c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-25)
Lizzie Lavender was an oddball at Evergreen Estates. An outlier among outcasts. She lived a vegan lifestyle amid brutish residents, who boasted about roasting dead animals on their propane grills. Her femme appearance was a veneer of art, carefully crafted to cover a soul with trans inclinations. Though family members who persisted in dead-naming her still used a reference of Jorgan, when interacting personally. She was quite possibly, the only registered Democrat in their trailer community. When the death of her maternal grandmother meant taking over the mobile home as a spot to live, full-time, she accepted the challenge with courage. But after an entire year on the premises, her spirit was flagging.
Staying anonymous had let her survive. But it was a lonely condition in which to exist.
Her volunteer job at a local branch of the Cleveland Food Bank brought satisfaction. She felt meaningful while living as a citizen in the rural district. And work for Queer Conundrum, an alternative publication headquartered by Lake Erie, kept her focused on goals of self-awareness and empowerment. Yet the irony of having driven a Tesla, in the conservative environment of Geauga County, had suddenly taken an unexpected turn. Her EV had been a thorn in the side, originally. Something shunned and viewed with suspicion. It made her long, daily trek to the metropolitan area difficult, and daunting. But now, the paradigm had been reversed. For the first time, neighbors at her junkyard oasis were behind the wheel of similar vehicles, by choice. And when at the QC offices, she had to take care not to fall victim to vandals or protesters.
This shift in perceptions had her struggling to keep up, intellectually.
Lizzie had few friends in the distant village of mobile homes. She was on good terms with Maylene Jefka, an octogenarian matron who held the respect of every other inhabitant. The young, counterculture activist guessed that this might have been because the old woman had long ago passed a point of judging others. Or maybe, her eyesight was simply too poor to reveal visual clues that might have indicated a difference in style and appearance from cisgender women in the development. She also seemed to interact positively with Dana Alvarez, the property manager. Something that made her stay easier to accept.
As a force of habit, she avoided speaking out loud, to conceal her husky, affectation of a feminine voice.
After work at the newspaper cooperative, on a Friday, she decided to take a drive along the lakeshore, before heading back to her prefab home base. But upon reaching the door of her Tesla Model 3, an angry mob surrounded the vehicle. Student protesters from the nearby university were agitated to see the hated brand in a familiar parking area. Water bottles and debris began to rain down forcefully.
“NO MORE SWASTICARS! ELON THE FOOL WON’T GET YOU FAR! GO TO HELL, ADOLF MUSK! YOU KISSED TRUMP’S ASS AND LOST OUR TRUST!”
Lizzie recognized one of the group as a member of the QC staff. A skinny, acne-faced kid who had recently joined their team, after moving to Ohio from an unfriendly part of Kentucky.
“Hey Beau, it’s me, man! Your editorial assistant! What gives with the shit shower? I thought we were pen pals, so to speak. Journalists on a spiritual journey...”
Beauregard Bloch sneered and wiped snot from his stubby nose. He had a blonde crop of spiky hair, with the sides of his head shaved bald.
“You’re the one driving a Tesla? Oh my, so sorry sister! At first, I figured maybe you were going to spray-paint this bitchwagon!”
The staff writer and volunteer adjusted her breastforms, and took a deep breath.
“You’ve been here for what, six or eight weeks? And never noticed my car before?”
Her junior associate bit his bottom lip, and sighed.
“There’s a war going on, honey! Don’t you know? These ugly, electric slugs are being set on fire, and hit with sledgehammers! It’s crunch time, ha ha! Elon made his choice, now we’re making ours! It’s a middle finger to the Orange Man, and to him! They can both eat a bag of dicks!”
Lizzie stomped her combat boots and shrieked.
“You don’t know how much I hate Herr Cheeto? C’mon boy, I’d have thought it was very obvious! But tearing up my car won’t change anything. Smashing windows at dealerships is... well... a poor way to get your point across!”
Beau raised an eyebrow, and huffed. For the first time, he wondered if moving to the Buckeye State had been a wise choice.
“You know how I got treated by the hillbillies at home? I was harassed by bigots and chased by cowboys with long rifles and shotguns. They don’t have any patience for someone who runs outside of their churchy guardrails. Up here by the lake, I figured it was going to be different. Yet here you are, with a Swasticar! Can I depend on you, sis? Can I believe in anyone at this paper?”
The LGBT advocate slumped in her driver’s seat, as most of the agitators began to disperse.
“I’m invisible in my trailer park, by choice. You know? But here, I thought it was different. Everybody knows where I stand! Everybody knows what I believe!”
Her keyboard cohort bowed his head and whistled.
“Maybe we would, if you got rid of that fucking Hitler car!”
The road east, to Thompson Township, was nearly empty as she headed back to her slab-sided residence in the pines. Most of the workforce had already escaped to enjoy a weekend of recreation. At Evergreen Estates, the atmosphere was surprisingly mellow. Faint echoes of Country Music and horseshoes being played, drifted on the breeze. The final turn toward Lot 12 passed with a crunching of loose gravel over the concrete apron. Then, silence took hold.
Lizzie exited her Model 3 to realize that someone across the yard was drinking on their outside porch. A shaggy, sweaty fellow with a Santa Claus profile, and a bottle of bourbon in his right hand. She had never encountered the contrarian loner, despite being in the park for a dozen months.
“Hello! I don’t think we’ve met before. I volunteer up at the food bank, and work in Cleveland, full-time. So, maybe that’s not unusual. But it’s good to see someone enjoying a warm evening in April...”
Townshend Carr Lincoln was very drunk. Yet the deep timbre of his neighbor’s voice still resonated. He noted that she was unusually tall and leggy, with broad shoulders. Her garment seemed to be a dress fashioned from hemp stock, colored in rainbow hues. With black, fishnet tights, underneath. None of these details caused any concern, because he had consumed half the container of bourbon, already. He was content to languish in a haze of high-proof liquor.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am! Just so you know, I’m an asshole! Ask around, it’ll be confirmed! Anyway, have a nice day!”
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