c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-24)
Nigel Poutierre had been in his singlewide trailer at Evergreen Estates for 63 days without opening the front door. Except for brief interludes when he heaved stinky bags of garbage onto his front porch. He had run out of everything. All the cupboards were bare. His refrigerator looked sad and empty. His laundry room had run out of soap and conditioners. He hadn’t taken a shower in weeks. Whenever someone called his cellular phone, he would manufacture excuses that were both bold and ridiculous. Standing by the entrance to his prefab hovel caused him to tremble uncontrollably. He would sweat and shake and feel dizzy. Only hiding out in his back bedroom brought a sense of relief.
But on Monday morning, he had reached a terminal point in this bout of emotional isolation. For breakfast, there was only one piece of sliced bread left on the countertop in his kitchen. And a single, stale teabag to brew. He had used up all of the coffee, eggs, bacon, hash browns, and other items, long before that day of reckoning.
He felt malnourished, and weak. His belly grumbled in protest.
As a young teenager, he had been bullied in school to the point where an emotional breakdown of sorts wracked his mind and body. But he tried to mask the symptoms of this affliction, using strategies that were dependable, but damning. He would spend hours in the library, studying. Moments in the classroom found him always in the last row of seats. Unless he had been assigned to sit in a place designated by the teacher. His instructors thought of him as highly intelligent and studious. Yet fellow members of the young population cursed him as a dweeb and a nerd. He was often laughed at and spat upon. He had to give up eating in the lunchroom, because his meals were always tainted intentionally, or knocked to the floor. Long days with no food made his blood sugar drop. The result was that his moods could be unpredictable. He would fight verbally with the staff and his peers. And then withdraw to lick his wounds.
These episodes made him doodle pictures on the pages of his notebooks. He became quite an artist while expressing the woes that lived inside of his mind.
Upon reaching the status of an adult, he had been somewhat successful working as an office assistant, and accountant for a firm in Lake County, Ohio. But when the company went bankrupt, he was dumped without any severance package. He avoided admitting this inglorious fate to members of his family, and eventually lost his apartment. Only one friend remained in his social circle, a woman he had known in the 12th grade, named Nikki. She was reputed to be a prostitute and a drug addict, and lived in a remote, trailer enclave south of his native region.
Evergreen Estates became his home by that quirk of happenstance.
Living in the village of mobile homes was challenging at first. He had little in common with anyone at the park. But old habits of playing the recluse soon returned. He spent less and less time outside. Even opting to hire a local yard service to cut the grass, until his funds were depleted. He never answered the door, unless a police officer showed up to ask questions about one of his seedy neighbors. If they did, he always claimed to know nothing. Such declarations were easy to offer, because he rarely ever went anywhere.
Finally, his courage was tapped out completely. And the streak of 63 blocks on his calendar being crossed with a black ‘x’ from a Sharpie pen, began in earnest.
He survived fairly well for the first couple of weeks. Because of his history of living as a virtual hermit. Yet the grind wore him down, eventually. His computer quit working, after the internet bill went unpaid. The electricity and water were turned off, as notices came due and got ignored. He was broke and at the mercy of charities. He survived by candlelight. His propane tank dipped to a level that was dangerously low. He had to light the burners with old matches. His reserve of water jugs evaporated.
And as the new week was underway, he sat at his dining table with the dried-out slice of bread, and a mug of expired tea. This was his Armageddon. He had to summon the courage to open his door. There would be enough gasoline in the tank of his Chevy Cavalier to reach a local convenience depot, or a Dollar General. He had a wad of physical cash tucked under his mattress, in a spot that would only be discovered by someone inquisitive enough to rip the bedding apart. He had to be stronger, more so than the shy, skinny rube that he saw in his mirror.
This call to duty almost caused him to vomit. He went to the front door, and found that his hands were numb. He couldn’t twist the knob. His knees knocked together. His face burned, red hot.
The device in his pocket rang, as this moment of truth was unfolding. Nikki McCardle hadn’t heard from her pal in such a long time, that she wondered if he might have committed suicide.
“NIGEL! WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER? THIS DAMN THING KEEPS GOING TO VOICEMAIL! YOU BETTER NOT BE STRETCHED OUT ON THE CARPET, OR I’LL KICK YOUR DEAD ASS WHEN I SEE IT! CALL ME BACK, DICKHEAD!”
