FortySixtyFour
patreon
RE: Trailer Trash 4 pt 1
🕑 Added 2019-08-16 10:32:16 +0000 UTC“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” Mrs. Moore huffed with difficulty, laboring for breath. “I can jog for a little bit.”
“No,” Tabitha shook her head. “Let’s just walk together.”
It was a clear and crisp-feeling October morning, and Tabitha had woken up to the unlikeliest of partners for her morning run. There was something particularly surreal about seeing her mother in the morning light, outside, and she wasn’t able to stop herself from sneaking glances over to ensure that yes, this was really happening. Her mother had pulled on a sweatshirt and her hair was askew from waking up so early, but it was her eyes that stood out—they were wide and darted around with apprehension, as if fearful someone would notice she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
In Tabitha’s previous life, she’d accepted that her mother had some form of agoraphobia—she kept the windows covered and rarely, if ever, ventured outside. Hiding from the world, fearful of being seen, being judged, had shrunk the size of that woman’s whole world to the cramped and cluttered prison of their mobile home. Tabitha was frankly shocked when her mother agreed—no, insisted—on trying to perform her daily morning run with her.
In actuality, what they did was at best a power-walk together, and Tabitha discreetly diverged from her normal route so they were instead headed downhill first. They managed for about six minutes before her mother was out of steam, and then their pace reduced to normal walking speed. She wasn’t embarrassed or surprised at how out of shape her mother was, because she’d been fighting to push those same limitations just this past summer.
Right now, she was regretting not donning a sweatshirt herself. While she didn’t mind taking a day off from actual running, she was ill-prepared for a walk; usually she kept away the chill by staying in constant motion to keep her body temperature up.
“I don’t want to hold you back,” Mrs. Moore wheezed in frustration, trying to lurch forward faster. “Go on, run if you have to. I’ll get there.”
“Mother—Mom,” Tabitha spoke softly. “Don’t push yourself, please. You’re not ready for that yet, and hurting your knees or ankles will be more of a setback than any exercise you get today.”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” her mother repeated, staggering to a stop and sagging forward to rest her hands on her knees.
“You’re not,” Tabitha promised. “If you’re willing to do this with me, I’d rather walk with you than run ahead alone, okay? Do you need a minute?”
“Didn’t think it’d be this bad,” Mrs. Moore admitted with difficulty, heaving herself back into motion again. “The uphill’s just… dreadful. Things are tough when you get this old.”
“You’re not old,” Tabitha had to speak very carefully to not sound patronizing. “You just haven’t been taking care of yourself. You’re carrying around all that extra sugar you’ve ever dumped into that sweet tea, right now. Among other things. I don’t know that I have time to prepare the rest of your meals, but… we’re going to think up a meal plan. Or something.”
“No more sweet tea,” Mrs. Moore agreed, trying not to gasp for breath as they walked up the hill at what felt like a rather sedate crawl.
“Sweet tea is… fine,” Tabitha managed, unsure of how much she should sugarcoat her words, so to speak. “But, the jugs we buy are already sweet tea. Please don’t dump in cups of sugar to sweeten them, Mom. They’re really killing you.”
“This is killing me,” her mother tried an uneasy laugh between breaths. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
“It’s the worst just starting out,” Tabitha assured her. “These are the hardest steps you’ll take.”
“I know,” Mrs. Moore said. “I’m… trying, Tabitha,”
“You’re doing more than trying,” Tabitha said. “This is… this might be the closest we’ve been, the most we’ve talked in years?”
“It is,” Mrs. Moore sounded surprised. “You’re not talking like a robot anymore, either.”
“I—I wasn’t talking like a robot,” Tabitha flushed with embarrassment and gave her a weak smile. “I was just… speaking with proper diction.”
“On the contrary, my dear,” Mrs. Moore’s tone changed. “I was referring not to your elocution, but rather the manner in which you articulated your ridiculous speech.”
Oh, wow, Tabitha was stunned. She’s… way better at that than I am? This is MY mother? Since when can she talk without sounding like trailer trash?
“Your lines were lovely, but they didn’t feel like yours,” Mrs. Moore explained, reverting back to her normal way of speaking. “Honestly, thought you were just mocking me, tryin’ to come off as a bad actress. We’re gonna work on that, Tabby.”
