Trailer Park Victory Chapter 19: Inauguration

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-25)

 

 

Quantra Bolden shook her long, gray curls and cackled softly, while sitting at a desk in the Queer Conundrum editorial office. She wore a hippie pendant fashioned from fish bones and scavenger finds, discovered by student volunteers along the Lake Erie waterfront. Working in the artistic community was something that always gave her pleasure. Both as a steward of fledgling journalists, and as an organizer in the LGBT community. But after raising children and grandchildren in northeastern Ohio, and serving as a mentor for many disaffected youngsters who had no other place to gain a sense of belonging, today, she felt overwhelmed. In Washington, D.C. there was a political earthquake occurring. One that shook the ground of America, east and west, to the Atlantic, and Pacific coasts.

 

The Orange Man had returned to their national seat of power.

 

There were many tasks to be done before a next issue of the counterculture weekly could be published. Yet for the wordsmithing matron, fear and anger resonated more loudly than a call to duty. She could not clear the echo of dissenting voices out of her head.

 

On her computer screen, e-mail messages and online posts popped up like dandelions after a summer rain.

 

LeftAndProud81 – “This is a fu***** nightmare! How the hell did our country put a convicted felon and rapist abuser back in the White House? We had a woman of color ready to lead us forward! I can’t believe any of this is legitimate! Resist, resist, resist!”

 

CarterCountryGA – “My dad used to talk about 1976, and what that turnaround meant to America. We had a gentleman in charge, a true believer in doing good for others. A man of peace. A man of integrity. A man who should’ve been reelected, four years later. A man who would never have grabbed a woman by her genitalia! Now he has died, and we dishonor his memory with another term for the small-handed oaf from Mar-a-Lago! That’s gratitude? I call it bullshit! Stinking, nasty, bullshit!”

 

Superstar_NonBinaryUnicorn – “A criminal is running this circus! A criminal, for God’s sake! And all the fascist, Christian, homophobic, polluter-friendly asshats are cheering about it! I am literally shaking! Canada has never looked so good! I want to emigrate right now! Living in thrall to the MAGA king is a fate worse than being buried alive! Screw the church freaks and their Trump Bibles! Screw them! Screw them!”

 

IWillPunchANazi77 – “He’s Hitler! He’s Hitler! Democracy dies in darkness, and it’s dead, dead, dead! Those putrid, old idiots in their red caps have killed it! Don’t they see what happened? This is damnation, it’s Lucifer’s wrath falling on us all! Don’t they get it? He’s Hitlerrrrr!!!”

 

Mama Bolden had to place her desktop device in sleep mode, and sit quietly, for a moment. The caterwauling of discontent was still ringing in her ears. Finally, she reached for the intercom box, by her landline phone.

 

“Mikaela? Have you gotten any calls from stringers in the field today? Anything at all? We’ve got pages to fill for our next issue. Somebody needs to step up, I think!”

 

Her college assistant replied from the front counter, which had once been a broom closet in the decaying, brick fortress.

 

“Nothing, Ms. Q. I think probably, maybe, they’re all in shock right now...”

 

The editorial sage shook her head with disappointment.

 

“They’re in shock, I’m in shock, the whole damn world is in shock right now! That’s no excuse! We’ve got to keep up with our responsibilities. A lot of kids and teachers, and lost souls depend on us to keep the lighthouse lit! It’s our calling! Otherwise, this land will turn into one, giant prison camp! We can’t give up when there’s so much to do! We can’t ever give up!”

 

As the journalist leader was spouting curses and oaths, a telephone line on her desk began to flash. Before she could answer, her junior aide in the outer room squawked over the intercom link.

 

“Mama, there’s a reporter on hold. She said you and the Plain Dealer have been competing for her account of visiting the elephant stronghold of... umm... Evergreen Estates?”

 

Hearing the park moniker said aloud made the veteran scribe snap to attention. She lifted the handset from its cradle, and cooed, gleefully.

 

“Libby? Heyy, girl! I knew you’d be the first to get in touch! I’m feeling blue, you know? Blue as in down on my luck, and blue as in bright blue like a good donkey should! Blue against red! This is a hard day to believe in liberty, right? A hard day to feel like a freedom fighter. A hard day to hold my head up, but I’m gonna do it! What did you find out at that trailer park? Ohh, I know it’ll be a great story! Tell me, tell me, what’d you get?”

 

Raal shuffled notes while cradling her device in one hand. Her eyes were still red from crying throughout the afternoon. She had been too sick for anything but an occasional sip of Chai tea.

 

“I hate this place, Mama Q! I don’t want to stay here anymore...”

 

Bolden nodded with agreement.

 

“Yeah girl, I get it. We all feel that way right now. I want to puke in my wastebasket! But there’s no time to feel sorry for ourselves. We’ve got work to do. So, what did you get from a second round of interviews in Geauga County? What did you spy with your GoPro camera?”

 

Her creative contact sighed and sniffled. Her satchel was nearly empty.

 

“The local sheriff admitted that there’s been an uptick in militia fervor. That’s as close to an admission of trouble brewing that I could get. He was tight-lipped about his district being the center of past uprisings. As a matter of fact, my line of questions seemed to piss him off!”

 

Her intellectual influencer nearly flopped over the desk. She pointedly asked about conditions on the ground, at the community of mobile homes.

 

“Never mind the lawman, he’s going to act like a politician. What about that cluster of boxcar housing? What did you get from the grubby hicks there, with dirt under their fingernails? Spill your guts, girl!”

 

Libby wheezed with signs of a cold in her lungs. She had been exposed to the frigid temperatures for too long. Guilt made her reluctant to offer an explanation.

 

“I’ve got a meeting with the Pee Dee first. Then I’ll swing by your office...”

 

Quantra slammed her receiver on its hook. She had not expected a competition. Her gray mane was now a tangled mess.

 

“DAMN THAT LITTLE BITCH! EVERYBODY WANTS TO PLAY GAMES! ON THE POTOMAC, AND RIGHT HERE IN CLEVELAND!”