In a dark sort of way, her rant was amusing. He actually grinned for a moment, while replaying her message. Then, he tapped an icon to return the call.
“Nikki, I’m okay. I umm... couldn’t get to my phone. Don’t worry about me, I’m good over here on the west side of our little oasis.”
His friend wasn’t convinced. She chirped like a mother fowl.
“I haven’t seen yer ass outside in weeks, dude! What’s up with that? There’s a pile of bags ‘n shit on the deck! What gives? Did you fall and break your leg or something?”
The unemployed geek snorted and lied about his condition.
“You must’ve missed me somehow! I’ve been out for job interviews, and all kinds of things! I had dinner with a woman from the old office. I even went to a Captains baseball game at Classic Park! Things are great, and summer is almost here!”
The young female could sense he had twisted literal truth into a knot of deception.
“Nige, yer a dummy! You tell fibs like I did in high school. Dad could always figure shit out by the tone of my voice. I used to party at night and sneak back into my bedroom through a window behind the shrubs. I put pillows under the blankets so they thought I was still home. I was a naughty bitch, right?”
Her loner counterpart nodded and smiled.
“Yeah, I remember. Nobody else would talk to me. They thought I was a freak.”
Nikki had to pinch her nostrils. She laughed like the cartoon canine, Muttley.
“THEY THOUGHT YOU MUST BE A HOMO, BRUH! I KNEW BETTER THOUGH, AFTER I KEPT CATCHING YOU LOOKING DOWN MY BLOUSE! HAH! YOU WANTED A HOOK-UP!”
The quiet nebbish was completely embarrassed. But he felt vindicated by her accusation.
“I did, I did. You boasted quite a figure, for a teen kid in school. None of the other girls had blossomed like that, really. I was breathless...”
She cackled and tapped her long, glittery nails on the screen. This made a sound like hail falling during a storm.
“YER A PERVERT, MANNN! HA HA HA! JUST KIDDING, JK, JK! AT LEAST YOU NEVER JUDGED ME, I GOT CALLED A SLUT AND A WHORE RIGHT UP TO OUR GRADUATION, BECAUSE OF MY BOOBS! BUT YOU NEVER ASKED ME OUT, OR ANYTHING! YOU DIDN’T DROOL, WOLF WHISTLE, OR TRY TO GRAB MY BUTT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE KINDA COOL, ACTUALLY. I FELT SAFE WHEN WE WERE TOGETHER! I HAD NEVER MET A GENTLEMAN, BEFORE, YOU KNOW?”
Nigel wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or grateful for her remarks.
“Yeah, okay. Should I say thank you?”
Nikki turned serious again. She shifted gears in their conversation, quickly.
“So, here’s the deal homie! What’s really going on over at your trailer? No bull, just tell me the real story. What’s your sitch, Ron Stoppable?”
Her longtime associate cringed at this plea for accountability. He could barely hold the phone in his right hand. He needed a deep breath before answering. Then, he unburdened himself with a confession worthy of being delivered to a member of the priesthood.
“Alright, alright. Here it is... I’ve been huddled inside my longbox for 63 days. I’m out of everything. There’s one slice of bread on a paper towel, and a cup of tea, getting cold while I stand here talking. I am terrified by the thought of opening the front door. I lost my nerve to face anybody. My hands won’t stop shaking. All my clothes are dirty. I’m broke and busted and bummed out by life! The truth is, I’d like to crawl in a hole somewhere, and disappear! My mother had spells like this when I was a child. One of them lasted for a dozen years! I miss her, and I miss you, and I miss feeling like a human being!”
His solo contact was quiet for a minute, while pondering. But when she spoke, it was with the healing grace of a kindred spirit.
“NIGE, YOU FLING BACK THAT GAWDAMM DOOR, AND WALK OVER HERE RIGHT NOW! WE’RE GONNA GO OUT TONIGHT, AND DRINK AND DANCE, AND REMINISCE ABOUT OLD TIMES, BUDDY! YOU AIN’T GONNA SIT THERE ALONE FER ANOTHER DAMN SECOND! GET YER SCRAWNY ASS MOVING, RIGHT NOW!”
The thought of surrendering to her demands made him quiver and quake, inside. Yet for the first time in 63 days, he felt hopeful. Sunlight streamed through his kitchen window.
As they used to say, today was the first day of the rest of his life.
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