Trailer Park Vignettes – “Homecoming, Part Three”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

It was after three o’clock in the morning when Dean McCray reached a four way stop at the crest of Sidley’s Hill. His skin was clammy and tingled with fatigue. He had to peer carefully over the steering wheel to be certain that he was headed in the right direction. Foggy mists hovered above the landscape. But then, he saw the familiar, downward curve of Pine Trail Road. Warning signage had been posted at the intersection, about the road closure ahead. A vexing impediment to through traffic. He ignored this advisory however, and proceeded to follow the cascading slope eastward, to a row of barricades past the old ice cream stand.

 

Their rural township had long since succumbed to the night. So almost no one was on duty at the artificial barrier. A single police officer dozed in his cruiser, with a cold cup of coffee sitting on the dashboard. Two-way chatter had diminished to the point that it was at a level of radio silence. There were no hour-by-hour check-ins, or reports given. Instigators of the citizen uprising had already been apprehended and jailed. Regular folk had been shuttled to available motels around the tri-county area. What remained was an empty fortress. An enclave of pallet wood, cinder blocks, and barbed wire appropriated from a farm supply vendor.

 

Evergreen Estates had become a graveyard.

 

Dean parked his black, Ford Bronco by a culvert at the back entrance. A roadway rarely used except for emergencies, or when the main entrance to their development was blocked by new trailers arriving. On foot, he scaled the temporary fencing, then made his way between empty homes and piles of debris that had been left from the confrontation between warring factions. He could see the layout clearly, thanks to a wash of moonlight. In a couple of minutes, he managed to reach his own dwelling, a singlewide construction with tan sides and brown shutters adorning the windows. There, he paused with the 12-pack of Piels lager from New York State.

 

Sitting on his front steps, he popped open a can, and began to drink.

 

A dog barked in the distance, sounding forlorn and lonely. The sound of a diesel rig echoed, from Route 534. A road that was beyond the blockade. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. A gentle breeze stirred the clouds. One after another, he slogged down the containers of brew. As each one disappeared, he felt more mellow. After nine, he was on the brink of falling asleep. Yet with determination, he continued until the full dozen had vanished. Then, he stood up, felt gravity tempting his balance to fail, and worked a key in the door lock.

 

Electricity had been cut when the disturbance first erupted. So, there was no light in his mobile home. He used an app on his cell phone to compensate, but tripped over things that had fallen from the shelving and cabinets. Food in the refrigerator was spoiled. A trickle of water leaked freely, from broken pipes. Though the well pumps had also been disabled with their power outage. He rummaged through rubbish and broken furniture, until finding a beloved vessel that had survived intact. A one-liter jug of bourbon whiskey from Kentucky, branded with the name Hageman's Hollow.

 

That ended his quest. He returned to the steps outside, and continued to imbibe alcoholic refreshment.

 

From deep in the distant shadows, a mock calling of songbirds tickled his ear. It repeated three times. Then, he heard a genuine voice reaching out for his attention.

 

“Deaner! You’re trespassing dude, be careful! If they spot you here, it means going to the Geauga Safety Center! You don’t want to get locked up, right?”

 

He slammed brown liquor until it burned the inside of his throat. The pain made him grin and flush with pride.

 

“Kee? Hey, if you’re here then it’s a double whammy! We’ll both get the handcuffs!”

 

His longtime friend emerged from the dark. She had wrapped herself in an old blanket for cover. It was colored in shades of camouflage green. Her hair was full of briars and weeds.

 

“I came up the back way, damn! Maybe that was a bad choice. My longbox house is toasted. They must’ve set a fire or something. I couldn’t find shit! Just a photo album with pictures of my grandma and cousins. And a tote of cassettes she had. This place was hopping, I’ll tell you! I’ve never seen the Po-Po so agitated. I think they were actually scared! People started with shooting off fireworks, but then it turned to real gunfire. The Klatka boys had flags streaming from the beds of their trucks. Aimes Hefti was in his tactical uniform, duty belt and all. I think everybody had guns drawn, but me! I don’t own one, you know? Boo hoo! Anyway, I got out of here, quick. Before the deputies started taking prisoners.”

 

Dean motioned for her to join him on the steps. Then offered to share his drink.

 

“C’mon, I know you don’t do the hard stuff, but this’ll settle your insides...”

 

The high-proof hooch made her shudder and feel sick. But it quelled her restlessness.

 

“We’ve gone through a lot in our ‘hood, right? But it’s done this time. All these redneck goobers finally effed it up completely! Granny had been here forty years, at least. I’m glad she’s in eternity, what would that old lady do? Where would she go?”

 

Her companion sipped from his bottle. He had no answers, only more questions.

 

“Yeah, and where are we gonna go? They might keep you at the motel for a week or two, but I know it won’t last. It’s a stop gap to let things cool off. I’ve heard stories about the Civil War, and how it used to be crazy with brothers fighting brothers. Is that where we’re headed? Is that our fate? Breaking bones instead of breaking bread, together?”

 

Kiki slouched over her knees. She had to ponder for a moment. Her shiny, spandex leggings were muddy and wet.

 

“Don’t talk like that, Deaner! It gives me the chills!”

 

He was tipsy and buzzed.

 

“Rousseau supposedly said ‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Well, here you go, here’s a drunk tongue flapping. Tonight, I drove all the way home from New York State. I guess because being there bummed me out so much. Most of what I remembered is gone. People, places, familiar buildings, even my favorite pizzeria and magazine stand. I used to visit those places during every layover. But hell, they’re ancient history now! I got here to this shell of a park and realized that maybe I’d been running in the wrong direction. See, there’s nothing here for me, either. And nothing for you!”

 

The young woman scratched her head and lit a cigarette.

 

“Okay genius, you figured out your mistake. Now what? What can we do with our lives trashed and our pockets just about empty?”

 

He pounded the southern whiskey until it made his eyes water.

 

“I don’t rightly know, Kee. But whatever we do, I say we do it... together!”