Cuervo sin Cabeza.

 

The Trailer Park

 THE TRAILER PARK

I hand the man cash, to cover the first month's rent, not feeling good about this at all, but we were out of time and options.  We’re being evicted from our present domicile because of unpaid back rent. Relief money from the government came at a fortunate time or we would be on the streets, homeless. Panicky anyway during this ‘rona’ pandemic, being homeless during this terrifying time was our worst nightmare.

Heartsick, we were moving into a small aluminum trailer house manufactured in the 1950’s, that smelled of mildew and cat piss. As we sat in our truck we both began to weep, the tears coursing down our faces, fearing how much worse things could get during this desperate time, mourning our fate to have sunk this low over the past ten years. 

It didn’t take long to move what little well worn furniture we had left and the next day Wanda June was busy unpacking boxes and cleaning this aluminum can we now call home.  Wanda had run out of her head meds and it’s gonna be a week before we could afford more, so I left the trailer to avoid the storms that most certainly will erupt throughout the day.  During the night I heard what I thought was thunder and shortly after the screams of emergency vehicles nearby, I think I’ll take a stroll to find out what was going on.

I stepped out into the front yard and grimaced at the sight of an old Chevrolet, wheeless, up on blocks, ten feet from our door.  The landlord assured me he would get it moved in a week or two. I knew he was lying, that wreck had been there for years and would never be moved.

 I’ve got a bad arthritic hip that needs to be replaced. I’ve got Medicare but can’t afford to use it, so to stay mobile I used a ten dollar cane to get around. I hobbled around the east end of the trailer to limp along the limestone gravel path that led up the incline and through the trailer park. I can’t call it a street or even a driveway as it is so grown up with grass and weeds. Up ahead four men sat on folding chairs around a card table.  Looks like they’re playing dominoes. “Y’all gettin’ started mighty early this morning.”  Only one looked up to grunt, “Been out here all night.” I watched for a bit as they in turn slapped the dominoes on the table, I noticed a plastic baggy containing a white powder, that’s when I recognized their iris’ were large as dimes.  All four men appeared haggard, underfed, rawboned and unshaven. “How long’s it been since y’all slept?” The sandy headed one countered, “Old man, we don’t know who the fuck you are but you need to mind your own gottdam business around here.”  I understood that I was disinvited to observe the game so I limped on up the drive, then stopped to rest my hip.

  I paused and watched a towheaded toddler playing in front of a trailer who wore nothing but a sagging shit filled diaper.  A woman with cigarette dangling, hair in curlers, stepped out onto the porch, saw me and asked, “What are you lookin’ at Popeye?” I didn’t have time to respond before she had lifted the kid by an arm and snatched him back inside the trailer.

 My god these folks are sure un-friendly around here. My heart aches, can’t anyone show some human kindness?  Maybe people just beat down the way Wanda June and I are, with nothing left over to be nice to others.  Our own families ignoring our plight. Growing up I was taught that, ‘you don’t ask for what ought to be offered’. I’m sure they believe we are at fault for our predicament, we had good jobs till Bush tanked the economy in the Great Recession; we lost those jobs, then lost our house through foreclosure and bankruptcy, only able to find work that paid less than half of what we had earned.  Now we’re in another republican depression with a ‘rona’ pandemic thrown in for good measure. I was forced into early retirement because of my hip, so I don’t make as much as I could if I had waited till sixty-five to retire.  Wanda had a decent job but was furloughed because the travel industry has been decimated. Not our fuckin’ fault.  I know people thinking we should a planned better but too often you can only react to the hand you’re dealt . . .  This is a nice lookin’ lady, looks like she’s been up to get her mail.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning.”

“Do you know what happened last night that brought all the emergency vehicles in?”

“Yes, sir. That trailer at the very north end blew up.  That young family that lived there got killed.  The husband apparently was trying to cook meth. He’d lost his job, I guess he was trying to make some extra money.  Are you new here?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Patty,” she extended her hand to shake, “if you need any services I can probably help you out.”

“What kind of services?”

“My boyfriend left me here with our baby a couple of years ago, just disappeared. I started doing some sex work to survive, I ain’t ashamed of it.  The owner of the trailer park comes by twice a week and that covers my rent.  Some other men here stop by occasionally for ‘services’. We’re on the welfare so makin’ a little on the side helps me have enough money to get by.”

“Ma’am, I’m married and I believe my wife would object to me partaking of your services, but I wish you luck with that.”

