c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-24)
After the failed attempt to organize a neighborhood association, Linn Speck felt his jowls burn every time there was an issue with park owners at Evergreen Estates. Being anointed as a leader of residents was something he had worked for since the previous year. He had canvassed every street, gotten signatures on his petitions, and negotiated a plan with legal experts who were eager to help the underprivileged people of their prefab village. Yet everything had gone for naught. A single note of dissent from one of the development’s most senior residents had scuttled his operation.
Townshend Carr Lincoln gained notoriety as a thorn in his side, like no other.
Failure dogged him afterward. He became an outcast among his own community. That tag hung around his neck like an albatross. It fouled the air wherever he went, and filled his nostrils with a stench of irrelevance. He stopped looking at his own reflection in the mirror, because contemplating what he had become was too burdensome.
Until fate intervened at last. With a merciful crackle of lightning, that boosted him back to the pinnacle of their mobile-home ranks.
When the ‘Never Surrender High-Tops’ of Donald J. Trump were introduced at Sneakercon in Philadelphia, everything changed. With that stroke of marketing mastery, POTUS 45 unwittingly rescued the pudgy, floundering Ohioan from his personal doldrums. A scheme of multi-level marketing ensued, with neighbors and friends being encouraged to buy into a business based on vending these trendy articles of footwear. What followed was even more challenging, yet rewarding for those who joined the effort – a citizen group dedicated to marching throughout their rural oasis, and beyond. Carrying a message of an America, restored. When the Trump Bible was added as another item likely to attract buyers, a groundswell of support resulted.
The ’Gold Shoe Brigade’ was Linn’s resurrection. His escape from intellectual exile.
He had planned a confrontational visit with Miss Poindexter, many times. But on each occasion, some quirk of fate interrupted his intentions. So, when a lavender, Toyota Prius arrived at her trailer on Monday morning, he was more than a bit irritated. The unannounced visit had stymied his vendetta, once again. Instead of putting plimsolls to the tarmac, he and his supporters could only sit in the driveway, and drink low-buck suds for comfort.
At Lot 12, a lone figure exited her Japanese economy vehicle, and stood in the front yard while contemplating. Then, she rapped lightly on the window.
Mama Molene Gant had driven all the way from Cleveland, by herself.
“Dex? I know ya must be inside, girl! I’m here alone, whoo, ya know my people didn’t want that to happen. I had a whole crew of volunteers ready to ride! Tha vibe was crazy! But I told ‘em it’d be better ta let me do things solo. Here I am! Let’s talk out this shit!”
Darcy Trelane pulled back a corner of her blue blanket, and peered through the expansive pane of glass. Her orange head of hair was a mess. She had been eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, while gaming on her console. Splotches of sugar and cookie dough dotted her Pokemon pajamas.
“Mama, I don’t know why you came out here. This place is a hole in the ground! We don’t get any tourists, and not many friends from the outside world. Just the Po-Po, now and then...”
Her former mentor cupped a hand over her eyes, for a better view through the glass.
“Ya know I love all my kids! Some graduate and move along, some hang around tha lake. Some lose their way and come home when times get hard. I figure that’s yer trip, honey! I know ya got to hurt, deep down inside. Ya been away from us too long! Now, I’m asking ya to make a U-turn. Come back into tha fold. Put that Palestinian flag up in this window, so I can make a Tik Tok video! Ya know, I sho wanna have that resistance shown where it belongs! Right here in tha middle of MAGA hell! We gotta flip tha finger to these bigots! You gotta flip tha finger! Do it, and I’ll forgive yer wandering. It’ll all be forgotten. Come home to yer fam!”
Miss Poindexter wiped tears from her eyes, nearly causing her black spectacles to fall on the floor. The lenses were smudged.
