Nobody Reads This Page – “Poetic Pause”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

In the Icehouse home office, I have developed a ritual of writing some sort of creative document almost every day. This routine is interrupted only when there are special chores to accomplish, such as doctor visits, shopping excursions, or other projects. I liken it to being an athlete, where constant training and conditioning are needed to maintain abilities. Once, I read an author quote that urged professional wordsmiths to jot down ideas or fragments or stories, regularly. Because, he said, “It isn’t possible to write bad material all the time.” While I reckon that this appraisal is somewhat suspect as a genuine truth, I still follow his directive. Being in motion is easier when one always stays in motion.

 

Sometimes, I don’t have a tale to tell when sitting at my keyboard. So, I turn to the device of poetry as a useful conduit for expression. Simple word association or rhyming can weave together subconscious thoughts into a tapestry of art. Though I have a personal preference for making sure that my compositions have a cadence and rhythm, much like a piece of music. Often, I imagine some kind of basic melody in my head, while clicking keys. This trick helps me find a sort of natural discipline. Like having a metronome sitting on my desk.

 

A recent example appeared as I was pondering my ‘do list’ on a Saturday afternoon. With no particular direction in mind, I began to fill an empty Word document with lines of verse. What sprang from this exercise was purely experimental. A bit like ‘First Impressions’ reviews I had delivered in the past, for my guitarist cohort, Davie Allan. Something I had learned from a fellow fan named Boobie Auten, a prose wizard I met through a group on the internet dedicated to those who enjoyed the California plectrum ace’s music.

 

I let the inspiration flow freely while imagining notes being plucked on a fretboard:

 

“Up Early”

 

Up too early, joints aching and my mind wracked with doubt

A blitz of mind games, I’m going to sit this one out

Don’t need to run

Something in my past still resonates like a rock thrown from the curb

A stone strike that leaves me restless over things undeserved

No shadow from the sun

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Limping from one point to another, still blazing motion

Depending on medicinal compounds concocting a special potion

That’s the trick

Loosely pondering that I might have died a dozen-odd years ago

But instead, I was drafted to be a backup for this carnival show

It happened too quick

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Deep in my gut I feel the hardship of living as a chump

In a shack by the property line of a municipal dump

I didn’t fit in

I used to get teased and prodded until I lost my temper as a kid

Then the classroom would burst into laughter, when I popped my lid

It even made the teacher grin

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Nobody thought about the fact that a walking target might grow

Into a mature man, still looking out through a dirty window

They didn’t think far ahead

But after sixty years, the bruises still haven’t healed

There’s still a tire track on my back from a bicycle wheel

When I tasted pavement with dread

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Not looking for pity, don’t mistake this rapid confession

It’s more like a psychologist conducting a counseling session

Eyes closed as I recall

If I said these hard things out loud you might be afraid

So, I write them instead on a yellowed notebook page

And leave it in a garbage can down the hall

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

Cracking across my skin like a razor strop, smooth and stinging

That’s what it feels like to revisit the cadence of a telephone ringing

When I had fallen down drunk

For that moment when the chemicals flooded my bloodstream

I actually passed over into REM sleep and perchance, to dream

Delivered from this funk

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

No excuses please, I don’t care why you made the choice

To dribble and laugh when I sat there with my broken toys

That moment is gone

Yes, I can still think about how it made me feel to be dirty and ditched

A lonely loser, a downtrodden son-of-a-bitch

But I’ve moved along

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

As I put down my pen, complete is the last cycle of a summer day

And I realize with regret that the season won’t soon return this way

But that’s not something I can fix

Better is a trip through the surface of a looking glass

Into a world on the other side, where timeless topics come to pass

And devils get their kicks

Did you think I didn’t notice

The intent of your purpose

Hey, hey, that’s not a worry to me right now

 

After finishing this poem, I had to sit silently for a moment to comprehend the yield from a reader’s perspective. Spoken aloud, even sung acapella, it resonated with the coffeehouse vibe I had been seeking. Perhaps like a jam session with the Velvet Underground, long after midnight, at a smoky, seedy New York club.

 

There were no such pretentions at work in my own home, of course. Nothing grand or notable about living in a rural community of mobile homes. Yet I was satisfied to be busy with the craft. Still connected and in service. Especially since retiring in 2016, I feel that working at my computer is ‘earning my keep.’ When I have finished brainstorming for the day, then I can relax and drink and socialize with neighbors in my blue-collar oasis.

 

Anything less would be unthinkable. A sin for which no absolution could be given.

 

 

Nothing To See Here – “Storm Roulette”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Wednesday at the Ice household was typical for summer in Ohio. As the day began, I watched local news reports about storms that would be crossing the area. Then, busied myself with household chores and eventually, landed at my desk in the home office. I finished the last of a five-part series which combined science-fiction and my own streak of tales centered on trailer park living, in a rural setting. A combination of genres that I had never imagined before. Once these things were accomplished, my thirst for cool refreshment took hold. Something that has often seemed to overwhelm other, more studious impulses. But before that could happen, I fell asleep in my roller chair.

 

The afternoon grew uncharacteristically dark as I napped.

