and felt clarity returning.
“Where I live, people don’t understand this part of America. They are mystified by you, and perhaps a bit afraid. I think much of that comes from being isolated by choice. Social media platforms were supposed to bring us together, you know? But they’ve created echo chambers for partisan thinking, instead. Bubbles that keep us apart. We don’t really interact anymore. We shout across the divide.”
Her host dabbled with his chef’s fork and spatula.
“Well now that’s a good theory, I think. Here in the trailer park, we speak plainly. The other day, a fellow down the street who had shot off his mouth about me came up the ramp to clear the air. I warned him to maintain a safe distance. And then advised that he was lucky I hadn’t been drinking liquor that day. Otherwise, he might have gotten one of my walking sticks across the teeth! I didn’t waste any words trying to be diplomatic. But then I confessed that he was in my prayers. That’s the example of Jesus on the cross. Does it make you think I am a hick? I could easily have busted him in the chops, but chose to petition a higher power on his behalf. He left knowing where we stand. No bullshit. No word games. No memes in cyberspace...”
Nacelle signaled her understanding.
“See, that’s what I was referencing. The way you conduct yourselves here, amid all these manufactured homes. It’s an oddity now. Almost like a whisper from frontier days. An echo of old traditions. I would call it ‘analog thinking.’ As a matter of fact, that would be a great headline for my piece in the newspaper. I’m going to use that, if you don’t mind!”
Lincoln was slightly amused. He pulled plates out of the cupboard, and began to assemble their meal. The dishes were made with a pattern from decades before. One that testified to a lack of change in the household.
“I’ve been here 22 years, and didn’t expect this to last more than a couple of months. The community took me in, they adopted me like a stray mutt. I had gotten divorced, my life was chaotic, family members were furious. They put the blame on me, and my bad habits. Maybe that stance was justified. Whatever the case, I learned to survive here. I wasn’t cut out of the same cloth as most folks in this development, but that didn’t matter. You know, I actually used to look down on people like my neighbors. I thought they didn’t work hard enough, or discipline themselves right. I had a real home, a brick dwelling in the city. A career, stability, a good life, all of those things that young couples dream about. Plenty of friends too, until that house of cards came down. Living here, in a glorified shipping container, I had nothing. Except crazy fools shooting off fireworks and guns, and getting drunk by noon. But then something happened, as I got older and slower and more isolated from the outside world. I realized that this was my family. Ain’t that a hoot? These downtrodden souls are my kin. They don’t judge. They don’t preach. They don’t let me fall without a hand to get back up again...”
The keyboard queen glowed with newfound respect.
“This story is going to be incredible! I can’t wait to see it in print. I am so excited!”
The cell phone rang again as she was finishing her coffee. A desperate voicemail message registered after she waited too long to respond.
“DAMMIT, WOMAN! ANSWER MY CALL! I’M BACK AT THE OFFICE NOW, AND REALLY FEEL PISSED OFF! YOU SHOULDN’T LEAVE ME IN THE DARK LIKE THIS! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN OHIO?”
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