Nobody Reads This Page – “Cybertruck”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-25)

 

 

In the Icehouse home office, ongoing projects are always being crafted at my desk. It is part of a newspaper discipline that has remained even after leaving that particular field of journalistic creativity. A rule embedded in my consciousness is that to be considered a writer means being constantly active. One cannot sit on the sidelines and think themselves to be part of the continuum. Thus, I strive to crank out material whenever possible. The subject matter may vary widely, but my intent is always the same. To speak, and be heard. To record thoughts for those that might want to give them a review at a later date.

 

Most recently, I finished the first part of a ‘twofer’ volume, a satire centered around the idea that residents of my fictional, trailer community called Evergreen Estates, joined together in an effort to purchase editions of the Tesla Cybertruck. Something done to support their MAGA hero in the White House, and his DOGE champion, Elon Musk.

 

After completing my project-in-print, I decided to relax on the front porch with a cold brew. A familiar act during leisure hours. With the flow of beverage alcohol established, I became content to sit and watch the progression of neighborhood traffic. Typically, this parade of fellow residents includes pedestrians walking between homes or to the mailboxes. Plus, rusty cars and other rigs from the yonder days of American manufacturing history, and a few motorcycles. But upon downing four or five rounds of Genesee lager, and turning pleasantly numb to my environment, I suddenly spied a passing sight that made me jump from my seat, and exclaim with disbelief.

 

An actual Tesla truck, glistening in silver metal, rolled past the end of my gravel driveway.

 

The sight of this vehicle was stunning for a few reasons. Primarily because they are by no means common on local roadways, and are too expensive for residents in my park. But this connection of reality and imagination tickled my senses. It represented a blurring of lines between my life as a disabled loner, and the imaginary worlds created in stories and books written while on this artistic journey.

 

A quick peek at Yahoo! Finance showed that Tesla sold 38,965 of these beasts during 2024, the first full year of production. The Ford F-Series sold 765,649 units during that same time period. So, while the angular workhorses are far less common than other choices in the marketplace, at least they do have a respectable footprint. Though with the controversy surrounding ownership of cars bearing that nameplate, the future seems less than certain.

 

In personal terms, I was moved to think beyond the relevance of this sighting, to other examples of how wordsmithing projects had become intertwined with real events. A few years ago, after the January 6^th insurrection in Washington, I penned a volume that described the activities of an underground militia leader, an independent woman who also produced adult videos and content. This surreal endeavor began as a one-off book, never intended to go beyond the initial offering. My main character chose to commit suicide at the end, rather than being taken prisoner by FBI agents. It was something written to channel ideas and real-time tidbits that had no other place to land, at my desk.

 

That seed of useful prose eventually grew into a string of published works, now over a dozen in number.

 

Afterward, I found myself sometimes peering from the vantage point of my front porch, to the mobile home next door, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of this fictional character or her successors. I would ponder the narrow gap between what had been scribbled impulsively, and the genuine experience of living in my rural neighborhood. Indeed, many actual tales were woven into the tapestry of my books. I soon found that using factual evidence to craft a fabricated timeline was very productive.

 

But the yield was more than simply putting words on paper. It caused my own internal gyroscope to flutter a bit, while attempting to reset itself.

 

While I never completely lost sight of the path ahead, it did bring an expanded view of the conscious world. In a sense, these made-up personalities, and their foibles, were real enough to behold on their own merit. Occasionally, I found that versions of these people appeared in my neighborhood. Or that a portrayal in one of my volumes had been spot-on, when seeing attitudes and behaviors reflected by those who shared my home space.

 

The COVID pandemic intensified this muddying of the waters, as I found myself enjoying an excess of bourbon whiskey, while held in place by medical guidelines and government edicts. I thought for a time, that my life had become an echo of a protagonist in my series. Someone who was reclusive, combative, and often drunk.

 

Happily, that episode passed over the months and years of an official lockdown.

 

Seeing the Tesla Cybertruck brought back my sense of déjà vu, however. Perhaps more accurately, it once again had me pondering that drawing artificial lines between the dimensions could be difficult, and even perilous. Perhaps, what I had written was a fantasy, to be taken as such. Or, maybe it was a look through the mirror, into another world behind its reflection.

 

Eventually, I was unsure of which side begat the other.

 

My 15-chapter analysis of how a creative financing plan made the Tesla vehicles available at Evergreen Estates was stitched together out of whole cloth. Not based on any genuine revelation or reality. Yet while sipping my New York brew, and watching the Cybertruck pass with its naked side-panels glistening in the sunlight, I began to think that perhaps, my daydream had been something more. A parting of the veil? A soothsayer’s secret, said out loud? A glimmer in a fortune teller’s crystal ball?

 

I could not move quickly enough to photograph the rig, when it visited. Which would have been helpful in providing proof of what I had witnessed. But in my mind’s eye, I had already seen the quirky conveyance, before.

 

Mr. Musk is a noted figure for many reasons, and has amassed a sum of wealth nearly incomprehensible to someone living on my humble, mortal plane. But for one, brief instant in the month of May, our universes intersected.

 

I will be forever grateful for that accident of fate.