 

Raging meteorological conditions woke me, some time later. My porch and wooden bench were soaked, and sopping wet.  So, I sat with the front door ajar, waiting for this wild moment to pass. A notification popped up on my cellular device, warning of possible tornado activity. And I stiffened a bit, while pondering that an explosion of shattered glass from the storm door might invade my safe space. Yet I had drifted into an alcoholic funk. Instead of taking action to save myself, I sat thinking of how to best describe such a calamity with creative prose. Had a twister of some sort ripped through my longbox oasis, this delay would have precipitated a woeful turn of events. Yet the anguish born of Mother Nature’s fury began to subside, before I could boost my arthritic body out of the side chair.

 

While remnants of the storm drizzled and dripped, I finally took a seat outside.

 

Social networking on a mass scale might be better accomplished through marvels of technology. But in personal terms, I use the convenient vantage point of my inset cubicle outdoors, to connect with fellow residents of our blue-collar community. Many citizens wave from their vehicles while passing. Others call out a greeting, or honk their automobile horns. Some who are on foot pause for a brief interlude of lively conversation. The method employed doesn’t matter much. More important is being present in the continuum.

 

If neighbors see me in this familiar spot, then they know I am well and safe. For a reclusive poet and writer, that alone is enough.

 

I had been willfully exposed to the atmospheric rawness for long enough that my senses were turning numb. Several empty beverage cans were lined up on top of my stove, in the kitchen. Then, a clatter of paws came rumbling up the access ramp. A construction meant to facilitate easy travel between my front entrance, and the ground level, despite being physically impaired.

 

Normally, I get visits from a female, Black Lab mix who lives next door. A canine pal who once played with my own mutt, before he passed away a couple of years ago. But some chance opportunity had also allowed her adopted sister to join in making an escape. This yellowish, Australian Cattle-Hound hybrid was considerably larger and more boisterous. Yet still very friendly. The pair yipped and yapped and danced around at my feet. I was overwhelmed by their horseplay. And very content to receive their doggie kisses and nudges.

 

Dagan Stroud, a colorful character who lives on my eastern flank, appeared as I was doling out treats to these puppy visitors, inside. She watched with curiosity as both pooches lined up for their snacks. Once the joyous ritual of jumping and nipping and gulping had been completed, she steered them back toward home. I sat by myself for a moment, with another drink, and smiled over the unexpected interaction. Then, I heard the familiar sound of a diesel rig rumbling up the rustic boulevard. An indication that another fellow who had once lived on the street must have stopped by for a chat, with his slant-back wrecker. A useful truck that brought him a steady stream of retirement income.

 

Garter Haines had been out of the neighborhood for several years. Yet still stayed bonded to our humble patch of Buckeye dirt, both emotionally and spiritually.

 

Being handicapped, and able to walk for long distances only with the aid of two canes for support, I rarely venture far from my trailer. But as the weather lost its threatening edge, I began to feel mellow inside. And strangely willing to shuck my reputation as a hermit, temporarily.

 

Inexplicably, I felt limber and ambitious!

 

Eyebrows raised as I stumbled and staggered around the corner of my mobile home, and across the empty lot, next door. Dagan and Garter were both relaxing with bottles of Bud Light. A virtual communion wine in our working-class community. I had pocketed a can of Yuengling Premium, for my own refreshment. But when I fell comfortably onto what looked to be a redneck throne fashioned out of pallet timbers, the improvised seat creaked and cracked. Outrigger rails on each side pulled apart. Had I been more sober, this might have aroused a sense of embarrassment. But I didn’t flinch.

 

Dagan teased me with mock outrage.

 

“Damn, you come over here for the first time in years, and break my shit?”

 

She found a cordless drill and tinkered with the loose pieces, until the seat had been professionally reassembled. I should have been more cautious with the power tool groaning and grinding near my fingers, yet barely comprehended her intent. My beer vanished in what tasted like a single gulp.

 

Garter had cut his hair and shaved off his gray goatee. So, he looked markedly different than when we had last met, in the parking lot of a village store in Rock Creek. But his humor and good nature continued to shine.

 

“Get this man another round! He needs more Ying! Go get it!”

 

Dagan shrugged and agreed to shuttle containers from my refrigerator, despite the distance. Her spunk and mobility were impressive, far superior to my own.

 

“I better get two cans at least. Right?”

 

Of course, her assessment was correct. My thirst showed no signs of diminishing.

 

We sat reliving old memories, and catching up on park gossip, late into the evening. Eventually, my spiky-haired neighbor started a fire in her barrel. What smoldered as a heap of cardboard quickly turned to waste boards and scraps blazing brightly. Yet the flames yielded a pall of smoke that fouled the air. I could barely see across the concrete slab. My eyes watered and stung, from the acrid display.

 

When I arrived home, long after dark, my longish hair and clothes were reeking. I carried the pungent aroma of a firefighter, or someone occupied with running a smokehouse. Yet my status as a solo inhabitant in the park meant that no one was offended. I ate a bowl of macaroni & cheese to soothe my empty stomach. Both legs were wobbly and uncooperative after hiking through the grass. Yet I had reconnected as a member of our herd. That sacrifice made everything else go pale by comparison.

