c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-25)
In my time at Evergreen Estates, I had seen hundreds of residents come and go for various reasons. Generally, they entered the park due to poverty and hardship, with these same factors eventually causing a hasty exit to avoid the county sheriff, eviction notices, and unpaid bills. Amazingly however, there were a few die-hard inhabitants who actually stayed on the premises for long periods of time. These tough individuals seemed to leave only when health issues sent them to skilled-care facilities, or death came to claim their souls as trophies, for his lair in the afterworld. Across the side yard from my trailer, on its western flank, I had seen nine families at least, over a period of 23 years. Each group manifested characteristics that were common, but with differing inflections. Only Esmeralda Jonovic, who I had nicknamed Miss January, stood out on this roster. Her leadership for a budding militia on the property inspired others to assume the mantle of militarism, after she was gone.
That dark stain had never been erased, even after foreclosures, land sales, FBI investigations, police actions, and attention from local and national media outlets.
But Trina Trelane, affectionately called Miss Poindexter by many in the neighborhood, due to her thick and oversized, black spectacles, bucked this trend of damnation. Once ensconced at the pre-fab dwelling beside my own, she seemed to flourish. Like a flower growing in between broken slabs of concrete. She was short and stout, with a buzzed-off, red brush of hair, that always appeared to be in need of attention. Her eyes were huge, being magnified by a strong optical prescription. And her sense of fashion was predicated on T-shirts with Star Wars characters, or Pokemon themes.
I could not help thinking that she looked and sounded a bit like Velma Dinkley, from the Scooby Doo cartoons.
When frosty days stymied our takeover by the Proletariat Property Co-op, most people in the community were gladdened. They had little interest in being connected with the former student organization, and its legacy of socialist aspirations. Yet my contact at the next lot was excited for getting an opportunity to network with like-minded individuals from New York. She had long been a contrarian voice among conservative disciples. Her rants about corporate excesses, homelessness, equity for racial minorities, trans rights, and LGBT recognition, often sparked lively debate on Facebook groups dedicated to park business.
This leftward leaning put her squarely in opposition to almost everyone else at our rural development. She was thought to be the only proud progressive, anywhere in the junkyard oasis.
After a visit by representatives from the PPC was canceled due to inclement weather, she confronted our company manager, Dana Alvarez, at her office by the maintenance garage. Their chatter could be heard all across the main concourse.
I sat on my porch, with a bottle of Tennessee whiskey in hand. Both women were unwittingly, my entertainment for the moment. I beheld their verbal contest through a haze of inebriation.
Trina pounded furiously on the side door, and began to howl before entering. She made no attempt to be diplomatic or polite.
“Jinkies! You’re just going to let us hang in the wind, Ms. A? that can’t be the right thing to do. People want some information about the new owners. I think if they understood the benefits, some of them might change their minds...”
Dana stubbed out a menthol cigarette, and shuffled paperwork on her desk. She was irritated by having a complaint lodged so early in the morning.
“Ayyyyy, you really gonna get up in my grille, chica? I don’t control those caballeros. I don’t even know them, okay? So far, I still got a job here, that’s all good. I collect the rent checks and hand out leases. You want more than that? Go live somewhere else! Vaya con Dios!”
Miss Poindexter huffed and frowned. The lingering smoke made her cough.
“Look, I think these new shareholders have great ideas. We could finally be treated like human beings, for a change! Putting together a credit union for this development makes a lot of sense! Let me be an advocate! I’ll do my best to make it work! You’ve got to admit that we have all been getting screwed here!”
The professional supervisor was offended. Her lips curled, reflexively.
“Madre mia! You gonna bring them out here, through all this snow? It’s a mess outside, I could barely get here today. I wouldn’t wanna drive so many miles, especially in this shitty weather!”
Trina tweaked her stubby nose and snorted. Her knit gloves were damp and cold.
“I know a little something about computers, how about if we set up a live conference? That guy who’s in charge could chat with us, face-to-face. Over an internet link, you know? You’ve got the hardware right here, I could connect everything in about a half hour...”
Alvarez lit another coffin nail. She was intrigued by the idea of avoiding a formal visit.
“You could do that? Ayyyyy, it might calm these black cuervos down a little. They won’t quit chirping about the takeover. I wanna put duct tape on their beaks!”
Her interloper giggled and nodded at this admission.
“We’d see them, and they could see us, it’s easy to do. Send out notices to all the residents, and I’ll make it happen. I’ve already contacted the PPC head of operations, he sounds like a kewl dude. Not a dumbass like most of the redneck people here...”
The park caretaker cringed at hearing this unflattering description. But it resonated with truth.
“It ain’t been fun trying to get these idiotas to behave. I’d be glad for anything to settle them down. Maybe I might learn something too, I don’t understand this change any more than they do! All I know is they paid Wells Fargo a lotta dinero!”
Their bargain was sealed with a friendly embrace. A quiet calm stilled the air, at last.
By the time this impromptu conference had finished, I was loaded. Literally swimming in a tide of booze. And it had only reached the hour of eleven o’clock, in the morning. My face had flushed red, and burned with a sting of liquor abuse. I staggered toward my kitchen, seeking a wash of cold beer to ease the pounding pulse that swelled my head.
In the near future, there would be a revolution of sorts at Evergreen Estates. But for the moment, things were unchanged. The pace of life would continue, unabated, despite meteorological mayhem, and citizen unrest.
And I would keep drinking, until oblivion finally overwhelmed my consciousness for the day.
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