I certainly couldn’t condemn anyone for doing what they had to do to survive. I figure it’s probably not her preferred way to make a living but even if it was, so what. Now I can smell that burnt trailer, sad that family died, sad we don’t have a better social support system so people not thinkin’ they gotta break the law to make enough to survive. Meth, that’s some bad shit to get into, those domino players sure look rough, think I’ll avoid them in the future. Well, let’s see what that blowed up trailer looks like. 

“Mornin’ Pops!” A young black man hollered at me from his porch.

“Howdy, how you doin’?”

“How ‘bout you come on the porch and sit a spell, looks like you’re ‘bout give out.”

“Thanks, yeah this hip’s hurtin’ pretty bad right now.” I hobbled up onto the porch and shook his hand. “Name’s Buck, what’s yours?”

“I’m Delmar. You new here in the park?”

“Wife and I moved into that tin can on the south end yesterday.”

“Damn, no one has stayed in that one very long, they say it’s haunted.”

“Well, that spook had better make room for us ‘cause we ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

He laughed, “You look like a man that might enjoy a good smoke.”

Eyebrows arched, “What kinda smoke we talkin’ about?”

“I’m talkin’ about some Texas flowers grown right here in Somervell County. Cannabis, weed, marajahoochie, you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“I’m interested but I’m low on funds right now.  How much we talkin’?”

“How ‘bout we spark up a free sample and once you see just how good this shit is we’ll talk money?”

“Well, hell yeah.”

He fired up the joint, took a long drag and handed it to me.  I inhaled deeply and in just a moment I was saying hello to my old friend THC.  “Oh,” I snickered, “that is good shit, how much of that will twenty dollars buy?”

“Pops, I got a good feelin’ about you.  Most of these white folks in the park won’t even acknowledge our existence here, me and the wife.  Ima hook you up good this first time, I figure things so bad the guvment gonna be handing out more checks soon, and you can pay my normal price then. RUBY! Hey babe, bring that stash box out here.” 

He put a generous amount in a baggy with a few rolling papers to get me started.  I sat with Delmar for over an hour talking, feeling like I had made a friend.  I left him with a handshake and sauntered on up the drive.  I still wanted to see that blowed up trailer. 

How many years since I smoked? Fuck, way too long. That Delmar is a fine feller and good lord his wife, wow, how’d he get a wife that pretty? Must be that big dick energy folks been talkin’ ‘bout. O, that burnt trailer really stinkin’. Poor bastards gettin’ burned to death, what a terrible way to go. Hey, that weed’s helpin’ my hip pain. I like that. Better head back, Wanda June’ll be pissed off cause I ain’t there to help, if I was there she’d be pissed that I was in her way. No win. This weed ought to help in place of her head meds, maybe that’ll get me off her shit list. Let’s go down this other driveway, see what’s there. Well, shit, moron flying a confederate battle flag and Trump 2020 flag.  Nope. At least they identify themselves, letting me know who to avoid. And . . . there’s a trailer with a wooden cross in front with a sign saying, “Covered in the Blood”. Fundamentalists, another spot to avoid, don’t need any of their bullshit.  Probably followers of Kenneth Copeland or Jim Bakker, fuckin’ grifters. More damn republicans want a government small enough to drown in a bathtub, till by god we’ve got a pandemic and big government would come in mighty handy right about now. We ought to drag every gottdam republican office holder out onto mainstreet and publically cane the shit out them. Won’t happen but by god it ought to.

I failed to pick up my feet enough and tripped over a sizable stone, falling hard. “FUCK!”

I lay in the gravel drive doing a quick body scan to see what condition I was in before I could move to get up. “Abuelito . . . are you OK?” A young latina rushed over to assist me getting up.  “Let me help you over to that lawn chair.”

“Thanks for the help. I think I’m OK, I just need to sit a minute.”

“I haven’t seen you before, are you new in the park?”

“Yes, my wife and I moved in yesterday. Into that tin can on the south end.”

“Ooooo. . . I heard that one is haunted, nobody stays there long.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. My name’s Buck.” I held out my hand to shake hers but she drew back, “I’m Maya, sorry but with the ‘rona’ I don’t shake hands.”

“I forgot, that’s a habit hard for me to break.”

“Would you be interested in buying some tamales? I sell them here in the park.”

“Yes, I would. You make tamales?”