 

A news story on WJW-8 described how more than 300,000 customers had lost power due to the tantrum of our natural mater. Even my sister and brother had been affected, in nearby Hambden Township. This resonated as an incredible fact when considering that quite often, our spot in the woods had been struck with outages and difficulties. Somehow, this time, we had spun the celestial Roulette Wheel, and come up a winner. Our supply of voltage had surged and flickered, but stayed active in the balance.

 

I went to sleep in my clothes, something that had become the norm in retirement years. My belly was full, at last. And my thirst had been satisfied.

 

In my bedtime prayers, I gave thanks to D.G. Yuengling and Son.

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes - “Return Mission, Part Five”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Commander Hornell Block sat at a conference table on the Morningstar III, with an expression of obvious fatigue on his face. He was dressed in the typical garb of a Space Force officer, looking both stylish and minimalist at the same time. The blue color of his uniform, with gold swatches over the left shoulder, indicated his position of importance on the ship.

 

Lt. Kelly Strafe was at his side. Her duties as a member of the crew were clear. She had been assigned to the vessel when it last launched from an orbital dock, which circled Mars in a giant loop. But after exploring their old homeworld, and the village of mobile homes known as Evergreen Estates, her perspective had changed. Now, she had first-hand knowledge of what life was like for those born and raised on Planet Earth, a century before.

 

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

 

Block huffed a bit at her request. She was young and ambitious, and perky. He lusted a bit over her strong, striking appearance, which bordered on that of a Viking princess. Though such an emotion was something that he would never utter publicly.

 

“What’s on your mind? Continuing the surface exploration, perhaps?”

 

The ranked officer shook her head in disagreement.

 

“I see the chaotic weather conditions on our monitors. We made the right decision to return here, at least for now. But there’s something more important to consider. Have you spoken with Dr. Baines regarding his findings from our stay in the northeastern quadrant of what used to be called Ohio?”

 

The commander covered his eyes and winced as if in pain.

 

“He’s not one of us, Kelly. That man lives on a university stipend. He’s a glorified schoolteacher. They have their own priorities, I respect them, and him. But we differ in purpose...”

 

Strafe was puzzled by his comment.

 

“We’re all explorers at heart, isn’t that our core mission? To seek out new vistas and increase our understanding?”

 

Block smiled and nodded.

 

“Of course. It’s just like watching those old Star Trek episodes, from the 20^th Century. They had that wanderlust written into every storyline...”

 

His subordinate flipped her ponytail defiantly.

 

“So then, we look for truth in the cosmos, right? Science is about learning, the course curriculum changes as we know more. Every day, we are students in the galactic classroom. Therefore, why shouldn’t we embrace a schoolteacher at work?”

 

The Morningstar III commander did not get her inference. He sighed and leaned forward on the conference table.

 

“What’s your point, Kelly? You’ve lost me...”

 

She looked directly into his eyes, and toughened her tone.

 

“Truth matters. Even uncomfortable truth. Those journals reveal that the uprising wasn’t universally supported by residents of Evergreen Estates. Townshend Lincoln and a few others tried to warn their neighbors about an impending crackdown. We’ve always been taught that extremists caused the calamity of that age. But his scribblings document something more complex. Interventions by state and federal authorities. Targeted imprisonment of suspects, without any legitimate charges or convictions. Rumors and innuendo spreading through their social networks. Chaos as some in the ranks began to desert their masters. He provides a different take on how the mass migration to Mars began.”

 

Block choked on his own breath. He could not believe her bold assessment.

 

“You are saying things that are seditious, Lieutenant Strafe! Be careful, be very careful. I caution you that associating yourself with that kind of misinformation could be viewed as treason for an officer in modern times...”

 

The young woman refused to let fear make her retreat.

 

“Dr. Baines has the journals in his possession. They are here onboard our vessel, but concealed in a safe place. I think that he suspected you might be afraid of him revealing his evidence!”

 

The ship commander hammered his fist on a corner of the tabletop. His patience had evaporated.

 

“JUDSON BAINES WILL BE PUT IN THE BRIG! DOES THAT SATISFY YOUR NEED TO SPEAK FREELY? TAKE CARE THAT YOU DON’T JOIN HIM ON THIS TUMBLE FROM GRACE!”

 

Strafe felt her mouth go completely dry. Her face burned with resentment.

 

“Is that a threat, Hornell?”

 

His eyes grew wide from her candid approach. He was not used to being addressed informally by anyone from their crew, face-to-face.

 

“Okay Kelly, that’s how you want it? We’ve been friends for years, professional friends. I respect how hard you worked to rise in this organization. It isn’t easy, not for anyone. Earther, or landed alien. We’ve been changed by moving out to the stars. Living on other worlds is a privilege, one I take seriously. Our survival depends on cooperation and shared sacrifice. Fighting each other, as our ancestors did on that big piece of stone, below, is out of the question. Mankind has evolved from that sort of foolish behavior. Don’t send us back into the dark ages...”

 

His lieutenant smirked a bit, and pouted her lips.

