RE: Trailer Trash 50 pt E (Patreon)

Mrs. Moore felt timid and meek as she followed her husband up the porch steps to her mother-in-laws apartment where they would be spending their Christmas morning. After frustrating weeks of arguments and a rather righteous tirade, she had finally worked up the gumption to visit a few of the businesses within walking distance of the Lower Park and ask if they were hiring. Nervous but fighting to remain optimistic, she had managed to collect three different applications and made a return home with them to fill each of the forms out.

When she scrounged up a working pen and actually spread the pages out across the kitchen counter to see what she would need to do—her confidence was simply crushed. It was gut-wrenching to discover how defeating the simple questionnaires were, even with how basic the rather clinically-worded forms were to her. Each application wrung Mrs. Moore’s weak spirit through the same trial, one that should have been an obvious hurdle for her naive idea in the first place.

Work experience, Mrs. Moore thought with a hollow feeling. All of them required me to list, IN DETAIL, my past three jobs and fill in information about my employment. The one application asked for my FIVE previous jobs—good heavens, is that even a normal expectation?!

Leaving it all blank felt like she’d be turning in a test without putting any answers on it. It went without saying that whoever was in charge of hiring would chuckle at glancing it over and then toss it right in the trash bin. She wasn’t even bold enough to pen in those scant few modeling jobs her agent had found for her all those many years ago—they would look at her now and laugh her right out of the building. Putting in a simple ‘homemaker’ in to explain her missing work experience felt like just as much of a lie.

Because, I don’t really have anything to show for that, either, Mrs. Moore thought with a numb stare at her husband’s back. Didn’t manage the household, didn’t do much of cooking or cleaning or TAKING CARE of anyone. Before I might have tried to claim that, but over the past year after seeing my daughter ACTUALLY step up and do those things—it’s humbling. It’s humbling, and the fact of the matter is that I DIDN’T do anything of worth, for years and years and years. Why WOULD anyone ever hire me?

Alan had been supportive when he came home and realized how upset she was, and that rankled. She wanted to prove that she could do something, that she could contribute—but at the same time that all too familiar deadening fear also made her just want to hole herself up in the mobile home like she used to and never ever go out. People were going to judge her. Surely the interviewer would talk down to her. Even if she did somehow miraculously manage to get hired, any other employees would despise her as useless trash. Customers would look at her with impatience and disgust. What job was there for her out there? Where could her beaten and battered psyche possibly survive, dealing with people again?

Really don’t know how Tabby does it, Mrs. Moore felt a wash of shame all over again. Imagining being thrust back into a social setting was suffocating, she’d worked herself up into at least one panic attack over it, and she just wasn’t sure if she could actually face it all again.

After they knocked, it was Tabitha who opened the door for them, and the two parents awkwardly greeted her and shuffled inside so that they wouldn’t let out all the heat. It was impossible not to feel the strain between them and her—the subtle surface tension no one wanted to risk breaking by speaking too much or seeming too familiar. Tabitha’s fragile smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which met their gaze and just as quickly looked away. The way her welcome, come on in, Merry Christmas was delivered might as well have been addressing strangers. The way their daughter quickly pivoted away from them and withdrew in the direction of the kitchen.

We’re so close to losing her, Mrs. Moore’s anxiety graduated to a directionless sense of urgency all over again. We have to DO something, but—but WHAT? Maybe, maybe we’ve even already lost her.

They’d brought a lot of presents, and Alan had to make another trip back to the truck just to carry them all in. It looked like a lot, and her husband had assured her the boys would all be ‘just tickled pink’ at all the stuff they were getting this year, but she couldn’t help but have her doubts. After all, they’d picked out the toys for their four nephews at the Dollar Tree in Fairfield on a ten dollar budget. A big bag of generic plastic army soldiers, a pair of brightly-colored squirt guns. A pack of Power Rangers-themed playing cards, and then a package of off-brand Matchbox muscle cars. Several little plastic mazes with a tiny little BB inside, that you turned this way and that to get to the goal, and then a pack of tennis balls with alternating bright green and bright pink colors to play catch with.

