c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-25)
Lizzie Lavender had been able to survive at Evergreen Estates by being stealthy and primarily absent from the park continuum. Meanwhile, she worked to sell her grandmother’s trailer, diligently. Yet despite the shortage of affordable housing in Geauga County, and the low asking price she had advertised, finding someone who was willing to consider living in the rural development proved to be difficult. After years of poor management, bad publicity, and crumbling conditions, there were few local residents interested in securing a place at the enclave of mobile homes.
Merely mentioning the name of this distant oasis sent many potential buyers fleeing with disgust.
Yet with a shift in public perceptions regarding Tesla products, because of Elon Musk’s service in the chaotic administration of Donald Trump, things had changed drastically. Now, being present at the Queer Conundrum offices in Cleveland, and at familiar nightspots along Lake Erie, represented risk-taking of a high order. Friends and journalistic contacts that had once been in her social circle now shied away from keeping in touch. There were scrapes and dents left in her Model 3 that could not be accounted for, as part of working in a metropolitan environment. Tires were flattened, the windshield cracked, and eventually, spray-paint signatures were left behind as a reminder of the controversy about owning such a vehicle.
Initially, she resisted this form of pressure out of hand. Part of being someone divorced from the mainstream, with regard to dietary and lifestyle habits, was existing on a lonely fringe of reality. She networked with like-minded individuals, but stayed clear of most people. Still, her need to be an advocate for the LGBT community, and what she viewed as the cause of liberty, remained strong. No one could make her fear speaking up and speaking out, as part of this personal mission. Eventually, she reached a point of emotional exhaustion. Both the Tesla, and her inherited, longbox dwelling, needed to be sold.
She actually considered abandoning both of these assets. A move that would leave her in dire straits, financially.
While a sense of desperation clouded her thoughts, a moment of decision arrived. A text from QC Editor-in-Chief Quantra Bolden popped up on her cell phone. It was very direct, and ominous.
“I need you to meet with me at 11:00 Monday morning. Please be prompt, as I have a busy schedule this week. Thanks...”
Lizzie chose to look sharp for this meeting, in a 1970’s, green pantsuit with wedge heels, fashioned from wood soles and nautical rope. She had her long locks pulled back in a yellow scarf. The activist writer carried a mesh portfolio under one arm, full of stories written for other publications. At the main office, she found her steward and mentor dressed to an opposite standard. The print leader was in a plain, purple dress, woven from hemp fibers. Hippie apparel of a vintage sort. A necklace of jade stones and silver hung to her waist. Her mane was a cascade of gray and white.
“Ms. Q, I hope this is intended as a friendly gesture... perhaps a new assignment or event to attend?”
Quantra narrowed her eyes. She paused to breathe before answering.
“Liz, I’d like to be brief, okay? You know I don’t need bad vibes in this space. I already brought out the sage, this morning. And the crystals too. I even recited the Wiccan Rede! There’s been some rising up here, people feeling a downer on their minds. It’s all about your Swasticar in the employee lot. You didn’t take hints and persuasion, nooooo, you didn’t! Maybe that’s your groove, being an independent, trans, vegan, free-spirit. I’m cool with that, I can relate. But it’s affecting the mental climate for everyone. Seeing that Tesla here, every, day is hurtful. You’ve got to respect the parameters of what this place means to all of us...”
The professional scribe pinched her nose, as if encountering a foul odor.
“What I drive matters that much?”
Her newspaper queen nodded and smiled gently.
“It does. Oh girl, more than you might think! See, we live on trust here. Everybody has been wounded on the outside. We’ve all felt the pain of stepping out of line. Gay, non-binary, genderqueer, role-player, whatever the case. I’m not personally into labels, but there you go. When that Musk-mobile pulls into the lot, it makes your comrades uneasy. It raises questions, ones that don’t need to be asked. It shatters the trust we enjoyed, do you get it?”
Lizzie crossed her muscular legs, and sighed heavily.
“You know my background, Ms. Q. You know I was abused in grade school. You know I got whipped by an uncle for wearing my sister’s clothes. You know that I hitchhiked to Ohio from my hometown in Kentucky, like others here, what an awful dump that was! Being here by the waterfront, with people who love me, has made all the difference. I feel alive now. I feel safe. But then you put it all right into the toilet. Because of the EV I own. Really? Because of an electric car that is helping preserve our environment? Something that a year ago, made me a proud advocate for Mother Earth? Really, really, really?”
Bolden fiddled with a cup of pens and pencils on the corner of her desk.
“Times change, woman! Trends change. People change. Elon went over to the dark side. His friends are fascists now. He’s a Nazi, through and through! And so are you, when sitting behind the wheel of that Swasticar!”
The junior scribbler tightened her pinkish lips.
“Listen to yourself, Ms. Q! If they dug Adolf up from his grave, where do you think I’d be? Quit sounding like a prisoner of the moment! Who I am matters way more than what it says on the trunk lid of my Model 3! I didn’t change just because Elon went rogue!”
Her editor frowned and huffed audibly.
“I agree, Liz. You didn’t change, and I don’t want you to! Which is why you’ve got to dump the Hitler rig. Get rid of that rolling piece of shit! Cleanse yourself! Don’t lose track of why you came here in the first place!”
Lizzie was slightly miffed that the news veteran had no interest in looking over her collection of published articles. Yet the time had come for brutal honesty.
“Let’s do this, Ms. Q. Just say it and be done. If I don’t dump my Tesla, then what?”
Quantra bowed her head and whispered in response.
“Then your career with us is finished...”
The struggling reporter clenched both fists, and felt tears ebbing from her eyes.
“FINISHED? ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU REALLY MEAN THAT?”
Her sponsor and host had run out of patience. There was nothing more to discuss.
“When you show up here again, it had better be in a Chevy, Toyota, or a Dodge. Not that damned evil wagon made by Mr. Musk. Otherwise, keep your distance! It’s all up to you!”
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