 

“Obedience, that’s it, right? Go along to get along. That’s the oldest saying in our military. March to your orders! Salute the ones in charge! I’ve always lived that way. From the time I was a little girl, watching my parents follow the Martian paradigm. They helped build New Cleveland into a shining metropolis that others around the solar system envy. But now, I’m telling you that our scientist companion is more than a stowaway. He’s had a chance to dig through the ruins of our birthplace. That’s something few of us will ever have. Or even want! His courage is remarkable, much more than yours or mine. If he publishes his findings in academic journals, some will question our loyalty. Maybe you can hide under layers of bureaucracy, but I won’t. I don’t aim to upset the red-planet empire, but I also can’t embrace lies and doublespeak. It’s not in me, I wasn’t raised that way. People can draw their own conclusions. If they place any blame on us, so be it! We were travelers through the cosmos, nothing more. Looking around for clues to our own existence as refugees on a foreign world!”

 

Block felt his jaw sag with disbelief. His subordinate stood up suddenly, and turned toward the conference room door.

 

“YOU HAVEN’T BEEN DISMISSED, LIEUTENANT! YOU HAVEN’T BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO LEAVE!”

 

Strafe put both hands on the table.

 

“Arrest me right now, or let me return to my quarters! What’ll it be, Hornell? Are you a stooge for the system? Or an adventurer? I know my place, I won’t stir the pot. But I’m going to stand by Dr. Baines, regardless of what develops from his final report. Maybe we learned something from this exercise. That human nature hasn’t changed all that much over the past 100 years. Those in charge still play political games. It comes with the territory. So much for thinking that we’ve grown up as a species. The truth is, we’re the same kind of high-functioning animals that made Planet Earth such a boisterous and frustrating homeworld for people like T.C. Lincoln and his crazy neighbors in the pines!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Four”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

A full week at Evergreen Estates had affected the Morningstar III survey team in opposite ways. Lt. Kelly Strafe busied herself scouting the perimeter of this temporary home in the rural outback of Ohio, to be assured of their safety. However, Dr. Judson Baines looked upon their visit from the perspective of an archaeologist. He poked and prodded the overgrown vegetation to uncover clues about what had happened to the trailer community, since residents fled violence and conflict during the Great Uprising.

 

Many driveways in the park still held motor vehicles which used fossil fuels to operate. Empty bottles and cans of beverage alcohol provided evidence of a social order in which staying drunk perpetually was the norm. There were cultural references to the American Revolutionary War, with flags designed by Christopher Gadsden and other early patriots. And, banners of the old Confederacy. All of these talismans had been banned long ago, on Mars. They were thought to be unacceptable due to being favored by supporters of the unrest that shattered their mother planet.

 

Seeing them up close was shocking and yet made him curious. He wanted to learn more about the habits of these troubled pioneers.

 

Digging through the mobile-home rubble was a slow and tedious task. He had started up front, on a first street to the left. Diagonally situated from the maintenance garage and office. Each dwelling was full of trash and treasure. So, he had to sort through the contents, carefully. Sometimes, he discovered that a particular longbox had been emptied completely. Others in the row were packed with abandoned goods and furnishings. A sign that the owners had to escape with little notice. But when he approached Lot 13, the odd sense of déjà vu returned.

 

A busted picture, on the entertainment center inside, depicted a young fellow who looked strangely like himself. With a woman who was shorter and smaller in stature. Her oversized glasses were purple and made of a shiny, composite material. She held his arm in a loving gesture of tenderness. When Baines flipped the photo frame over, there was an inscription in gold ink, on the back.

 

“Townshend Carr Lincoln and Bettina Frye. Joined in matrimony at the Lake County Courthouse, Painesville, Ohio. May 2^nd, 1997.”

 

The moment of discovery sent him reeling emotionally. He knew little about his great grandfather, except that divorce and career collapse had left the iconoclast isolated, in the downscale community of manufactured homes. He apparently became withdrawn, and dependent on alcohol to keep himself numb, with these unfortunate circumstances taking hold. Eventually, historical records indicated that he perished somewhere in his 90’s, and was buried in the township cemetery, with the ashes of a favorite pet. A black Labrador Retriever that had been his last household companion.

 

Alone in the ruined trailer, Baines stood silently and pondered other items on the entertainment center. Some were trinkets that related to sports teams, while others carried the names of breweries and distilleries that operated a century ago. A radio sat in the center, something designed to receive commercial broadcasts that had long since been discontinued. The device was so ancient that it had a deck for playing cassette tapes, a primitive recording medium that the scientist had only seen in archival documents.

 

His hands trembled slightly, while sorting through this mass of relics. Then, the com-link on his belt chirped loudly. Commander Block was hailing him, from the Morningstar III. A sound of urgency made his voice boom across the distance between their positions.

 

“Hello, Doctor! We’ve picked up evidence of a massive storm gathering over the eastern, mid-continental region, where you are exploring. Earth’s weather patterns have changed greatly due to climate change, and pollution residue from combat exercises during the Great Uprising. Our meteorological expert believes that the planet may experience dreadful atmospheric spasms. You and Lt. Strafe need to return, immediately!”

 

Baines cursed loudly before answering the call.