She’d picked out a pricey lemongrass and ginger Yankee Candle for Laurie, and then for Tabitha they wound up playing it safe—if a bit impersonal—with a cute little Reese’s gift basket, an expensive Dove lotion, bodywash, and shampoo collection set, and then they put all of their remaining money into a fifty-dollar JC Penney gift card, so that Tabitha could choose things according to her own tastes. Shannon had rationalized all of the picks over and over to death and knew they were probably the smart choices, but at the same time… it felt like there was nothing exciting or meaningful there. Nothing impressive, nothing that would win Tabitha back over.

When she looked up from where she was fussing with the distribution of new presents to the pile under the tree, Tabitha was ushering the four young boys out of the kitchen, and Tabitha didn’t look up from them. It stung more than a little to see the girl so purposefully turning her attention anywhere but in her parent’s direction. It just hurt, in a way Shannon had never imagined it could.

Please, PLEASE Alan can you just not start up another fight this time.

*     *     *

“Can we open now?”

“Yeah, can we open now?”

“Can we start opening presents now?!”

Any attempts to calm the four boys down was momentarily stymied by how hyped up they were—Joshua was running around the table and making a short lap up and down the back hallway, Aiden was practically jumping up and down in place, and Samuel was poised right over the present pile with an enormous grin as if he was about to start snatching things.

“Boys—settle down now, goodness’ sakes,” Grandma Laurie pulled out a chair and heaved herself into it with a heavy sigh. “Find yourself spots to sit. Alan, Shannon dear—you’re welcome to join me here at the table where you won’t have these heathens underfoot.”

“Do I smell cinnamon rolls?” Mr. Moore asked, leading his wife over.

“Gramma said twenty minutes!” Joshua reported. “Hi. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Joshua.”

“Twenty minutes, so—we havta open presents first,” Aiden said. “We can’t wait twenty minutes.”

“Yeah,” Nicholas joined in. “That’s like—that’s hours from now!”

“Boys,” Tabitha called. “Find a spot to sit, please. I’ll pass out a few at a time.”

The frantic energy and excitement was a very welcome distraction for her, because it meant she could just focus on the children. Her parents were here, everything was—well, copacetic,—and the morning would remain fine so long as everyone stuck to the script. It was Christmas. They all just needed to set aside their differences for one morning and make believe that their relationship wasn’t a big mess.

Easy, right? Tabitha forced a smile as she scanned the presents for names and chose a few nicely-sized ones for each of the boys to distribute. Yeah. Easy. No problem. No problem from MY end.

Tabitha wasn’t sure how rigidly structured other families were for their Christmas morning opening of presents traditions, but the Moore family had always enforced the rule of taking turns to open gifts, one at a time going around the group in a big circle. It was perhaps a way of artificially extending the presence and impression of the overall event for the kids; the fact of the matter was that there simply weren’t that many presents under the tree. If the boys were given leave to just open them all right away, their entire Christmas morning would be over in two or three minutes at best.

The adults all sat over at the table with their chairs turned to face towards the living room, while Samuel and Nicholas claimed the sofa. Aiden and Joshua were left with carpet space, with the former standing up on his knees and the latter trying to sit with legs crossed Indian-style but rocking back and forth and all but frothing at the mouth to start tearing into the presents. Tabitha herself took the guardian position, resting on the floor between the Christmas tree and everyone else, so that she could better hand things out.

A solemn silence fell as she did so, passing several wrapped gifts out to each of the boys.

“Who starts off this year?” Tabitha asked with a small smile.

“I do!”

“Me! Me!”

“It’s my turn to start this year!”

“Me me me!”

“I think this year… it’s Nicholas,” Grandma Laurie decided.

“YESSSS!” Nicholas shot a fist into the air.

“NO!” Aiden despaired.

“That’s so not fair,” Samuel stared daggers at his brother.

“Hurry up,” Joshua urged. “Hurry up hurry up hurry up!”

“Hold your horses, already!” Nicholas said with a grin as he tore into one of the presents in his little pile. “It’s—oh my God, Wrestlemania. I got—”

“Who’d you get?!” Aiden demanded, rising up onto his feet with impatience so he could try to see the packaging his brother was examining.

“I got Shawn Michaels!” Nicholas boasted, holding the box up for everyone to see for a moment.

Tabitha caught a glimpse of a rather brawny action figure with long sculpted hair for a moment, before Nicholas dropped his prize back down into his lap and started ripping a seam between the cardback and the plastic bubble.

“Damn, nice,” Samuel nodded in appreciation.

