c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-26)
The first night by Lake Erie was long and uncomfortable for T. C. Lincoln. Over the years spent in his mobile home at Evergreen Estates, the contrarian loner had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a converted camper. The Econoline van boasted a competent list of accessories for vacation jaunts and road adventures, but did not quite fit his needs as a disabled, senior citizen. Still, being liberated from the restrictive environment of his trailer community was a blessing. He had no neighborhood watch patrols to monitor his routine, or question his quirky habits. The natural environment into which he had entered offered seclusion and anonymity. Due to a lack of regular upkeep and attention, the three-acre plot of his estranged associate had become a woodland preserve, once again. Full of wildlife, and shrouded in mystery.
Janis Mays, his hippie companion, had landed at a skilled-care facility in Ashtabula, because of health complications. She survived a heart attack and three strokes, but could not gather the strength to resume her favored lifestyle by the water. That downgrade in ability stifled her independence, with the property and century home being left vacant and forgotten. Yet for him, it represented rescue and revival. Despite being expelled from his boxcar hovel, he could hide in comfort among the tall trees and thickets of brush.
The wandering drunk accepted his new role as a caretaker with much gratitude. But after only a few days at the abandoned site, he realized that sitting outside, with an adult beverage, was far less entertaining. Now, there was no parade of fellow residents in their rusty cars and trucks passing by, as he lingered in a fog of inebriation. No howling of stray animals, or the combative chatter of marital disputes in progress. No buzzing of power tools, no radios reverberating with rural forms of music, no bark of firearms being discharged for fun. He rested on a repurposed shipping crate, in silent repose. Listening to the gentle sounds of feral creatures who were drawn to the wild terrain.
Bourbon whiskey blurred his vision, and sapped his energy. He slouched on the makeshift seat, feeling groggy. His eyes shut slowly, in anticipation of unconsciousness. And then, a notification tone sounded from his hoodie pocket.
He had all but forgotten about his cellular device. But upon taking the plastic unit in hand, he saw a text message from Darby Stronelli, who had lived on his eastern flank.
“Hey buddy, where the hell did you go? Linn has been over here every day, snooping around to see if I know anything about what happened to your old ass after the trailer fire. But I didn’t tell him anything. And I didn’t! He’s been fighting with his wife constantly, I think she might have even moved out. Is that cray cray, or what?”
Lincoln felt a knot form in his stomach. He had little desire to revisit the drama of his former living space, and offered no response.
A long pause elapsed as he took a cold brew from his cooler. Finally, another message popped up on his phone screen.
“C’MON DICKHEAD, SAY SOMETHING! I JUST WANT TO KNOW THAT YOU’RE OKAY! THE PARK LADY CAME BY YESTERDAY, SHE WONDERED IF I HAD HEARD RUMORS THAT YOUR SHACK WAS BURNED DOWN ON PURPOSE. I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THAT, AND WOULDN’T TELL HER ANYWAY. I DON’T TRUST THAT BITCH!”
The reclusive hermit clutched at his belly. He had hoped to be distant enough for some measure of isolation from the outside world. Yet it seemed that his separation would be short-lived in duration. With his mood darkening, he turned off the wireless link. Another swig of liquor sent him tumbling from his improvised perch, to the ground.
Snoring in the grass, he slipped into a dream state. His erstwhile, Bohemian counterpart emerged from the shadows, to plead for cooperation with ensuring that her land and dwelling would be safe.
“Link, ya gotta keep yer eyes on my place! I’m stuck in this gawdamn ward until everything gets healed. These doctors are a pain in the butt! They treat me like a kid, like Granny did when I was growing up. I hate that shit! But they won’t let me go...”
In reality, he hadn’t heard from the rowdy female in more than a year. But her persona remained indelibly etched in his memory. They had been connected for fifteen years, at least.
Slobbering and sniffling while still lost in oblivion, he reached out to touch her face.
“You’re a friend I could never explain to anyone. Not pretty, or kind, or even fun to know. Generally, someone that always keeps me on my toes in any social situations. I sometimes think that it would be better if we never saw each other again. But here I am, back on your doorstep. We just can’t seem to stay away from each other. It’s like I need you, and you need me. How that happened, I will never know!”
His unconventional partner cackled gleefully at this confession. It gave her a sense of empowerment.
“OF COURSE YOU NEED ME, BECAUSE I AM FREAKING AWESOME! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, BEFORE THAT GETS THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL?”
As he wallowed helplessly in the void, there was a nibble at crumbs in his gray beard. A raccoon had approached him from the property perimeter. This tickle awakened him abruptly, from the realm of imagination. He sat up and scratched his facial hair, to clear the debris.
“Hey! Don’t leave yet! It was good to see you again! It was really, really good!”
His face burned in the glare of a midday sun. Bird waste dripped from the side mirror of his Ford van. A breeze toyed with weeds and shrubs that surrounded the empty house.
For the first time, Lincoln realized that he was now completely alone. A condition that he once found appealing to consider. But presently, made him wonder about his own ability to thrive without being part of a greater continuum. He had become invisible, to others and to himself. A useless and hollow vessel, without any purpose in existing. Except as a component of a paradigm he could not comprehend, in mind or spirit.
The Lake Erie venue offered him a chance to catch his breath, and regroup. For the moment, that was enough. Anything more would have to wait for another day, and a hopeful petition for understanding, from a higher power.
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