 

“C’mon now, all we see here on the surface are dark clouds. Those are very common on this homeworld. They sweep across the area throughout summer months. The worst that can happen is we get an extended period of rain! Our tent can handle that, quit being so dramatic!”

 

The commander lowered his tone almost to a whisper.

 

“Earth isn’t what you’ve read about in your university manuals. It’s been changed by mankind. That’s why so many of its inhabitants moved out into the far reaches of our solar system. We paid a price for our arrogance. Do you understand? Civil war with sticks and stones, or with muzzle loaders and swords, was one thing. But when we began to fight each other with armed drones and sophisticated chemicals, the paradigm changed. We wounded our planet. The healing process has taken a long, long time. And it is still underway. Go back to your craft, and plot a course for the mothership! You’ll both be safe up here. I can’t vouch for what’ll happen if you remain at Evergreen Estates!”

 

Judson Baines suddenly felt more like his rowdy ancestor than a disciplined academic, on a mission of study. He gestured wildly with the com-link, and uttered words spoken in haste.

 

“WHY IS IT THAT EVERY TIME A HUNT FOR CLUES GETS UNDERWAY, MILITARY MINDS WANT TO TAKE OVER? WHAT’S WITH YOU APES IN UNIFORM? DOES IT MAKE YOU NERVOUS TO SEE SMART MEN AND WOMEN POKING AROUND IN THE RUBBLE YOUR KIND HELPED TO CREATE? ARE YOU AFRAID WE’LL FIND OUT THINGS THAT POINT A FINGER AT YOUR WARRIOR INSTINCTS? THINGS THAT MIGHT MAKE YOU REALIZE YOUR OWN GUILT?”

 

Block felt his pulse rising. He was not used to tolerating such uninhibited opinions. Yet he maintained a sense of decorum.

 

“Doctor, I know you’re not a ranked officer, or a member of the Space Force. But let me make this clear in plain language. We believe a threat to your safety exists. Nature has become wild and unpredictable on our former planet. If you choose to stay at your present outpost, there could be dire consequences. I won’t be able to rescue you and Kelly. The Morningstar III has limited capabilities, and a static number of hands on duty. I know this expedition is very important to you, for the cause of science. And also, for personal reasons. I respect that completely. So, listen when I say this, with no prejudice against the mission. Come back to home base, until we can assess the global conditions. Let me contact Mars command. We will make a group decision on any future voyages to that patch of dirt. Think of your own safety, and that of the lieutenant!”

 

Baines switched off his communicator. Then spat on the carpeted floor. His saliva bubbled on spores of mold and particles of dust.

 

“WHAT I’M THINKING ABOUT IS MY BLOODLINE, DAMMIT! RIPPED FROM MOTHER EARTH AND FLUNG THOUSANDS OF MILES ONTO ALIEN WORLDS WHERE MANKIND WAS NEVER MEANT TO LIVE!”

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Three”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Commander Hornell Block sat in his swivel chair at the head of operational control on the Morningstar III, while the ship orbited Planet Earth. He surveyed a myriad of displays and dials and virtual screens, while exercising his authority as their mission supervisor. Things were quite boring actually, with the craft staying in position as two team members toiled on the surface, gathering artifacts. But then, the Martian vessel was hailed by a communications station on the west coast of continental North America.

 

In English, a decidedly human voice called out to greet the visiting crew and their leader.

 

“Attention! Attention! This is Toqua Platte Center, we have detected your presence above the horizon. Please state your reasons for circling our world, and reveal your intentions. We have a strategic defense system in place which makes it possible for us to repel intruders. Do you understand? Failure to answer our messages will result in a strike to preserve our safety. We ask you to cooperate, and avoid dire consequences!”

 

Block huffed at the alien’s combative tone of voice. Yet he tried to understand how it must have been to see a foreign ship above the skyline for the first time in 100 years.

 

“I am here on behalf of a Mars Colony, the New Cleveland metropolitan hub. We are conducting a research mission for historical purposes. There is no aggressive intent in what we are doing...”

 

Arbiter Goland Pick coughed into his microphone. He had the long, tattooed strip of ink on his bare skull that denoted being a member of a ruling caste. Something carried by few in their isolated, coastal empire.

 

“Mars? New Cleveland? These are names of legend to us, sir. What proof do you have of your heritage as displaced Earthlings, living in the cosmos?”

 

The commander cleared his throat and breathed heavily.

 

“I’m one of three descendants that originally came from a family started in Michigan. My forebears settled on the Red Planet when ships first began to arrive, after the Great Uprising. In those days, travel was very slow. It took a long time to get from one world to another. Soon afterward, the pace of migration increased. There were millions of immigrants from what was called the Midwest. They populated our neighborhoods, and those on other balls of rock, throughout the solar system...”

 

Pick was convinced by this accurate retelling of their history.

 

“Okay, you seem to be conversant with our species timeline. But that does not explain why your ship would appear here, suddenly, without warning. Are you about to attack? Do you wish to do us harm? Are you taking a survey for future conquest?”

 

The commander laughed out loud. He was amused and incredulous.

