c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-25)
Libby Raal had barely gotten a chance to ask her first question at the Speck abode, when Haki was interrupted by her husband Linn, who barged out of the household bedroom half-dressed and in a state of obvious irritation. After going through his closet, it had become obvious that a recent weight fluctuation meant that many of his good clothes, for church and public events, would no longer fit.
He bounced into the living room, sliding across the worn carpet in his gym socks.
“Who’s this you’ve invited over? A new resident to join our park association?”
His spouse was embarrassed and had to clear her throat before answering.
“Honey, calm down! This woman is a reporter from Cleveland, she’s writing a piece about our county. Isn’t that exciting?”
Libby Raal smiled and snorted gently. Her piercings shimmered in the fluorescent light.
“I prefer to be addressed as ‘they’ or ‘them’ if you please. You know, a non-judgmental, non-binary, non-divisive, prejudice-free term of reference...”
Linn felt his jaw drop. He stood in the kitchen doorway, still sweating profusely.
“They or them? What the heck?”
His wife attempted to smooth over the issue, politely.
“It doesn’t matter, why don’t you sit with us? I think it’s exciting to meet someone from the Plain Dealer, don’t you?”
Ms. Raal breathed deeply and adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses. Her notepad scribbling was barely legible.
“I’d just like to learn more about how people in this rural township view the recent election. My readers want insight into how you voted here...”
The pudgy, community organizer adjusted his sagging suspenders. His white T-shirt was damp and sticky.
“SO YOU CAN MAKE FUN OF US IN YOUR RAG? IS THAT THE GOAL? GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”
The professional reporter cradled her pen and pad carefully.
“No, no, of course not. I’d like to get your take on what happened. Let’s say that people along the lakeshore are confused about the results. I think it would be useful to hear from someone like yourself. Say whatever you like...”
Haki lounged between cushions on the sofa. She began to sense that an outburst was imminent.
“Well, we voted Republican, of course. Everybody in this neighborhood did, pretty much. Didn’t you?”
Libby filled a half-page with jotted references. While sidestepping the personal query.
“And you feel good about doing that? You feel good about where we will be headed in the upcoming year?”
Linn scratched his jowls and braced himself in the doorway.
“OF COURSE I DO! WHAT KIND OF A STUPID QUESTION IS THAT, LADY?”
The newspaper scribe took more notes while continuing her quiz.
“A felony conviction didn’t bother you? A judgement of being liable in a civil court for rape? Numerous episodes of sexual harassment? Nefarious business deals? And support from extremist groups?”
Mrs. Speck blinked several times while collecting her thoughts.
“We’ve heard all of that nonsense, okay? It doesn’t wash out here in the country. We know how the game is played. Wouldn’t you rather ask us about something else? Like our pets or hobbies, or our taste in music? We like WKKY in Geneva, they play lots of great, Pop Country tunes!”
Libby stopped writing and took off her spectacles.
“I do apologize. This isn’t going to be a rehash of past offenses. I’d just like to know what inspired you and your husband to select such a chaotic figure at the ballot box...”
The head of household sputtered and started to wave his fists.
“PATRIOTISM INSPIRED US! FAITH IN JESUS INSPIRED US! HAVING MORALS INSPIRED US! WANTING TO KEEP MY ARMY RIFLES INSPIRED US! WHAT DO YOU THINK, WOMAN? IT ISN’T HARD TO GUESS!”
Haki projected a mood of sweetness that contrasted with her mate. But did not disagree regarding his political vibe.
“You can knock on every door in our neighborhood, miss! You’ll get the same answer over and over and over. We weren’t fooled by a billion dollars of special-interest money. It really didn’t make a difference!”
Ms. Raal sighed and chewed her bottom lip.
“Advice from Oprah made no difference? Barack and Michelle Obama? Bill Clinton? LeBron James? Even Bruce Springsteen?”
Linn patted his overfed belly.
“LOOK AT THE PRICE OF EGGS! OF MILK AND BREAD! OF GASOLINE! OF EVERYTHING! IT’S ALL BEEN A MESS UNDER THE CURRENT PRESIDENT! WE NEVER SHOULD’VE DUMPED TRUMP! YOU HAVE TO ADMIT THAT I’M RIGHT! SCREW YOUR PRONOUNS AND TRANS ATHLETES AND ALL THAT LEFTY NOISE! IT’S TIME TO MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! GET IT? MAKE AMERICA GREAT!”
The journalist had turned pale and cold. She capped her pen and closed the notebook.
“I’m sorry, this was supposed to be a candid session to gather evidence. But I can see that we’re getting nowhere. I’m sorry for wasting your time...”
Haki frowned with disappointment. She was sad over losing a chance for celebrity status in their mobile-home community.
“Does this mean you won’t be writing your article, after all? You won’t take any photos of our trailer?”
Her husband clenched his teeth and growled with defiance.
“Tell your readers the truth! That residents in Evergreen Estates are too smart to be fooled by the bureaucrats in Washington! Tell them we still love America, apple pie, and pickup trucks! Tell them that this nation is still alive and kicking! Very much alive!”
Libby tried to restrain her mouth. But failed quickly.
“I didn’t see a 4x4 hauler in your driveway, Mr. Speck. It looked more like a rusted, Japanese sedan with bald tires and faded paint...”
Linn finally lost his temper. He had run out of patience with the media contact.
“GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT! GET OUT! GO BACK TO YOUR LITTLE PARADISE BY LAKE ERIE! GO BACK TO YOUR POT-SMOKING, RAINBOW FLAG, ENVIRONMENTALIST CRAZIES! YOU DON’T BELONG IN THIS PARK! YOU DON’T BELONG IN THIS TOWNSHIP! DAMMIT, YOU EVEN DON’T BELONG IN THIS STATE!”
Trinkets and bric-a-brac flew from the coffee table, as Ms. Raal lunged for the front door. She was visibly shaken by the order of expulsion. And dubious about staying in the isolated community, to complete her assignment.
She sat in her car until both hands stopped shaking. Then, remembered that her income stream had been severed. Some sort of project would need to be finished for her to get paid. That basic need steadied her nerves and brought clarity, once again.
With reluctance, she drove up the rustic boulevard to Lot 13. There, lived the most controversial resident of their isolated property. Someone who was known to be drunk and explosive, nearly every day.
She hoped that interviewing him might save her reputation, and career.
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