c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-26)
T. C. Lincoln had survived many surreal experiences after coming to Evergreen Estates as an unwilling, yet desperate resident-in-waiting. He entered the community of mobile homes knowing little about what it was like to exist in the environment of a boxcar on wheels. At first, he felt belittled and humiliated by this shift in his living arrangement. But after the passage of many years, he no longer bowed his head with shame when going to visit relatives and associates in the outside world. He had become accustomed to living as a rural refugee. Someone who had been banished from mainstream society as a result of his own poor decisions, chaotic marriages, and confrontational career escapades.
Failure had been his ticket to enter the rustic oasis. Now, it was the most important component of his personal identity.
After twice being at the point of death, the contrarian hermit had a new perspective on living alone, in a distant neighborhood. One that made him realize his ability to endure was dependent on having resources for rescue close at hand. But he chafed at the idea of being needy. It was not in his nature to seek help or kindness from anyone. He preferred the solitude of being distant from civilization. Artificial guidelines and routines made him more than uncomfortable. They stiffened his resolve to remain defiant, and independent. With the onset of drastic health issues, however, this tendency to go against the grain had been negated out of necessity.
Predictably, he chose to deal with the situation in a similar fashion to everything else. He stayed drunk throughout the day, until fatigue and excess finally found him falling in bed, on his sofa, or tumbling to the carpeted floor in his living room, for the night.
When he canceled appointments with doctors, counselors, and advisers, that brief act of rebellion gave him renewed vigor. But it also intensified the push to have him participate in some sort of supervisory regimen. Eventually, he accepted a face-time conference with his regular physician in Geneva. Dr. Zeltany Mahindra used a P2P app that gave them real-time connectivity. It provided a convenient alternative to traveling north to her office at the hospital, in person. A service that he greatly appreciated.
He had just managed to make coffee in the kitchen, and was still groggy from a restless night on his threadbare mattress. After struggling to his chair, he sat down with a noisy thud of body mass, and took the wireless device in hand.
Her cheerful smile appeared on his cell phone display, with stunning immediacy.
“Link, how are you feeling today? Your report indicates some trauma from falling, and also the cardiac events. Yet I see that you’ve bounced back with resilience. I’d say you must have good genes at work there. Most men of your age group would have been sent to a skilled-care facility after such a frightening turn of events...”
Lincoln frowned while sipping his java. But nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, the bloodline of my family must be strong, I guess. Or maybe hell doesn’t want me so soon? Either way, I’m still here for the moment. If nothing else, that’ll piss off some of the folks here at my park!”
The medical professional grimaced at this note of sarcasm. But maintained her positive attitude.
“I want to ask about your dietary habits. Are you staying socially active, exercising, eating low-fat foods, and abstaining from tobacco and alcohol?”
The shaggy misanthrope chortled until drool had soaked his gray beard.
“EXERCISE? JUST GETTING OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING IS A DAMN WORKOUT! I QUIT CIGARETTES OVER 40 YEARS AGO, SO THERE’S THAT. BUT AS FOR THE REST, WELL, YOU DON’T WANT TO HEAR THE TRUTH! AND I HAVE NEVER BEEN SOCIABLE WITH ANYONE!”
Dr. Mahindra tilted her head to one side, and shrugged.
“Yes, I actually do want to hear the truth...”
Her senior patient took a deep breath before answering, honestly.
“I live on potato chips, cheese sticks, pickled sausages, brined okra, hot peppers, and pork rinds. How’s that for a combination?”
The care advocate shuddered visibly. She had expected some sort of extreme response.
“Link, all of those choices will contribute to problems such as you are experiencing right now...”
Her client nodded once again.
“I wash it down with whiskey and brew. I figure that ought to kill any of the bad stuff, right?”
Mahindra clenched her tiny fists. A fit of bad temper flushed her cheeks bright red.
“Don’t you want to live a long life? It is important that you take my advice to heart. Otherwise, you are going to expire long before you are ready! Doesn’t that make you afraid?”
Lincoln exhaled forcefully, and then leaned forward in his chair.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but no, I’m not afraid of the Grim Reaper. He’d be doing me a favor by swinging his scythe! That’d mean one less day of living in this junkyard by the county line. One less day of hearing stray dogs barking, one less day of hearing fist-fights and police sirens, rusty trucks with bad mufflers, awful music blaring from cheap speakers, and gunfire in the woods. It’d mean one less day of wondering how I screwed up my life enough that a singlewide shack became my home. I would mean one less day of feeling like my brain died years ago, and my body hasn’t figured it out just yet!”
The young physician sighed loudly, and crossed her arms.
“You’re an ornery old man, Townshend Lincoln! But I know that deep down, you really want to keep on living. And I will do my best to make that happen...”
There was a moment of silence as he pondered this candid observation. Then, the weary boozer clapped his hands and yowled.
“Yes, yes, that’s it! I do want to keep going. I actually do! If for no other reason than to be a nuisance for my neighbors. Some of those bastards would be happy to see me gone, so they could empty my storage barn, and strip all the extra wood off of my trailer. But I’m not quite done with living, yet. Not yet, dammit! Not yet!”
Their conversation ended with a pledge to meet at the main office in Geneva, after a decent interval. Temporarily, the minimum requirements for his care had been satisfied. But the reclusive bum knew that sooner or later, he would have to do better.
Unfortunately, that change would not arrive, today.
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