 

“Sir, we could have annihilated you from the start, if that was our intention. But we do not embrace such goals. Our hope is to study and learn, and to expand our understanding. I hope you will agree that cooperation can benefit both of our cultures, equally. Will you join us in a joint effort to sift through the remnants of our dark past, together?”

 

The arbiter stroked his large forehead, and pondered this proposition carefully.

 

“We’ve been taught that offworlders caused the collapse. What happened after the Great Uprising. You, and your people, put us where we landed. On the coast, exposed and helpless, with the judgment of time upon our backs. You are the guilty ones! You planted the seeds of rebellion and disobedience! You wrecked the grand experiment in democracy! You ran away when the consequences of fate became too much to bear!”

 

Hornell Block had to breathe deeply, before continuing their awkward conversation.

 

“I can’t justify 100 years of propaganda. Or explain it, in detail. But we have come here to have a look around, to revisit the home base that sired our societal order.  We are distant cousins if you like, bonded by blood. Some of us flourished on the red, rocky mantle of Mars. Others remained on a terrestrial footing. But all of us, all of us, are kindred spirits. The same flesh, the same minds, the same hearts. There is no justification to do battle. You and I sir, we are one. One in the same!”

 

Goland Pick felt a chill run up his spine.

 

“So, what do you ask then? What do you want of us, while your craft is in orbit?”

 

The commander bowed his head, reflectively.

 

“I’ve got two team members on the planet surface. They are in what used to be a northeastern district of Ohio. Looking around at a park of mobile homes, Evergreen Estates, a point on the map designated as important by our historians. A birthplace of dissent. Where the spark of what we know as a continental rebellion began. I want them to work freely, uninhibited by politics and interstellar guardrails. This is a scientific undertaking. Something that will uplift both of our civilizations, together. You need to know, and I need to know. What happened a century ago? Why did everything fall apart? Why did so many citizens abandon their country? Why did the model set in place by Washington and Franklin and Jefferson, come unglued?”

 

Arbiter Pick frowned and growled like an angry dog.

 

“I’ll have to take this up with our council of elders, and its leader. It isn’t something to be decided simply by the choice of one man at one time. Do you understand? We value our established authority as it produces consistency. We value the trust of our citizens. We value what it means to be governed by mass consent.”

 

Block felt a rise of tension in his neck and shoulders. Yet he did not surrender to the pain.

 

“Of course. I await your decision, sir. In the meantime, my vessel will continue to scan the planetary surface, and to map the modern topography. My astronauts are busy surveying what is left of Evergreen Estates. I hope that our presence here will not cause undue concern. Good day to you! Good day until we speak with each other, again...”

 

The line of communication was severed abruptly. But on each end of the distant connection, both men fretted about their individual responsibilities.

 

In the Calimex center, and onboard the Morningstar III, a mood of new visions had taken hold. For the first time in 100 years, alienated members of the human race were coming together, once again. What that would mean, no one could guess. But the excitement of such a restored connection was palpable.

 

Goland Pick and his counterpart were players in a drama that was still unfolding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part Two”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Once Kelly Strafe and scientist Judson Baines had set up their base camp at Evergreen Estates, there was finally time to decompress after descending to the planetary surface. The Morningstar III continued to orbit overhead, relaying pertinent data. Wildlife had begun to return as the landscape of Ohio was slowly awakening from a long period of evolutionary slumber. Yet things were eerily silent in the park. The ecosystem had been wounded by war and famine. Now, only cockroaches seemed to prosper amid the cluster of manufactured homes. But in the distance, frogs croaked and crickets chirped.

 

Their synthetic shelter was a pyramid composed of what looked like a mashup of vinyl and aluminum foil. It glistened in the sunlight. Both explorers from the Mars crew were eager to begin their work. But first, the lieutenant knelt by a brown boulder that sat between halves of the park entrance. She bowed her head, and made a religious sign before offering a prayer.

 

“Creator God, we have come back to this ball of mud to reconnect with where our journey as a species began. Protect us, and let us be fruitful in our work. Amen!”

 

Baines spun around at hearing this unexpected entreaty to a higher power. It made his glasses fog up, from sweat and disbelief.

 

“A prayer? Really? We come thousands of miles through outer space, and you act like a girl in church on a Sunday morning?”

 

Strafe made a rude sound, buzzing her red lips.

 

“Does that offend you as a nerd? I didn’t think it would be a problem...”

 

The science wizard laughed and shook his head. He had oversized ears and a jutting chin that made him appear to have once been rooming with elves in a hollow tree.

 

“No, no offense taken. I just thought that sort of thing had gone out of style eons ago. Mankind has come a long way in the last hundred years. We’ve finally learned to put prejudices aside, and quit killing each other over imaginary geographical boundaries, and spiritual icons.”

 

Strafe snorted and stood up straight. Her hair blew gently as a breeze cooled the air.

 

“Well, I hope we learned something from moving out into the stars. But I’ll hold onto what I know. There’s logic in everything I believe. Creation implies a creator, right? One follows the other. Just as nature expresses the beauty of life and the balance between joy and sorrow.”

Baines made a face like someone who had tasted a sour lemon.

