Trailer

Dad lived in a dilapidated 1973 trailer his screen door faced the river.

That crusty Fleetwood trailer sat in our back yard for years they bought it intending it for family vacations. We had no truck to pull it, no where to go and no money to get us there. So it sat there by the fire pit, rotting. We played in it sometimes but in the summer it was too hot. I remember running down the hall and bouncing with each step. It was like a tube…no stairs.

I also remember the day we took that trailer down the narrow dirt road beside a corn field to the spot where it still sits today. It was right after they divorced and she didn’t want dad around. A friend from dad’s work had a truck that could haul this dead carp to its final resting place. The dry flat tires were replaced, axels lubed, we prayed the floor wouldn’t fall out on the road.

Treacherous paths maneuvered the driver placed the decaying piece of metal facing the river and backed it up to the woods. Through his screen door dad now had ‘a view.’ None of the appliances worked, he would end up using a five gallon bucket as a toilet and there was no running water. Mom didn’t care she loaded us back into the car and we left.

Dad worked but it was sporadic. They didn’t call as often as they used to. So he drank. His favorite poison was bottled beer. He sat at the kitchen table drinking his beer. Each bottle cap made it to the top of his kitchen table where he glued them down. One day when the top was finally covered he would cover it with resin.

He tried to make the hell hole look better out of boredom mostly. He scavenged plastic lattice and leaned it around the base of the Fleetwood. He joked that the name of the thing sounded like an enema. There were random dried out shaker shutters around windows, and down one side to cover damage. He used cinderblocks for a bookcase. Beer bottle labels were soaked off, dried and glued to the kitchen wall. He thought about covering the cabinet doors with corduroy fabric but after stapling one piece to a door he stopped.

He found a one burner camp stove and was able to heat up one can of food at a time. Once warm he would just eat it out of the can with a plastic spork.

The crusty cans went into a 55 gallon drum behind the trailer.

He had been there about three years when she disappeared. I came over on a Saturday to bring mom some groceries and she wasn’t home. Her car was gone, purse, her sweater she wore to go places was not on its hallway hook. I called the police.

The police stated she was a grown woman and may have decided to leave town or may have run off with another man. They hesitated to open any investigation. So I looked for her. I drove all over town. I went in a meticulous pattern as not to miss any streets. The town wasn’t huge but it took hours. Right before dusk I saw the blue Country Squire station wagon with the fake wood panels. I pulled behind it. Car was locked, cold, nothing visible inside on seats. I called the police.

I had to get a hold of dad. No answer on his prepaid flip. I headed over to his trailer. When I pulled in his screen door was open. I walked up. He was sitting in a white plastic chair at the kitchen table, head down, beer in hand. I greeted him and he responded…”uh huh.” I asked if he’d seen mom. He replied “uh huh”… Then his head hit the table and he fell forward. I didn’t know if he’d passed out or died. I called the police.

The ambulance arrived and took him to the hospital. Police noticed there was a large pile of empty food cans on the ground behind the trailer. The 55 gallon drum they used to be in now had a sealed lid on it.