c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-26)
At the St. Theodosius cathedral in Cleveland, Mockbina Petrovich lit a candle, crossed herself, and then knelt to pray. She was alone in the sanctuary, which allowed the Russian immigrant to focus her mind on a dire need that now occupied all of her waking thoughts, and the netherworld of slumber that awaited, when in her bed.
“God, I am to pray here. America is a land that is free, I was told. But for me, not so free at all. I must be free of this gossip. Whoever stole pictures and made me bad. I pray to be free of them. My heart is in pain. I must hide until you fix. Please fix this now. Make my family believe that I am not that ugly person, on computer and phone. Hear my prayer, God. Hear me and bless...”
In any setting, rumors and wild speculation may travel rapidly, from mouth to ear. But at Evergreen Estates, an environment isolated from the mainstream and limited in scope, that sort of gossip found it easy to travel. At a velocity enhanced by doubt and ignorance.
As the young foreigner was offering this sacred petition, a member of her brood appeared in the doorway. Pyotr Sache was barely 19, and looked gangly with oversized spectacles, and spiky hair. Yet his intellect had grown out of proportion to any chronological age. He had been able to intensely study modern technologies, by virtue of coming to the new world as an infant. Now, friends and relatives called him a nerd and an egghead. But his knowledge benefitted everyone.
After gently embracing his older kin, he whispered a positive message of hope.
“Cuz, I know you’re upset about the internet site. But listen to what I discovered. Whoever uploaded that material was sloppy and careless. It isn’t hard to tell how fake those images are. A few individuals might believe they came from your IP address, but it’s a ruse. They used a free VPN to hide their location. But there is context in the posts. The hacker would have to be someone you know personally. Maybe a member of the park Facebook group, for example. It’s not difficult to pilfer photos and manipulate them. The safety protocols are outdated. Things are evolving so quickly, that the network providers can’t keep up!”
Mockbina hugged her skinny relation lovingly. Then, quizzed him about taking her grievance to the authorities.
“What about the court, they help me maybe? A judge give help? I must make my name clean again...”
Pyotr frowned and sighed heavily.
“Our law here in America is slow in dealing with these crimes. They don’t understand everything yet. Artificial Intelligence is very new, for most people. I am not sure you could change this, beyond getting the website to delete the submissions they received. That’d be a start, of course. But it wouldn’t stop people from talking!”
His female cousin had tears in her eyes. Her rotund face sagged with despair.
“Yes, it is talk I am afraid for. They all talk and talk and talk! That is why I leave the trailer. I can live there in the country, no more. If I stay, I must be shamed. I think that this land will show me opportunity. Not make me afraid. This I do not like!”
Her familial connection was strong. But not durable enough to survive the scorn of being branded a sinner.
With a smile, the young geek whispered again.
“It’s all trash, Mocky! They must know it. You shouldn’t worry so much! But I think whoever is guilty here still lives at that community in the pines. They are out in plain sight. I can keep hunting with my cyber tools, and I will, believe me! But the best way to figure things out is to be present in that group. Don’t run away from the challenge. Show them your fighting spirit. Prove to them that you’ve got a backbone! Make them respect our heritage. We work hard to better ourselves. You have worked hard! Don’t run to the shadows like a scared mouse.”
Mockbina stiffened upon hearing the admonition to stay vigilant. Her heart ached to see the old drunk in Geauga County, again. And, the bed of flowers she had been cultivating in anticipation of a bountiful spring season.
“My friend the shaggy fellow, he did not get told goodbye. I must move wery fast on that day. I do not tell him why I go. But he must know, I think. I miss to see him drink on his bench. He make me laugh, I do not laugh now, much. I need to laugh again...”
Pyotr owned a Fiat 500 that was incredibly fuel-efficient. But not roomy enough to hold many possessions.
“I’ll drive you back to the park, Mocky! Go meet with the manager at her office. I’ll bet they’d be glad to have you return as a resident. Housing is too expensive here in the metropolitan area. And you already had a job. I think you can put your life back together. You’ve been through things that were much worse, in the old country!”
His cousin nodded in agreement. She knew that he was making good sense.
“Yes I have done. A lot of heartache. I don’t need heartache, no more. I want to see my friend across the street. I want to tend my garden, yes? I want to sing like the birds do. And like heel-billy Dolly Parton...”
The trek from Lake Erie to eastern Geauga elapsed quickly enough. But by the time they arrived, cloudy skies overhead had darkened the region. The muddy soil was soaked, and messy. Residents of the mobile village were absent from their yards. But at Lot 13, a familiar clattering of whiskey bottles, beer cans, and belching, was audible.
Townshend Carr Lincoln had zipped up his camouflage hoodie, in an attempt to stay dry. He was very inebriated, and tipsy. His vision had degraded with each round of liquor, until the point of functional blindness.
Mockbina rolled down the passenger window, and shouted as they passed the narrow space across from her own.
“Old man! You are red like ripe tomato! I think you have much drink already. This is what I expect. Will you now have a glass with me? I am home, my cousin bring me here. How you say, I miss the dump. This place is a dump! But also, it is home...”
The alcoholic loner pumped his fist in the air. A dribble of brew foam dripped from his gray beard. His pulse began to thump, forcefully.
“YA GOT THAT RIGHT, MA’AM! YES IT FREAKING IS! YES IT FREAKING IS!”
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