“I do. I make them every Wednesday, so they’re fresh this morning.”

“The wife and I do love tamales, I don’t have any cash on me but I have some at the trailer. I’d like a couple dozen.”

“I could walk with you and you could pay me there?” Maya went inside and was soon back with two dozen tamales wrapped with foil, in a plastic Walmart bag.

As I stepped into the trailer, there was an explosion, “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? I’M HAVIN’ TO DO ALL THIS WORK AND YOU’RE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!!!

“Calm down, Wanda, this is Maya and she makes tamales.  I need twelve dollars from your purse to pay for them.” Wanda calmed down with the mention of homemade tamales and began pulling bills out of her purse.  “Maya put us on your list for a dozen every week, OK?”

“Alright Bucko, where have you been, I needed your help.”

“I've been out touring the trailer park, I’ve got another surprise for you.”  I pulled the plastic baggy of weed from my pocket and dangled it before her. “You recognize this?”

A huge smile took over her face, “OK, I’m not mad anymore. Let’s roll one up.”

That night we slept better than we had in years. The next morning getting up, our aches and pains were significantly less than we were used to.  I thought about a ‘wake and bake’ with a cup of coffee but I wanted to make our stash last as long as possible, so I didn’t.

 When we were both up and dressed, we worked together to finish cleaning and unpacking. At 9:45am, I was just settling in to enjoy my second cup of coffee when a ruckus attracted my attention outside.  The domino players were seated around their card table and the sandy headed one had a young girl that looked thirteen, maybe fourteen years old, holding her in his lap as his buddies laughed and made rude comments.  She grappled to free herself as he was shoving his hand under her tee shirt to squeeze her breasts. My rage flamed in an instant.

I pulled my Glock 26 out of it’s lockbox, slammed in a full clip, and tucked it into my waistband at my lower back.  I hobbled out the door and made my way to the meth heads.  “Let her go!”

Surprised they looked up, “Fuck you old man, I told you yesterday to mind your own fuckin’ business.”

When I was close enough to the one player sitting with his back to me, in one smooth quick motion I grabbed a handful of his greasy ass hair, pulled out the Glock and pushed his face into the surface of the card table with the barrel of the pistol pressed hard into the back of his skull. 

“I said, let her go!”  Sandy head released her and as she pulled her tee shirt down, I asked, “Are you alright, girl?”  She shook her head yes, her face still red from embarrassment and anger.

 “I need you to go to that trailer right there, tell my wife to call 911, we need the Sheriff’s department out here and I want you both to watch out the window so there are witnesses to what’s about to take place.”

The man I was pressing to the table top struggled to raise up.  I cracked him hard with the pistol butt, “I said don’t move, I’m an old man sixty-seven years old and I won’t mind killing any or all you sonsabitches, life in prison ain’t the deterrent it was when I was younger, you savvy?”

The sandy headed meth head decided that was the time to make his move as he pulled out a large hunting knife and tried to lunge toward me. I shot him in the chest.    The one I was holding down decided it was time to make his move as well, and struggled to get up. I placed the gun barrel behind his ear and pulled the trigger, the 9 millimeter slug punctured a hole through the cartilage of his ear as it blasted through.  He began squalling like a banshee as I fought to keep him restrained, “Be still or I’m putting the next one into your skull.” That settled him down somewhat.  The sandy headed one, was not quite dead so I put another 9 millimeter slug to his forehead as he lay on the ground and the other three got the message loud and clear that I wasn’t fuckin’ around.

I had thrown down my cane as I restrained the first dude and the physical effort I had been expending to keep him restrained was taking a harsh toll on my body. My hip was screaming in pain, begging me to get my weight off of it. Grimacing, I hobbled over to upright the chair that had been turned over and collapsed into it, keeping the Glock aimed at the three amigos.  

Two of the men had their hands on the table’s surface looking dejected. The third sat with his head down on the table, whimpering with a hand pressed against his mangled ear, a pool of blood thickening on the table. In the midst of the blood and dominos sat a plastic bag of meth. We began to hear the sirens approaching as one unit raced from the north end of the park and from the south end a patrol car slid to a stop scattering gravel and a cloud of dust, the deputy scrambled out of the car, gun drawn.  

I attempted to stand up. The deputy seeing the Glock in my hand, fired as I fell, the slug tearing into my right shoulder.  Wanda June streaked out of the trailer screaming, “You shot the wrong one, you shot the wrong one!!!”