 

“Sorry, Kel, that’s too artsy for me. Too deep in philosophy. I trust in what I can see and hear and measure, not shadows and ghosts...”

 

The ranked officer nodded patiently, and accepted their differing viewpoints.

 

“So anyway, what are we looking for down here? What’s left of the civilization that used to flourish on this big piece of galactic rock?”

 

The professional geek brightened with interest at her question.

 

“You’re here to make certain we stay secure. And document this mission. I’m here to poke around and stick my nose where it might not belong. See, this was what they used to call the heartland. Before the Great Uprising, this was fertile ground. They grew crops here, raised livestock, and had families. This part of America made the nation strong. But it also birthed other things. Suspicion, mistrust, rebellion, and eventually, failure...”

 

Lt. Strafe had been taught all of those facts in her grade school, on Mars.

 

“I get it, Juddy. But what’s left now? Earth is more than a stone’s throw away. Why come back here, to take pictures and soil samples? Why bother with this dirty planet at all?”

 

Baines removed his eyewear, and thought for a moment.

 

“Only two states survived after the uprising. On the west coast, Calimex. Portions of the southern half of California and a bit of what used to be Mexico. It was a military district until self-government was returned, by decree. And on the east coast, Atlantia. Parts of New York and other areas along the ocean. In the west, solar and wind power kept things going. That worked for them. It let their society prosper, on a limited scale of socialism. But for those back east, a different paradigm took over. They returned to burning wood to stay warm in the winter, and cook their meals. Old, agrarian habits had to return. The nation-states were so far apart that they had little contact with each other. And eventually, not much contact with us, the citizens of far-flung cities on Mars and elsewhere...”

 

The military conscript shrugged and flipped her ponytail.

 

“Great. But I still don’t get it, why are we here? This is a dead zone, right? That’s what they taught us at school in New Cleveland. Plus, at the Space Force academy. There’s nothing to see here, apparently. Why waste the energy just to come back and peek at some graves?”

 

Her studious cohort replaced his spectacles, and frowned while answering.

 

“Because that question has deviled us for a century. What happened after the uprising blew everything apart? What became of the stragglers who didn’t flee to Mars and the other worlds, beyond? How did they survive? Or did they? Are you on target, is this just a giant cemetery? Curiosity got the better of us, as a species. Our leaders wanted to know. Our people wanted to know. And me, as one egghead with a pile of degrees and plenty of time on my hands, I wanted to know!”

 

Strafe smiled over the irony of his confession. It had her tingling with a sense of adventure.

 

“So, you came all this way on a whim. To see if civilization really died out here, in what used to be Ohio, or spang up again like weeds between the rocks? That’s it? You just rolled the dice to see what happened?”

 

Her partner on the voyage folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. He had no reason to prevaricate.

 

“That’s it. I convinced the head of research at Mars University that it would be a worthwhile investment. Basically, because someone found an old photo of my great grandfather, umm... something like that. A genetic link in the chain. He lived right here, in one of these trailers. At the time, it was considered to be a badge of dishonor. Something to be ashamed of, you know? That guy planted the seed though, he made it possible for me to stand on a Martian plateau, many years into the future, and look back with wonder. I’m here to solve a riddle. What happened to Townshend Carr Lincoln? What happened to the Trailer Park Militia of Ohio? What happened to those pitiful rubes that couldn’t ride on a spaceship, or escape to the coasts? What happened to all of them?”

 

The lieutenant reddened with embarrassment. She had been tricked into thinking that their journey was an undertaking of serious business. Yet now, the truth caused her stomach to tighten, and ache. She shucked her sheath of military discipline, and let every emotion fly freely.

 

“YOU’RE A HUCKSTER, JUDSON BAINES! A FREAKING HUCKSTER! JUST LIKE YOUR GAWDAMM ANCESTOR MUST HAVE BEEN, 100 YEARS AGO!”

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Return Mission, Part One”

 

 

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-24)

 

 

Monday afternoon on Mars was bright and crisp at the New Cleveland metropolitan center. Technician Rand Farcourt stood at his console with a chatter of interstellar communications echoing through his wireless headset. A plastic view-visor tinted orange aided him in keeping watch over their mission. He could see the Morningstar III moving into orbit around Planet Earth. It’s stubby fins and glistening hull made the craft look like a flying sardine of some kind, as rendered by an artist’s imagination. Possibly after smoking an herbal hallucinogen for encouragement. Once a steady position had been established around the familiar blue ball, a Digger shuttle was dispatched with two astronauts on board.

 

They reached northeastern Ohio in about 45 minutes. Nature had reclaimed this uninhabited area after conflict and chaos sent the continental center into a death spiral. Something that virtual books detailing the history of their species now referred to as the Great Uprising. Civilization continued for a time, on the coasts, with much hand-wringing over the political landslide that had precipitated their societal downfall. Yet once new cities began to open up on other worlds in the solar system, a mass migration began. Even before this violent chapter in terrestrial history, mankind was destined to seek out the stars. More than the lure of open land and new vistas, the call of liberty made them restless. Few wanted to live in the wreckage of their failed, national experiment in self-rule. Wallowing in an inheritance of guilt, based on the wages of sin as defined by their bureaucratic keepers. Finger pointing and grandstanding meant little when there was no electricity, or running water, or edible goods left at their stores. No schools, no workplaces, and no churches. No clean lakes or rivers. No fresh air to breathe. Only a stench of collapsing buildings and decaying infrastructure.

