By Kenneth Justice
~ So I found myself in a trailer park of sorts, sitting in the living room of your standard fare rectangular-box trailer on one of those old school 1970’s sofa’s, an ugly reddish orange color (the type of color you can’t really identify on the color chart) and it had the typical rough fabric which makes your skin feel raw.
I was in the living room of a pretty evil person. Unassuming, she was rather rotund and unremarkable in appearance but as far as power and dominance goes, in this particular part of the world everyone was under her authority. I’d actually woken her up when I approached the trailer a few minutes prior and one of her bunkmates had seen me through the flimsy metal screen door. I think he was going to attack me with some weird weapon he was carrying because I’d apparently broken some unspoken rule that you don’t approach her trailer without being summoned.
Fortunately for my sake she heard the commotion from her bedroom and said something I couldn’t hear which had the effect of calming the dude down and he disappeared into a back room.
I wasn’t completely sure what I had come to discuss with her. I had just spent the better part of the last day stumbling through this crazy trailer park world that she owned and ruled with her iron hand. Up till that point I hadn’t even realized one person was responsible for all the sadness I’d seen; families caught in the vicious cycle of poverty, young adults unable to move out of the trailer park and on to better lives, children who looked depressingly sad and beyond repair.
The night before had been a celebration of sorts and the whole trailer park had partied like there would be no tomorrow, because for many of them there would be no tomorrow.
Early in the morning as I walked through the now abandoned streets, garbage bags were piled up on top of each other, filled to overflowing with beer cans and empty liquor bottles, stuffed with party streamers and confetti, some blocks were covered with so many garbage bags the cement sidewalk had completely disappeared. How the drunken people had the wherewithal to clean up after the party was something I couldn’t understand, perhaps it had something to do with the woman who practically owned these people, and to whom they obeyed to a fault.
She broke the silence, “The people call this place the More-See, do you know why?” she asked me.
This was no small talk that she was inviting me to; a lot hinged upon my response, the question was something like a test and the manner of how I would answer her determined whether or not she was going to continue this dialogue allowing me to sit with her.
Fortunately, my time walking through the community over the past day had given me a lot of insight into the place. It was an extremely ugly dank trailer park, and as far as trailer park’s go this was one of the worst. You see, as ugly as the place was, the people loved it because they were familiar with it, and this was the key to answering the woman’s question,
“It’s like an old glove” I said, choosing each word carefully because this was the type of person that you don’t use extra words with, “even though the glove is old, worn, and has holes in it, you love that glove because it fits your hand so well. This place is like the glove, the people have ‘seen’ this place their whole lives; the broken windows in their trailers are like the holes in the glove. The peeling and tattered paint on the walls of their trailer is like the worn out color of the old glove. More-See means ‘well-worn’ or ‘more seen’ “
I knew that I’d given her the answer she was looking for but I couldn’t tell if this pleased her or not. Perhaps she was hoping that I’d fail. Either way, I had proved to her that I was a worthy adversary, for that is what she and I were; enemies. Sworn enemies our whole lives and this was the first time we had ever been face to face together.
And now that I’d passed her test the next moment was going to be the singular epic moment in my life; she was going to say something that would explain what the hell was going on, because the truth of the matter is that I really didn’t understand entirely what was happening. I did know that I had been born to be there, to stand up for those innocent people in the trailer park, and I was somehow going to help them by fighting this evil wicked woman.
She stared at me deeply with her black eyes and then opened her mouth to speak,
And then my phone started vibrating and I woke up dammit!!!!
Some client was calling me extremely early (WAY TOO EARLY) to go over some business for the day. I took the call, and after I hung up I thought about going back to sleep but knew the chances of me having the same dream and finding out what the woman was going to tell me was probably zero percent.
So here I am at coffee writing this dream down that I had less than an hour ago, and now that I’m finished I’m going to finish my coffee,
Categories: Culture & Society