Tales from the Front The Pines Trailer Park and Campground Spokane, Washington Copyright 1995 by Dave Laird [This is another in the series, Tales of the City, which is an ongoing work. In this tale, we see how even in Spokane, small communities form, and how quickly they absorb new members into their midst] Portia arrived at the Pines Campground and Trailer Park in a faded, going-to- grey Ford pickup truck with bald tires, sagging springs that audibly groaned under the load of everything she apparently owned in the world. She was accompanied by two taciturn, grey-faced men who said little but smoked a lot of cigarettes. They made short work of unloading her personal possessions into Unit 22 almost as if they had been doing that all their lives. She paid them with dog-eared, greasy bills out of a coin purse she carried in her bra. This entire process was closely monitored by Mrs. Garcia from behind the tatted lace curtains in Unit #21 next door. Several hours later, as dusk began to crouch down among the towering pines, after the two stone-faced men had gone, Mrs. Garcia came out, ostensibly to carry out the trash, but soon sat down beside Portia atop the weathered wooden steps that joined all thirteen of the trailers together as one. They sat there amiably smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee out of tin cups, together, talking about nothing in general. Other women from surrounding trailers soon joined them, and the serenity of Pines Campground and Trailer Park was quickly broken by their combined voices and laughter Mr. Hemphill, the manager, popped his head out of the manager's unit to see what all the fracas was about, but he should have known better. Everytime someone new moved in to the trailer park, the women invariably wasted little time in getting acquainted, and for days thereafter, the gossips of the park would incessantly chatter like magpies about the newest arrival. With a snort of derision, he shut his door, returning to watch his baseball game. "Women!" he snorted in the general direction of his wife, who was snoring placidly on the couch, then settling back down into his easy chair with a profound sigh, as if that explained it all. "Do you think we're making too much noise?" Portia asked, watching cautiously as the manager closed his door. "Hell, no!" Rita Bacanovich, a stocky brunette with coal-black eyes retorted, with a snort. Flippantly tossing an ash off her cigarette into one of the many tin cans that dotted the front of the wooden porch. She tossed a stray forelock of red hair out of her eyes, and placing a reassuring hand on Portia's back, continued, "Harley, my Old Man, makes more noise than this when he comes home drunk from fishing. No, Mr. Hemphill don't give nobody no shit at all, unless you're late with the rent. In fact, there ain't none of us hardly ever see him or his wife, exceptin' when it's time to pay the rent." "...an' cashing the welfare checks..." Tammy Faye, a young black woman from unit 19, added quickly. "...or harassing us about our cigarette butts..." Ginger from 13 giggled, then dropping her voice down low and whispering conspiratorially, "...Now Mrs. Fletcher, you be sure to use those coffee cans, there, along the porch, 'cuz that's what's they're there for. We don't want no fires startin' here." "That's because when you're out here yelling at the kids, you forget what you're doing and just flip your butts over the rail," Andrea Cash stated matter-of-factly. "That's why you're on his list." This set everyone laughing some more. As Andrea drained the last drops of coffee from her cup, she quickly looked around the group and asked, "I'm going in for more coffee. Anybody else want some?" Adella Louise, the big strapping farm girl with wheat colored hair from unit 10 sighed. "I guess I'll take some more." Then seeing Portia hesitate, she nudged her surreptitiously in the ribs. "Don't be shy, girl. It'll be soon enough you'll be making a pot of coffee and we'll all come over to YOUR house and help drink it up." As Andrea rose and started gathering up all the tin coffee cups, and sauntered back to her trailer, Tammy Fay asked Portia, "Where you from, girl? We seen you arrivin' with two men, but as fast as they got your stuff off the truck, they took off like they had someplace else to go." "They were friends of mine from over in Idaho," Portia whispered, peering down at her hands, folding and unfolding themselves in her lap as if they were independently alive. "I...I moved over here from Salmon, Idaho." "You got family over here?" "No, my family is back in Salmon." Silence dripped off the big fir trees as, unbidden, a brief evening breeze ran its fingers through the flowers planted along the edge of the porch. "What brings you to Spokane, then?" Mrs. Garcia timidly asked from her position at the other end of the porch. "Do you have a job here?" "No, my husband beat the crap out of me the other day, and I left him." Sympathy oozed its way down the porch from nearly every direction, insinuating itself in the weathered old cracks of the wooden railings, pausing to tentatively tease a lock of hair that had fallen into Portia's eyes. "Tha's too bad." Mrs. Garcia sighed. "You did the right thing by leavin' heem. You should never let a man beat on you." Andrea came back down the porch with a tray full of coffee cups, and setting down the tray, looked from person to person. "I hope you guys all remember which cup you had, because I ain't going to babysit anyone." Then, sitting back down on the top step of the porch, and peering keenly at the other members of the group, she grinned, "Well? Who's gonna tell me everything I missed?" The evening whispered in the shrubbery as time weathered the wooden railing. The women of Pines Campground and Trailer Park drew together as the evening waned, only to drift reluctantly apart as darkness finally collapsed upon them all, trapping them in its inky softness. Later, much later, you could hear each household preparing for bed, some to sleep, some to make love one more time and one to whimper silently. Finally, it began to rain. Dave<< * Origin: Hand-crafted Tales From The Phoenix *Spokane, WA* (1:346/11)