 

But now all of that was behind them, as the spacefarer established communications with their control station, back on the Red Planet.

 

“NC Center? This is Morningstar. Commander Block at the helm, here, we’ve settled into place above the lost homeworld. I’ll be streaming live video in a moment. It’s quite a sight to see, this is where our ancestors lived. Generations before any of us were born...”

 

Farcourt scratched his head which was covered in a crew-cut swath of black hair. He adjusted settings on his projection display, and yawned from the fatigue caused by a dozen hours on duty.

 

“Roger that, sir. You’ve deployed the lander already?”

 

Block nodded and punched in an authorization code to certify the link between their mothership and its surface explorer.

 

“We sent a two-person crew, Lieutenant Kelly Strafe, and a scientist, Dr. Judson Baines. The professor has a research background in 21^st Century civilizations. His bloodline comes from what was once a rural county, south of Lake Erie. I’ve been told that one of his forebears was a member of the MAGA Defense, a pivotal militia group that helped to spur the uprising that brought everything to a halt, 100 years ago...”

 

Technician Rand shuddered a bit at how casually his mission supervisor spoke about this calamitous part of human history.

 

“Was that wise sir, including someone with a personal connection?”

 

His distant contact laughed softly and shook his head.

 

“I didn’t think it would be a problem, really. If anything, it might give him the impetus to dig more deeply. You know, turn over some stones and do a thorough investigation. The climate has returned to more primitive conditions, what early settlers might have expected in frontier days. Earth is quite resilient, I think. Without people around to foul the air and muddy the water, that old planet does quite well...”

 

The lead technician fiddled with his board and sighed in response.

 

“That’s a sad assessment. But an honest one, I’d say!”

 

Both men stiffened as their two-way radios began to crackle, many miles apart. The surface explorer was just above its target, a deserted piece of property once known as a mobile-home park. Rusted hulks, overgrown with weeds, still sat in neat rows, inside of the perimeter.

 

Lt. Strafe steered the tiny vessel with skill acquired from years as a space pilot.

 

“Morningstar, this is Digger. We are about to touch down at Evergreen Estates. Dr. Baines chose this particular spot because someone in his lineage lived here for a time. Back when cars still ran on gasoline, and people grilled hamburgers outdoors, for fun. He hopes that some evidence of how those people lived can be found. Perhaps artifacts that we can bring home to New Cleveland...”

 

Commander Block surveyed their progress from his ship, in orbit. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu as the small craft found its mark.

 

“Roger, Lieutenant. You might say that all of us have been here before, in spirit if not in the flesh. Godspeed to you. Don’t get in a hurry. Look around and enjoy your work!"

 

Baines peered at the approaching greenery through his thick spectacles. Anticipation made him tingle. He was giddy and anxious, but ready to begin their mission, in earnest.

 

“Commander, we can see the sprawl of tarmac and concrete now. There was only one main entrance to this development, something I can’t imagine being acceptable. Didn’t they think of safety concerns? There is a great house of some kind up front, our historical files indicate that it was a maintenance garage. We will set down in a parking area, alongside. A print book I discovered in the Interspace Library at Texas City detailed how this anonymous patch of dirt helped birth the unrest that eventually brought down America. It’s exciting to think we will finally be able to poke around in the rubble of that infamous outpost...”

 

Strafe was breathless over the importance of their visit. She untied her long, golden mane and let it swing freely, as the digger craft landed.

 

“The air tests breathable, water looks clear and blue, things are growing everywhere. Though the flora and fauna have morphed a bit from what the original residents here knew as being normal. Background radiation is within safe limits. There are scars on the landscape, however. Craters from multiple explosions, scorched ground from fires that raged, even bloodstains that haven’t been erased by cycles of snow and rain. We could spend a lifetime here and probably not see everything. I know our intent is to be on-site for a week or two, and gone before the climate turns less friendly. Mother Nature must have been angry with the mortal souls that wreaked havoc here, but now, she has once again embraced her garden. Earth is alive, again. It is healing, and maybe, even happy for the song of living creatures that inherited her creation...”

 

When their footing was assured, both members of the survey team exited the vessel, with tentative steps. It felt refreshing to breathe air that had not been recycled and purified by a contained, HVAC system.

 

Dr. Baines stood for a moment beside a south wall of the maintenance garage that had remained standing, for many decades. A tactical uniform woven from synthetic fibers made him itch slightly, in the summer heat. Still visible in huge letters composed of spray paint, was a slogan from the Great Uprising. A message left to taunt those who might look back upon their dark history, and weep in reflection. Their hearts had been true, yet human frailties took hold in the balance. The yield was calamity, collapse, and corruption.

 

The scientist read this ancient inscription aloud, as he shielded his eyes from the glare of naked sunlight.

 

“MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! MAKE AMERICA GREAT!”