Trailer Park Victory Chapter 13: Sunny

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-25)

 

 

After a long period of cold and snowy weather that began on New Year’s Day, Mother Nature at last offered a brief moment of respite, as January approached its midpoint. On a Tuesday afternoon, solar rays streamed through the clouds, despite an ambient temperature of 24 degrees. This meant that Townshend Lincoln could take refuge on his front porch, with rounds of Miller High Life and Evan Williams bourbon to fortify his spirit. Bundled up in layers of winter clothing, he sat outside after a short jaunt to the Dollar General store in Hambden, only a few miles up Pine Trail Road. Though his arthritic joints ached from exposure, he did not surrender to pain. Instead, he rejoiced in experiencing a temporary moment of liberation. One that revived his soul with a sense of joy that had been stifled over the preceding week.

 

Neighbors who passed his yard spun through the slush in vehicles of all sorts. Most were pickup trucks or SUV varieties. Though many were sedans long outdated, yet still running beyond their intended life span. At Evergreen Estates, necessity kept the clock from ticking forward as in other, better neighborhoods. Being isolated and impoverished had hardened residents, like those who once survived the Great Depression.

 

The drunken, reclusive hermit had also been strengthened by surviving in such an unfriendly environment. Every day of life bolstered his endurance. Enemies were dispatched quickly, with amusement. He was too numb for any kind of verbal or intellectual assault. And anyone who approached him physically risked being whacked across the teeth with one of his disability canes.

 

Death carried no stigma in this netherworld of alienation and indifference. A bullet to his skull would have been cleansing, instead of woeful. But he had not been appointed to graduate from the mortal plane, just yet. Mirroring the season, he stayed withdrawn, inebriated, and content to be out of the social mainstream.

 

As he teetered on the brink of consciousness, his cell phone began to chirp with messenger notifications. It was a sound that always rattled his nerves. But upon checking the display screen, he dipped into a widening pool of regret. His hillbilly vibe returned, glowing with a quiet mood of nonconformity.

 

Neighbor Darby Stronelli, a gnarled, spiky-haired survivor who lived on his eastern flank, was excited with news about having formed a new online group for the park.

 

“HEY BUDDY, ARE YOU STILL AWAKE OVER THERE? I GOT TIRED OF ALL THE BICKERING AND SHIT ABOUT WHO CAN FOLLOW OUR FACEBOOK PAGES. SO, I STARTED A NEW ONE! HAH, HOW ABOUT THAT? ALL THE OTHER ONES ARE RUN BY PICKY-ASS PEOPLE. YOU KNOW, THEY DON’T LIKE THIS ONE OR DON’T LIKE THAT ONE. I’M FED UP WITH THAT CRAP! AND I AM! CHECK IT OUT, ANYBODY IN THIS PARK IS WELCOME!”

 

Lincoln felt sick at his stomach. He was already a member of at least four different online portals for news and comment about the junkyard community. With frozen fingertips, he tapped out a short reply.

 

“Yer kidding, right?”

 

His close-at-hand contact was irritated by this admission of disinterest, immediately.

 

“WHATTAYA MEAN, KIDDING? THERE’S BEEN MONTHS AND MONTHS OF FIGHTING OVER CHICKEN-SHIT RULES AND WHATEVER! I’M GONNA MOP THAT UP RIGHT NOW!”

 

The iconoclastic loner smiled while cradling his phone in a bare hand. He knew that she was loyal to nobody, and only wanted to pursue her hustle. So, he always kept his distance.

 

“Look, yer intention is great, I guess. But that’ll make five different meeting points for people who live in this crazy dump. Look it up if ya doubt my number...”

 

Darby must have been spewing Bud Light around the living room, while squawking. Being confined by persistent snowfall made her difficult to handle.

 

“SCREW THAT, THEY’RE ALL DELETED!”

 

Her contrarian neighbor shook his head in disagreement.

 

“Nah, they’re still listed in search results. One of the five sent me an automated ping about accepting administrator duties. I passed because some of the group members have died or moved away...”

 

His fellow resident sent a string of poop emojis, and angry, smiley faces.

 

“C’MON ASSHOLE! SUPPORT ME IN THIS, OKAY? IT’LL WORK FOR A CHANGE, I KNOW IT WILL! THIS TIME EVERYBODY CAN JOIN! HELL, I DON’T EVEN KNOW HALF OF THE CROWD HERE ANYMORE, THERE’S BEEN SO MANY MOVING TRUCKS SHOWING UP SINCE THE FALL. IT’S GETTING CROWDED AGAIN, REMEMBER HOW EMPTY WE WERE A YEAR OR TWO AGO?”

 

Lincoln took a double shot of Kentucky spirits, before composing his next retort.

 

“Alrighty, who ya got running that page? Is it just a solo flight? That would be acceptable...”

 

His frenemy across the empty lot next door had to pause and decide how she would spin the truth.

 

“IT’S ME IN CHARGE! WELL, ME’N A LADY ON THE CORNER...”

 

Her boozing associate belched alcohol droplets and foam. The noise rattled his storm door. Pizza grease lubricated his chapped lips.

 

“Hahahahaha! Yep, I figured on that! Ya got the Speck clan involved! All good, but they’re the reason we had so much strife in this ‘hood. Remember the postal mailings about me being a piece of dung? Remember all the insults online? Remember what happened when the wheels came off our plan to fix up this trash heap? Everything went straight to the dumpster! And it caught on fire!”

 

Darby sent a string of curses flying from her wireless device. Then, ditched the all-caps messaging.

 

“Yeah I remember, buddy. But that was months ago. Actually, a year or more, or two, or whatevs. Forget it. Quit hanging on to your bullshit. Things will be better once the weather changes. Lots of parties and bonfires, and cookouts. This park will be fun again, like it was when you still came around to drink with me! Hoo boy, those were good times! Drink all night and work all day! Forgive ’n forget!”

 

The tipsy malcontent leaned forward over his knees. He had started drinking too early.

 

“I’ll give ya credit for trying to change the game around here. But anger runs deep. I’ve already been hearing from dissenters who want nothing ta do with yer idea...”

 

The hot-tempered, butch femme tapped on an icon portraying the middle finger.

 

“SO, FUCK ‘EM THEN! FUCK ‘EM! FUCK ‘EM! WE DON’T NEED THOSE DICKS!”

 

Lincoln shrugged and huddled with a slight breeze tightening his facial muscles.

 

“Right, I get yer attitude. But those are the people ya do need. Otherwise, it’s just another division. Another cut of the pie. So, everything comes back around to where it was, we get another feud between the factions and ya join in on the fray...”

 

His long-time neighbor had gotten tired of debating the issue. She sent a green smiley, vomiting with disgust. Then another all-caps protest to conclude their conversation.

 

“KISS MY ASS, BUDDY! KISS MY SKINNY, LITTLE ASS! I HOPE YOU PASS OUT AND PISS YOUR PANTS! HAHAHAHAHA! TAKE IT EASY!”

 

At last, things were quiet once again, on the narrow strip of land designated as Lot 13. Thick, gray clouds in the sky overhead had managed to obscure their blessing of solar warmth. A stray feline yowled for entry, as the weary alcoholic struggled to his feet. She was patchy in hues of tabby stripes, draped over a white background of fur. He gestured amicably toward the abandoned cat with his liquor bottle.

 

“At least there’s one female who’s on my side in this hellscape! Thanks fer the support, honey!”