c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-25)
Evergreen Estates had never been a peaceful neighborhood for residents, the on-site manager, or local members of law enforcement. Instead, it had remained a focal point for citizen unrest, mayhem, and gossip. Wild theories about the outside world found fertile ground to germinate and grow, on its potholed streets. Pervasive suspicions about nearly everything were common. Underlying themes of paranoia and mistrust accompanied every discussion of literal events. When combined with a general lack of higher education, and a downward mobility in financial terms, this potpourri of damnation festered openly. But because the community had been situated away from any regional population center, and built inside a perimeter of unoccupied, wooded lots, it remained untouched by the natural evolution of more metropolitan environs. County leaders were never pleased to admit that the village of mobile homes still existed in their district. Yet after many efforts over the years, they remained powerless to erase it from their landscape. It was, in the imagery of a 1950s science-fiction movie, a beast that would not die.
At least, that is how I often thought of the junkyard oasis where my exile had continued for 20 years, and more.
With agitation becoming more intense over their acquisition by the Proletariat Property Co-op, Dana Alvarez decided to hold a meeting at the maintenance garage, for those who lived in the rural development. She had been in charge for a relatively short time, but felt empowered after being held over to continue acting as their supervisor, despite the change of ownership. Her fiery, Latina personality was evident, when calling everyone to order. She used a length of PVC drain pipe as her gavel.
A furious racket echoed, as she struck the concrete-block walls to get everyone’s attention. I did my best to avoid the spotlight, by remaining just outside of the access door.
“Ayyyyyyy! You are a loco bunch today! I wanted to get things settled down, but you gonna make that hard for me, right? Look, I don’t need no toro mierda from this crowd. I wanna pass out some papers, they are from the new company in control. Shut up and read them, okay?”
Aimes Hefti, a self-appointed leader of the militia contingent, was unimpressed by her boldness. He wore military attire and carried a sidearm and baton, despite never having officially served in the regular armed forces.
“WHAT THE FUGG, CHICA? Y’ALL ARE NOTHIN’ TO US, JUST ANOTHER BITCH ON THE PARK PAYROLL! I DON’T NEED YER PROPAGANDA. I ALREADY HEARD ABOUT THE COMMUNIST TAKEOVER! THESE TRAITORS CAN KISS MY RED, WHITE, AND BLUE ASS!”
Linn Speck, who had been leader of a failed residential association, stood up without asking to be recognized. He had dressed in a polo shirt and khaki trousers. His overfed belly strained at a pair of canvas suspenders.
“Yeah, I agree with our commander! We’ve already gotten the scoop on this new bunch. What kind of freaks bought this development, anyway? Hippie kids from Cleveland State? LGBT protesters? Maybe BLM or Antifa members? This is an outrage! We were better off being owned directly by the bank! What was Wells Fargo thinking?”
Dana paused for a moment, then stroked her long, black mane.
“I’m gonna say it straight out, don’t be an idiota! Listen to me carefully, when I talk. This place had no buyers lining up. Nobody wanted it, even at a sale price. The California dudes couldn’t give it away. So, they took an alternative offer. These guys are different, yeah that’s true. But their credit rating was solid. That’s all the gente del dinero care about. The big bucks! Now, I don’t get how it works really, but their plan is on the level. It’s like a credit union for teachers and students, and working people, you know? Trabajadores who get their hands dirty, people like you and me, who have regular jobs and empty pockets. People who want to own homes for their familias...”
Darby Stronelli could barely see from her spot by one of the bay doors. But she hopped up and down until being noticed. Her Carhartt jacket reeked of smoke from bonfires fueled with pallet wood and used motor oil.
“All I know is Garter Haines told me this new group is Chinese or Russian, or North Korean, or something like that! He got out of here a long time ago! And he did! Now I wish I had done the same thing! I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust you!”
Grumbling and grousing filled the stale air. Once again, Dana had to pound her pipe on the wall to restore a sense of decorum to the event.
“Don’t be crazy! Who you gonna believe, some old imbécil, or me?”
The cramped workspace became heated, unruly, and loud. But as chaos took hold, there was a commotion outside. My presence had been noticed by the mob. So, I decided to enter the room, thumping along on a pair of disability canes. My pace was slow and measured. I had the shocking appearance of a homeless hermit, shaggy and unwashed, and clad in thrift-store apparel long out of date. A statement of individuality that was unwelcome to some, but amusing to others. Only my Realtree, camouflage hoodie seemed current in style. That fit the neighborhood ethic.
“I get it, everybody wants to give Ms. Alvarez the business about this changeover. But I’d like to point out that she is just a spokesperson. A representative to answer phone calls and process rent checks. She didn’t pick this option. Or make any other decisions. This shithole, to put it bluntly, has always been looked down upon by those in the mainstream. Not to mention cops and journalists, elected officials, and even Pastor Forester up at our Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven! We don’t rate with much of anyone. This is a hideout for those who are down on their luck and strapped for funds. You might say, for those who are long on bad luck and short on hope. This park reminds me of something Charles Bukowski might have written about. Not that you’d ever have heard of him, or bothered reading anything so off the wall. Anyway, from what I can tell, this co-op is a novel idea. Not that I give a rip about their slant on politics, or society, or anything. I just know that they were willing to gamble on this community. Which your orange hero just did, meeting with New York City Mayor Mamdani, in the Oval Office. If it’s like all the other situations, this’ll pass before too long, anyway. Nothing lasts here in the pines. Then we get to do it all over again...”
Aimes frowned, wrinkled his stubby nose, and spat on the dirty floor.
“SHOVE IT UP YER ASS, LINK! Y’ALL ARE NOTHIN’ BUT A WORTHLESS, GAWDAMN BUM! GO BACK HOME AND DRINK YER HILLBILLY HOOCH! I HOPE YA FREEZE ON THAT PORCH!”
I grinned at his insults. They made me feel empowered.
“Thanks for the good words, neighbor. See you in hell...”
Manager Dana gestured with the PVC pipe. At last, she had run out of patience.
“That’s it people! Reunion levantada! I’ll see you all on the first of next month with your checks! This meeting is adjourned! Now, get out of here!”
No comments:
Post a Comment