“I…” Tabitha swallowed, feeling ashamed. “Yeah. After a while, I was just doing it to piss you off. But, I think it all started because I needed something to change. To set us apart, to remind myself, to… um. Get some distance. From you, and from who I was then.”
“Well,” Mrs. Moore paused for breath. “It worked.”
“Yeah, I just… I’m sorry,” Tabitha said with sincerity. “I was so caught up in… things, so focused on me, that I didn’t care what it did to you. I’m sorry, I haven’t been a great daughter.”
“Now we’re here, so I guess it’s good that you did,” Mrs. Moore said. “Do you want to get started on the basics today?”
“Um,” Tabitha blushed. “I… actually have plans for today—some friends are driving me out to Louisville.”
“What?” Mrs. Moore actually stumbled. “Tabitha—you’re thirteen years old, you can’t just go traipsing across the state without saying a word. I know you’ve… grown up a little, and it’s like you have it all together, but...”
* * *
“Karen Williams,” the heavyset woman introduced herself, offering a hand to Tabitha’s father. “You must be the Moores!”
Mrs. Williams was a stout-figured but fashionable mother figure, clad in a what appeared to be summer wear despite the current season—a sleeveless floral-patterned blouse paired with white capris. Her blonde hair was worn in a short bob, and she was awash with jewelry—dangling earrings, a brooch necklace hanging above visible cleavage, and bangle bracelets. They looked more interesting than expensive, the kind of ornamentation that struck Tabitha as conversation pieces rather than a way to flaunt her wealth. In fact, the first, overwhelming impression the woman made was that she was an aggressively social surburban mother, and that any awkward conversation made during the long car-ride to Louisville would become her gossip for the week.
“Yes Ma’am,” Alan gave her a firm handshake. “Alan Moore, and this is my wife Shannon.”
Mrs. Moore watched them both with a weak smile, looking decidedly uncomfortable with this strange woman in her home.
“And, you’re Tabitha!” Mrs. Williams deduced, eschewing a handshake for her and instead wrapping her into a hug. “Can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you did, Honey—Sandy’s just been a wreck this whole time.”
“I’m just glad we were so close when it all happened,” Tabitha said, gingerly returning the woman’s hug. “It was lucky.”
“Well, both of the Williams men are quite taken with you,” Mrs. Williams gave Tabitha a squeeze and then pulled her out to arm’s length so she could take a better look at her. “I was halfway to convincin’ Matthew to ride along with us. But, now—I think we’ll have more fun with just us girls!”
“Matthew said the Macintire’s daughter was coming with us?” Tabitha asked, trying not to fidget at the thinly-disguised inspection.
“Oh, Hannah’s out in the car, didn’t want her to be a handful,” Mrs. Williams admitted in a hushed voice. “We, um. We weren’t sure how bad things were going to be, so she doesn’t know much specific about you know—about what happened. She just knows her dad got hurt, and that we’re going to go see him today.”
“How old is she?” Mr. Moore asked.
“Just in first grade,” Mrs. Williams sighed shaking her head. “She’s quite the little terror, has both the Williams men wrapped around her little finger. Well. Are you ready to take off, Miss Tabitha?”
* * *
Mrs. Williams was driving a brand new 1998 dark blue Ford Taurus, a model of car so ubiquitous to Tabitha that she realized it wasn’t an uncommon sight on the roads even forty years into the future. It looked terribly out of place here in the shabby present of the trailer park now, of course. A dark-haired little girl was buckled into the backseat, peering with interest through her window at the dingy surroundings.
“Did you want to sit up front with me, or in the back with Hannah?” Mrs. Williams asked.
“I’d love to sit with Hannah, if she’s okay with that,” Tabitha smiled, stealing a peek over at the girl.
“Oh, she’s fine—hop right on in and we can hit the road. Sure hope you love The Beatles!”
On closer inspection, Hannah was... adorable. She was small for a seven-year old, and looked positively tiny wrapped up in what she assumed was Matthew’s blue-and-white varsity jacket, emblazoned with the Springton S. She had large green eyes, cute round babyfat cheeks and dark, wispy hair loosely gathered into a long ponytail. The first-grader watched from the back seat with trepidation as Mrs. Williams led Tabitha out towards the car.
