Trailer Park Dreams

I woke with a start. I had been sleeping soundly, and would have continued to do so were it not for a particularly loud crack of thunder that had resonated through the room just seconds before. I blinked my eyes several times in an attempt to become more awake. My boyfriend Mitchell lay on the opposite side of the bed, practically hugging the wall. He had remained asleep despite the noise. That was no surprise.

Attempting to get out of bed was difficult. Sleep had finally come just hours before and I could feel all of the tension and restlessness accumulated the day before creeping back as my feet touched the carpet. Mitchell rolled over and groaned, likely indicating displeasure with my sudden movement. I ignored him. He would have no trouble falling back to sleep. This seemed to be the structure of our household. He and our housemates could rest under any circumstances. I, on the other hand, was always somewhat anxious. ‘Uptight’, if you will. I’d been this way since I was young. While others took the time to enjoy life, I pushed myself to the limits. For what? Hell if I know. I had gradually watched all of my goals and dreams dissipate until they were so far out of reach that I gave up on them. At this point, I worked for survival alone (and sometimes even that wasn’t enough of a reward to motivate me).

Another clap of thunder and series of lightning strikes rumbled loudly in the distance. The lightning added a brief, rich violet tint to the early morning sky, if only for a split second. With the storm came pouring rain. I stood by the single maroon-curtained window and watched it fall. The pitter-pattering of the raindrops on the roof created a steady rhythm. It made me sleepy again. Glancing at the clock, I realized that it was nearly six-thirty. There was really no point in even trying to get any more sleep now.

I shivered, realizing that I was standing there in the same attire that I had chosen for bed: a pair of sheer bikini-style panties and an over-sized Green Day t-shirt. I pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a jacket in an attempt to quell the appearance of goose bumps appearing on my skin. I then left the room and stepped sideways into the bathroom. Most of the plumbing was broken, rendering the room virtually useless with the exception of the mirror that hung above the sink. The person reflected in it was a perfect picture of fatigue: dark brown eyes with dark circles underneath, sunken into a pale, expressionless face that was framed by a mass of limp, brown curls. I had honestly never looked and felt more tired in my life. With a sigh, I pinned my bangs up out of my face and headed to the kitchen.

The sound of brewing coffee and the dogs scratching around in their filthy crates met me as I entered. I did my best to disregard the overflowing trash can and the small mountain of week-old dishes that had accumulated on the counter tops next to the sink. Luckily, there were still a couple of clean mugs near the back of the cupboard. I took one and filled in to the brim with the steaming, caffeinated liquid. One gulp warmed me down to my toes. I smiled lightly, despite the bitter taste. I had never liked black coffee, but sugar and creamer is expensive when you can hardly afford to pay the bills by themselves.

Bills. That reminded me. I walked over towards the door in order to look at the dry erase calendar that hung next to the coat rack. The electric bill was due this week. This month, according to the number scribbled in red, it was $70 apiece. My eyes narrowed. A $280 electric bill for a shitty single-wide trailer with four occupants seemed to be a bit much. I sighed and shrugged it off. After all, what did I know? I had never paid bills before now.

Upon stepping onto the front porch, I was immersed in cool air that sent a shiver up my spine. It was cooler than average for a morning in late March. Another drink of my coffee was enough to suppress further shivering for the moment. I slid my hand into my jacket pocket and withdrew a pack of Camel Wide Filters. My usual. The continually drizzling rain made it rather difficult to light, but I managed. My lungs filled with sweet smoke as I took a long drag. This was a habit I had acquired recently, most likely as a result of stress of moving from an upper middle class household to a poorhouse in a trailer park on the edge of town. I’ll never know how, in the matter of a year I went from a happy, healthy kid with plenty of money and time to an exhausted adult with two jobs (full time at a pizza joint and dancer at a club on Friday and Saturday nights) and lost hopes.

Mitchell is the love of my life, and at first, moving in with him was a dream come true. We were free of rules, restrictions, and parental judgment. Free to love and live as we pleased. This turned sour when I realized how much we I had taken for granted growing up, and just how much harder this life would be. A change was desperately needed for both of us.