c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-24)
Zedekiah Montclair had always been fiercely protective of his grandson. Particularly after the child was abandoned by his mother, and came to live at the trailer enclave of Evergreen Estates. Yet as a new week began with spring temperatures on the horizon, his patient oversight was tested. He found it difficult to stomach jeers and insults that echoed along their street, when the struggling kid returned from his visit to B & B Auto World. Nordy felt like a champion when driving home in his VW Rabbit truck. Yet the reception he received was punctuated with mockery and street language, instead of congratulations.
No one knew quite what to make of the German econobox with a pickup bed stuck to its tail.
The elderly grandfather was somewhat confused by seeing his genetic link at the wheel of such an oddball vehicle. But he restrained himself when making a curbside assessment. His young pupil had learned enough to scrimp and save, and invest his money prudently. So, it seemed likely that other options for making a purchase must have been few. As a good mentor, he did not want to criticize.
At least the kid would finally have a rig of his own.
Farner Mack, a meatball slug of a man who lived three lots from the corner, stood in his yard and laughed out loud as the Volkswagen rolled past. He doubled over after each breathy guffaw, and grabbed his belly and knees. Then rocked on his heels like a wooden horse.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING? IT’S A GAWDAMM SCHEISSWAGEN, THAT’S WHAT IT IS! A SHITWAGON! I CAN’T BELIEVE ANY OF THOSE THINGS SURVIVED! WEREN’T THEY MADE IN PENNSYLVANIA BY FAT, RED-FACED, MENNONITE WOMEN? THOSE ARE THE GAYEST VEHICLES TO EVER RUN DOWN AN AMERICAN ROAD! THE ABSOLUTE GAYEST!”
Darcy Trelane, who everyone called Miss Poindexter because of her thick, taped-together glasses, took offense at this use of slang terminology. She had been playing games on her Xbox console, by a cracked, side window in her singlewide abode. Her hair was a short thatch of bright purple.
“Watch your mouth, bigot! There’s nothing ‘pride’ about a car or truck of any kind! Honestly, I wish there was, because I’d buy one for myself! Hah! I’d paint it in rainbow colors!”
Her roughneck neighbor cocked his head sideways, while answering.
“SHUT UP, BITCH! NOBODY WAS TALKING TO YOU! YOU LOOK LIKE SOMETHING FROM AN ANTIFA RALLY! WE DON’T GO FOR THAT NONSENSE IN THE COUNTRY! THINK ABOUT SELLING YOUR TRAILER, AND GET THE EFF OUT OF HERE!”
Zedekiah stroked his beard and took a seat on the porch swing. Then pointed across the street at his noisy opponent with the caustic opinions.
“Friend, I think you ought to pipe down. My grandson has been saving for a year or more to buy himself a hoss. Now, I won’t say he picked something that I ever expected to see in my driveway, but all the same, it’ll do for now. Don’t break his heart by badmouthing that truck...”
Nordy made a loop around the park perimeter, whooping with joy and playing songs on the vintage radio. Then, he turned toward the boxcar home of a friend who had been in his graduating class at Ulysses S. Grant High School, by the ledges, south of their township square. A girl who was thought to be one of the brightest and prettiest figures in their agrarian county. The daughter of a trustee, and judge at the Geauga County Fair in Burton, every year.
He pounded the horn shroud until its concealed button stopped working intermittently, while pulling alongside her orange, Honda Civic.
“Hey Jodi Mae! Hey, hey, hey! Look at this, I finally got a pickup of my own! I told you it’d happen! I’ve been pinching pennies ever since Mom sent me to live with Grandpap! Whatta ‘bout that? What do you think? I’m a real cowboy now!”
The tall, leggy starlet gleamed with curiosity. She was somewhat befuddled by the sight of a metal mule sitting on such tiny wheels. It made her think of a clown car at the circus. But she stifled this impulsive reaction. Instead of taking issue with his choice, she decided to praise her suitor, openly.
“Nord, that’s a beauty I think. It’ll definitely stand out among all the jacked-up ponies we’ve got running around this development. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, like they say. But this is different. Very, very different! What does that script say on the side? It’s a... Rabbit?”
Mack was still in his yard, with a tall can of Busch Bavarian Beer. He had turned sweaty and predictably rude.
“IT’S A HABIT, GONNA NAB IT, GONNA GET MYSELF A GAWDAMM RABBIT! WHO’D WANT A POOP-PUSHER LIKE THAT, I WONDER? ONLY A PIMPLY NERD SUCH AS YOUR BOYFRIEND THERE! GOOD JOB, HONEY! I BET YOU’LL BE MIGHTY HAPPY TOGETHER, POLISHING THAT TURD! WAY TO GO, HAMMER BOY! WAY TO GO, YOU PENCIL-NECK FREAK!”
Zedekiah had listened to enough commentary. He swung forward and landed on both feet. His fists were clenched, and ready to strike. But he maintained his cool. The distance between his lawn, and the taunting neighbor projecting such an attitude was very short. In only a minute, he had managed to span that length using vigorous strides taken with confidence and indignation. He confronted the sputtering protester, face-to-face.
“Say it now, Farner! I’m right here, so a word won’t get missed. Say that mess again about my grandkid! Let’s hear it! Don’t be shy!”
The hairy lug had a scowl of resentment in his eyes.
“LOOK ZEDDY, YOU DON’T GOTTA GET ALL FIRED UP ABOUT THIS! I WAS JUST BLOWING OFF SOME STEAM, OKAY?”
The graybeard senior had coals of fire under his brow.
“My boy lost his dad to combat overseas. That’s one hell of a price to pay for defending the nation. Yet he was proud of his pop. But it left a hole in his heart. That’s rocked his world ever since. He’s worked hard to make something of himself. Did you ever struggle in life? Did you ever save pennies in a coffee can, just to afford a meal? That’s what he’s been doing since I took him in at my trailer...”
Mack spit brew on the concrete.
“CALM DOWN, OLD FART! I WAS JUST POKING FUN AT THAT SKINNY, SCRAWNY RUNT! IF HE CAN’T TAKE IT, THEN HE’LL NEVER BE MUCH OF A MAN! I’VE HAD A LOT WORSE SAID TO ME!”
Zedekiah jabbed with bare knuckles, until his competitor’s head snapped backward violently. He did a pro-wrestling knee lift, which had the rotund loudmouth wincing in pain and grabbing at his crotch. Finally, he did a roundhouse kick like Chuck Norris. This brief demonstration of physical agility left his grandson’s tormentor in a heap.
“Let that be a lesson to you, buddy. Don’t piss off bears, hornets, and old soldiers! Keep your distance, and be quiet! It’s the safe way to live. There’s no need to thank me, I’ll take it as a given thing that you’ve learned from this experience...”
Scattered applause echoed up and down the street. The confrontation had ended abruptly. But one street away, Nordy was taking photos of Jodi Mae on the square hood of his Volkswagen. Neither of them was aware that a battle for dominance had just been fought and won.
And the honor of a beige, 1981 VW pickup truck had been preserved.
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