Love at first sight—I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a daughter so badly! Tabitha felt a surge of emotion overtake her. Would the Macintres let me babysit, maybe? There’s years yet until Julie’s even born.
“Hannah honey, this is Tabitha,” Mrs. Williams called into the vehicle as she opened her door. “She’s coming along with us to visit your dad at the hospital, so don’t you dare pick on her!”
Tabitha opened the rear door and nervously took a seat across from the girl. The interior of the car was still pristine, the new car smell battling it out with vanilla scent from a dangling pine-tree-shaped air freshener.
“Hi,” Tabitha said. “You can call me Tabby, if you want.”
“Do you live here?” Hannah blinked, looking past Tabitha at the mobile homes behind her in trepidation.
“Hannah, mind your manners,” Mrs. Williams scolded in exasperation, turning to give Tabitha an embarrassed look. “I’m so sorry—like I said, she’s just a little terror, don’t mind any nonsense she says. Say hello to Tabitha, Hannah honey.”
“Hello to Tabitha,” the smarty pants echoed, shooting Tabitha a cheeky smile but holding out her little hand. “Tabby sounds way better.”
“Hello to Hannah,” Tabitha obliged her handshake. “I only met your dad once, and it was when he got hurt—so, I’m a little nervous about going out to meet him now.”
“...That’s okay,” Hannah decided after looking her over for a moment. “I’ll vouch for you.”
You’ll vouch for me? Tabitha couldn’t help but smile. Who did you pick that up from?
“So, do you have a boyfriend, Tabitha?” Mrs. Williams asked, turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. Heat roared from the vents and as promised, Oh Darling! by The Beatles began to play from the CD player built into the dash.
We’re not even out of the trailer park, yet, Tabitha winced, putting on a sheepish grin for the woman to see in her glances towards the rear-view mirror. And already we’re failing the Bechdel test...
“Matthew is my husband,” Hannah declared, eyeing Tabitha warily. “We’re going to get married.”
“Not ‘till you’re both at least thirteen,” Mrs. Williams laughed. “You’ll have to let my son play the field a bit until then, Hannah honey.”
“Thirteen is way too far away,” Hannah groaned. “I’m only eight.”
“Seven, Hannah,” Mrs. Williams reminded her. “You’re seven years old, I’ve been to all seven of your birthday parties.”
“...Seven,” Hannah reluctantly corrected herself, looking back to Tabitha. “Almost eight, though. Mostly eight. Eight enough.”
“I feel like I’m too young to start dating,” Tabitha finally answered with a grin, enjoying the comedy exchange between the duo. “I’m younger than I look.”
“Oh? Fifteen? Fourteen?” Mrs. Williams guessed. “I thought for sure you were around Matthew’s age.”
“Thirteen,” Tabitha admitted with a weak smile. “My birthday’s this December. I’m just a freshman.”
“Thirteen?!” Hannah gasped in apparent alarm. “That’s old enough to marry Matthew!”
“I’ve also only met Matthew once, at school,” Tabitha reassured her, before breaking into a devious smile. “My friend Elena is very interested in him, though!”
“Elena—who’s Elena?!” To Tabitha’s surprise, it was Mrs. Williams jumping in with an exaggerated reaction rather than Hannah. The woman shifted into drive and slowly pulled up the hill to leave the Lower Park. “What’s her last name? Is she a sophomore?”
(pt 2)
/// Sorry for the quick cuts starting off this section--I don't want to linger here any longer than necessary for characterization. There's way too much other content to get to this time, haha.
Comments
FortySixtyFour
Where I lived in KY any kids below five you had to find a nursery or sitter for. 5 - 6 went to kindergarten, 6 -7 was first grade.
Damon Bynum
Tabitha could start hs at 13 and turn 14 during the year. Hanna, however is a seven year old first grader, when kids are usually four or five. Not that either matters, just enjoying the story. I also think only two angels can dance on the head of a pin at a time.
Tomas Wood
Great work love this story