She tripped over the chair as she scrambled to where I lay.  “Buck, please don’t die, please don’t die.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna  die . . . it just seems like . . . no good deed goes unpunished.”

En el camposanto

 

At the Swimming Hole

  Lemuel sauntered through the pasture in the late afternoon heat. With a stick in hand and sword like action, he cut off the flower heads of thistles and sunflowers as he walked to the swimming hole on White Bluff Creek. The sun beat down mercilessly from the cloudless azure sky as salt laden sweat from his forehead burned his eyes. He pulled a faded bandana out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face.

When he reached the creekbank, he stood in the shade of an ancient cottonwood, grateful to be out of the sun. He sat and removed his work boots, turning them to pour out the sweat accumulated throughout the day. He stood and undid the hasps on the shoulder straps of his overalls, allowing them to drop to the ground and he stepped free of the clothing. That is all he wore in the sweltering heat of summer; no underwear, no socks, no shirt. His shoulders a mosaic of reddened sunburnt and peeling skin.

He stepped to the edge of the limestone ledge that was about two feet above the water level, looked around, disappointed that Amos was not here yet. He dove cleanly into the water, the cold a familiar shock as this creek was fed by artesian springs from deep below ground. No matter the air temperature this creek water was always cold. He was too tired to splash around much, so he simply stood shoulder deep with his arms extended out from his sides floating at the water’s surface.

He hated this time of year. The oppressive heat of the sun was like a physical beating some days. The nights were too hot to sleep and get the rest one needed for the physical work required on the farm. This swimming hole was the only thing that made the summer survivable. 

He continued to stand motionless in the cold, his eyes closed, listening to the cottonwood leaves clatter in the breeze moving through the tops of the trees. 

“Hey, Lem!”

He opened his eyes to see Ruby standing on the opposite bank. She stood in a knee length cotton shift, barefooted. She was a year younger than Lem. Her hair was braided and wrapped on top of her head. Lem noticed that her figure was fuller, that she was no longer the skinny girl she’d always been. He felt a twitch in his groin as he looked at her.

“Hey, Ruby. Where’s Amos?”

“He’s at home. Says he’s sick to his stomach. He’s been laid up all day. If you ask me I think he got into Daddy’s whisky last night. He looks hungover to me.”

Lem chuckled, “That sounds about right. You tell your daddy that?”

She grinned, “Nope, if Daddy don’t watch the level of his whisky go down, it’s his own fault. I ain’t no snitch. Besides, Amos would beat me up if he thought I told on him. Can I come in the water with you?”

“I ain’t got nuthin’ on but you’re welcome to come on in.”

She grinned, unbuttoned the shift and shrugged the shoulder straps off, allowing the cloth to slip to the ground. She stood motionless, watching Lem to gage his response to her bold action. 

Lemuel was gobsmacked by her audacity. His mouth gaped open, he couldn’t help but stare at her naked body. She was well on her way to filling out her feminine curves, her breasts small yet perfectly formed, her belly taut and flat, her legs long and lean. She slowly waded into the water, taking her time allowing Lem to see all she wanted him to see. She relished the way he looked at her as she instinctively knew what to do to grab his attention. 

She swam over the deepest part of the creek to stand before him, a slight smile on her face as she reached out with a finger to press up on his chin to close his mouth. Lem took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. For several minutes they just held onto each other, their sexual hunger growing as Lem’s arousal pressed against her belly. 

A loud splash broke the spell, as they turned, Amos surfaced and exclaimed, “Gawd this feels good.”

They ended their embrace and moved apart as Amos swam toward them. He stood when he was a few feet away from them, laughing he asked,
“What’re y’all doin’?”

Looking at Ruby, he exclaimed, “You out here nekkid? Swimmin’ with Lem, nekkid? I tell Dad he’ll take his razor strop to you.”

“It’s none of your business what I do and with who. You tell Dad about me, I’ll tell him you got into his whiskey and that’s why you were laid up sick today.”

The mortification on Amos’ face let Ruby know that she had correctly sussed out the truth and Daddy wasn’t going to hear about any of this. Emboldened, Ruby moved near Lem, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard on the lips. Lem could not do anything but return her kiss. She then dove into the water, swam across the pool, climbed up the bank to stand there for a minute allowing Lem to ponder what he was missing. She stepped into her shift, re-securing the buttons and walked away with a sashay that left a deep longing in Lemuel.