“Yeah,” Joshua said.

“Wrestling?” Mr. Moore guessed.

“Is he a good one?” Tabitha asked. “I think I only know the super famous ones like Dwayne Johnson.”

“Dwayne Johnson?” Samuel gave her a skeptical look. “You mean The Rock?”

“The Rock, yeah,” Tabitha smiled. “I know him, and I know John Cena, and I know David Bautista.”

The boys exchanged confused glances with each other, which resulted in Joshua giving them a shrug, Aiden shaking his head in exasperation, and Nicholas letting out a laugh and turning his attention back to the action figure in front of him.

“Uhh, yeah I dunno if those last two are real wrestlers,” Samuel had the patience to educate her. “I’ve never heard of them. We’re talking wrestling like—Goldberg, Stone Cold Steve Austin. Shaun Michaels.”

“The Undertaker,” Aiden added with a scoff. “Triple H. Sting. Booker T. The Rock is real, yeah, but those other two aren’t even real wrestlers.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Tabitha’s eyes twinkled. “I think it’s your turn next, Aiden.”

“Finally!” Aiden shredded apart the wrapping paper of his next present with glee. “I got—it’s Batman. Knight Force Ninjas Deluxe Power Kick Batman!”

“Whoaaa,” Joshua’s mouth fell open. “Let me see!”

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Nicholas demanded. “We can’t even see it!”

“Another action figure?” Tabitha guessed.

“Yeah,” Aiden said. “‘Cept way cooler—look he’s got like, battle damage and everything. You can see his suit’s torn on his shoulder and then there on his leg, like he’s been fighting. He looks so cool. So cool.”

“Nice,” Nicholas grudgingly admitted, looking from it back down towards his Shaun Michaels figure.

“‘Knight Force… Ninjas Deluxe?’” Mrs. Moore enunciated it out loud with a frown.

“They have to differentiate the various collections of figures somehow or other,” Tabitha let out a laugh. “Is this from one of the movies, or the comics?”

“Uhh, the show, I think,” Aiden answered. “The cartoon. From the way the style looks, with the really square chin. Batman the animated series. It’s really good.”

“Yeah, it’s really good,” Samuel nodded. “Me next?”

“Go for it!” Tabitha said.

When Samuel opened his pick—yet another action figure—it turned out to be an exceptionally beefy Han Solo, so ridiculously swole that Tabitha had to let out enough laugh when she was shown, because the toy bore almost no resemblance to actor Harrison Ford. This figure was a bit smaller than the ones Samuel’s brothers had just opened, but came with a swiveling gunners chair to the front of which attached a neat faux window outline in the shape of one of those Star Wars style cockpits.

Much to the envy of the other boys, this Han Solo gunnery chair thing fired four missiles, little plastic sticks that shot out of some hidden spring mechanism one by one when the gear at the back of the plastic gunnery seat was turned. Tabitha was perhaps the least impressed, but then again she had no idea what sort of imaginary play rules her cousins operated by when they did their thing with their action figures.

It’s interesting how clever each of the figure designs are, Tabitha mused to herself as the boys continued to take turns opening their toys. They’re all so different, yet each one revealed has really blown away the boys with that, I don’t know—that COOL FACTOR. Muscular and masculine, ready to burst into action and adventure. To fight off the bad guys and save the day. They’re all part of these big huge franchise brands, too—you can see their elementary-schooler eyes just light up with recognition and, and I guess pull them into the dream, the story, bring to mind all of the television or cartoons or whatnot these things are from. It’s a little magical.

“Godzilla all terrain attack vehicle!” Joshua crowed, holding his new treasure up high with both hands. “It’s got—it’s got like, it fires mortar bombs from the back. And, it comes with the guy!”

“Guy?” Aiden asked. “What guy?”

“Uhhh, it says it comes with Godzilla Force Nick. I think he’s from the movie?”

Wouldn’t it be something if GOBLIN PRINCESS really took off and got big someday? Tabitha daydreamed as she watched on with a small smile. Instead of Harry Potter just completely dominating the young adult fiction sphere. Were there Harry Potter toys? I’m sure there must have been. What would toys from my story look like? A plucky little action figure protagonist? A set of her close goblin friends? The evil magi?

/// Nothing but cozy Christmastime today. Stick to the script!