c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-26)
For many of the residents at Evergreen Estates, having T. C. Lincoln removed from their community was an event that passed without notice. A random happening that carried little importance. For those who habitually trekked up and down his street in the trailer community, it meant seeing an empty lot while passing on their way to work duties or other responsibilities. Though the sight of refuse and ashes heaped on that concrete slab did present a puzzling display, among the other manufactured homes that remained. Yet within a limited number of days, there was a visible change at the site. Inexplicably, a makeshift memorial appeared, with crosses, artificial flowers, and various graphic illustrations of the bearded misanthrope. Though placed anonymously on the ruins of his boxcar hovel, these remembrances seemed to suggest that at least a few of the inhabitants missed their unconventional cohort in some sense.
Apparently, a few must have believed that the drunken loner had perished in his humble dwelling. That falsehood persisted, despite being denied by property manager Dana Alvarez.
But for Linn Speck, the rotund organizer and failed association leader, having his opponent expelled from the park under any circumstances was worth celebrating. At first, he had invited fellow leaseholders and renters to gather in his side yard, by a pit made of cinder blocks, for an improvised campfire and drinking contest. Aimes Hefti, the militia chieftain, was eager to visit this party, along with members of his amateur brigade. Darby Stronelli, who always stayed on the fence in between factions and enemies, came over to swig cold brews and interact with those in attendance. But otherwise, only a small portion of the local population chose to participate.
Their cheering echoed in the flickering light, long after nightfall.
“NA NA NA NA! NA NA NA NA! LINK IS GONE! GOODBYE!”
This cheerful mood lasted until sunrise. By then, daylight settled on the mysterious tributes left at Lot 13. And the balding figure on their corner yawned from his narrow doorway, while enjoying fresh air, and a first cup of coffee. A necessary step taken to ease his hangover.
With irritation, he called out to his wife who was in the kitchen, making breakfast.
“Haki, come here! What the hell is that I see, up our lane? Somebody actually wanted to remember that booze hound who lost his shack? I don’t get it! Nobody liked that stupid old hermit! He was dirty and cranky, and always looking like a mess, out on his porch!”
His spouse had an apron tied over her pink nightgown. And her face had turned a ruddy shade of crimson. Yet she declined to confess any knowledge of the crude memorial.
“Well now, someone must have cared about that poor man, after all. I am impressed!”
Linn growled until his multiple chins tightened with rage.
“I call bullshit! He didn’t have a friend in this development! None of us ever wanted him here! I’m not hesitant to say that having that piece of trash gone is a real blessing! I hope we never see him again!”
His wife disagreed. But kept her protest quiet enough that it was barely audible.
“Say what you want, but he was a human being, like any of us. He deserved to live here in peace. Not to be run out like a frightened rat!”
Upon finishing his hot beverage, the pudgy instigator decided to take a walk up their patchwork boulevard, for a closer look. But as he neared the flowers and portraits, a tingle of need resonated in his bladder. Feeling brave in the moment, he turned toward the heap of charred rubbish, and opened the fly of his pajama pants.
A golden stream splashed over the pile. Its uninhibited flow was heightened by a mood of victory. He took great joy in staining the concrete with his own, natural effluent.
“THAT’S ALL FOR YOU, LINK! YOU WERE ONE CRUSTY SON-OF-A-BITCH! BUT NOW, THAT NONSENCIAL CRAP IS DONE! DONE, DONE, DONE! YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO BOTHER US ANYMORE! YOU ARE OUTTA HERE FOR GOOD!”
Haki felt a surge of nausea in her stomach, while witnessing this miscreant act. She turned away, reflexively, while shielding her eyes. Regret made her double over, in pain. She whispered to herself while standing alone in the driveway.
“How did I ever marry a man like him? What was I thinking? I must have been out of my mind!”
A final, rebellious kick sent artifacts scattering across the vacant slab. Linn had no patience for anyone who would express fondness for the alcoholic bum. He had been validated by the speedy exit of his enemy, after seeing the singlewide trailer succumb to the overwhelming might of an arsonist’s intent. A message had been delivered, not just to one individual, but also to anyone else who might consider embracing those disgusting habits and traditions. Such people were not welcome in their rural village. Unity of philosophy and purpose had made them strong. Anything less would only put that resilient spirit into jeopardy.
As the portly individual returned to his residence on the corner, Maylene Jefka appeared on her front steps. The widowed matron was known by everyone at Evergreen Estates. And respected as a teacher at Sunday School on the township square.
She gazed tearfully at the remnants of their tribute to the contrarian outcast who was no longer a member of the group. Then, folded her hands in prayer.
“Lord, forgive that man for what he did in anger. Let him understand the error of his ways, and seek redemption. But most of all, look after our friend who used to live across the street. Comfort him as he searches for a new home, and a place to feel safe again. Be with him, as you are with all of your children. Do not let him feel alone. Amen!”
Near the shore of Lake Erie, Lincoln parked his custom van at an unoccupied parcel of land owned by Janis Mays, his erstwhile companion from a different era. The wooded acreage had been abandoned for an extended period, with no maintenance or upkeep. Amenities were non-existent. He would have no electricity, running water, or creature comforts. But the boxy vehicle would suffice to offer him a measure of security, until some better venue for living could be obtained.
For the first time in recent memory, he was a free man. Liberated, and unfettered by the opinions of others. That alone made every sacrifice he had endured worthwhile.