“Mama, I don’t feel right about our protest. That old dude next door made some sense, even through a haze of whiskey. You’re not saying anything to change my mind. We’re picking a fight when we should be talking about building bridges. People like me get beheaded or jailed in that part of the world. They don’t embrace LGBT rights. It’s a way of thinking we don’t understand. There’s a lot we don’t understand going on right now. We need to be listening more, and thinking more, before we speak...”
Her former influencer began to quake where she stood.
“DAMMIT, WOMAN! YA JUST WON’T LISTEN! THIS FIGHT HAS BEEN CHOSEN FOR US! SHO YA RITE! THESE PIGGIES IN THE ORANGE MAN KLAN IS THE PROBLEM! NOT US! PUT THE FLAG UP LIKE YA DID BEFORE! LET IT SHINE, LET IT SHINE! STICK IT TO THA MAN! PUT YO HAND IN THA AIR FOR PALESTINE!”
Darcy had soaked her garments with sweat. She was hot and uncomfortable in her front bedroom. Musty, stale vapors streamed from the faded carpeting.
“I’m on board with the struggle, you know that. These hillbilly hacks have always turned my stomach. But I’ve got all kinds of friends, Mama! That’s the groove you used to teach us, love for all colors and creeds and traditions. I remember getting called a ‘dumb polack’ in school. That made me cry as a kid! I was proud of my grandparents. They came here to escape the wartime occupation in Europe. They watched friends die, relatives die, and people they didn’t even know go to the ovens. That haunted them for the rest of their lives. That old bruh across the yard is right, we’ve got to quit fanning the flames. You used to stand for peace, and I bet a lot of kids would join in if you did that again...”
Molene hit the window with her bony fist. A crack spread from the spot of first contact, all the way to one corner.
“I AM FOR PEACE, CHILD! CEASE FIRE! NO MORE GUNS! NO MORE SUPPORT! DIVEST! DISCONNECT! DENY!”
Her former underling looked oddly sad.
“Remember you used to say that a plant won’t die unless the roots get dug up? That’s the truth, Mama! It’ll just grow again. Maybe even bigger and stronger than before. That’s the way hate grows. They hate us, we hate them. Nobody trusts the other side. Nobody believes what they hear or read. That’s where we are right now. Link has been my neighbor since I moved here, and he’s drunk every day. I never saw anyone swallow so much booze! But now and then, he sounds sober. Now and then, he makes a lot of sense. He sounds like you did, years ago. What changed since then? What changed your mind?”
The college organizer was livid. She kicked at the tall grass and spat forcefully.
“I GOT A WHOLE LOTTA LOVE IN MY HEART, YA CAN COUNT ON THAT, GIRL! BUT NOT FOR THEM ASSHATS WAVING THEIR SNAKE FLAGS AND SPOUTING MAGA BULLSHIT! OHH, I’M GONNA LOSE MY COOL JUST THINKING ABOUT IT! YA KNOW, I GOT A THOUSAND BODIES READY TA HIT THA STREETS RIGHT NOW! BUT THAT WINE WOULD TASTE SWEETER IF YA JOINED OUR PROTEST! SQUEEZE IN THERE WITH US! TRAMPLE THEM REDNECK MOFOS! KNOCK THEM DOWN, KNOCK THEM DOWN!”
On the corner, Linn felt his cell phone start to vibrate. He rummaged through his pants pocket, and answered eagerly, after recognizing the number. Pastor Cabriel Forester of their township’s notable Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven, was on the line.
“Christian brother, I’ve got six-dozen pickup trucks in our parking lot right now, up here on the hill. Everything is set for a ‘cleansing’ of your park. We’ll put up a tent and a cross in the front field. Then I’ll preach a sermon from God’s holy word. And we’ll send all the agents of Lucifer straight back to his hideout in the dark underbelly of eternity!”
The trailer resident stood up from his lawn chair. He looked around with a surge of excitement, and then put one hand over his heart.
“AMEN, AMEN! LET THE ARMY OF GOD SHOUT IT TO THE SKY! SHOUT IT TO NEIGHBORS AND FRIENDS! I SAY - AMENNN!”
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