Trailer Trash

by Marie Sexton

  There was nothing like fashion to build the brick wall between the “haves” and the “have nots,” and in high school, being a “have” was the only thing that mattered. Those with money proved it by sporting labels—Guess, Gitano, and Esprit, accessorized with Swatch watches and Reebok tennis shoes. If you wanted to look like a rebel without looking like your folks were dirt-poor, you went for the acceptable alternatives: Converse, Doc Martens, and Levi’s 501s. The Jennifers were designer all the way, from their United Colors of Benetton earrings to their scrunchy Gap socks. Christine, on the other hand, had none of it. Everything she wore had probably come courtesy of the Sears or JCPenney catalogs, and not the high-dollar pages either.

  The Orange Grove residents may have had more money than the rest of Warren, but despite what Cody seemed to think, none of them were rich. Not by the Texas standards Nate was used to, at any rate. They were solidly middle class. Upper middle class at best. What truly seemed to set them apart wasn’t so much their money, but their attitude and their awareness of the outside world.

  “Can you believe we still don’t have MTV here?” Brian said to Nate. “It’s like living in the Old West or something.”

  “It isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” Nate confessed. “I was worried we wouldn’t even have cable.”

  “Warren’s all right,” Christine said. “My parents say there’s nothing worth watching on cable anyway, and the antenna works well enough.”

  “Well enough for what?” Brian asked. “Jesus. I get static more often than not, and the radio’s worse.”

  “Cable, but no MTV,” Jennifer said. “I mean, they have it in Casper and Laramie, but not here. And I wish we didn’t have to drive all the way to Colorado or Utah to find a mall!”

  “There’s a mall in Casper,” Christine said, but all the others immediately laughed.

  “Eastridge barely qualifies,” Brad said.

  “It isn’t fair,” Jennifer went on. “Laramie’s less than an hour from Fort Collins, and only another hour past that to Denver. Evanston’s an hour from Salt Lake, and people up in Sheridan can get to Billings. But we’re stuck in the goddamn middle of nowhere. It’s an hour and a half to Rock Springs, and that’s barely even a town!”

  “The shopping isn’t the worst of it,” Brad said. “It’s the music! I wish we didn’t have to drive eight hours to see a damn concert.”

  Nate wished they’d quit talking about it. They were only making him hate Warren more than he already did.

  Brian tossed Nate a can of Old Milwaukee. “You’re cool, right? You won’t tell your dad or anything?”

  It seemed a bit late for them to be asking that question, but Nate said, “No. I won’t tell.”

  Over the next hour, the sexual dynamic of the group became clear. One of the Jennifers—the one with smaller bangs—liked Brian. Brian liked big-bangs Jennifer, who seemed to be focused on Nate. Brad was clearly trying to get into Christine’s pants, and despite her obvious desperation to fit in, Nate had a feeling the only reason she’d scored an invite at all was because Brad wanted to get laid.

  “Where’ve you been hanging out?” Brad asked.

  Nate swallowed a bit of beer, debating his answer. “Nowhere.”

  “I saw him with Cody Lawrence,” Christine volunteered. “At the gas station.” She looked around for some kind of approval of her statement. “Last week, and again yesterday.”

  They all looked at Nate. Brad smirked. “Cody? He’s a loser.”

  Christine scowled and crossed her arms. “He’s nice. Just because he isn’t from Orange Grove—”

  “He’s worthless trailer trash,” Brian said, as if it were the final verdict.

  Christine looked away, biting her lip. Nobody else spoke. Nate took a long pull on his drink and wondered what to do. Cody was the only friend he had, but even he could see that they were from different worlds. Cody seemed to assume Nate would end up being friends with this group—the “rich kids” from Orange Grove. Nate wasn’t sure if he wanted to fit in with them or not.

  A few minutes later, Brian pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. Except on closer inspection, it wasn’t exactly a cigarette. He lit it and made a show of taking a big hit and holding the smoke in his lungs as he passed the joint to his left. Nobody commented on it, and Nate’s heart began to beat faster than normal. He’d tried pot once back home, but it had been with friends he was comfortable with. None of them had been serious about it, and he was pretty sure none of them had actually inhaled. But everybody in this group seemed to be fairly familiar with it.

  Cody had told him to expect it. Still, Nate was beginning to see just what being in such a small town meant. Back in Austin, there’d been all kinds of people to hang around with. If he was uncomfortable with one group, he could just move to another. There was lots of overlap between the cliques. People he knew from the swim team or the tennis team might also be on student council, or in metal shop, or in the chess club. The lines were fluid, and it allowed for a great deal more individuality. At the time, he hadn’t appreciated it, but looking back, he could see now that his social options had been limitless.

  But here in Warren, his choices were few. And just as Cody had said, there wasn’t much to do. No movie theaters. No malls. No arcades, libraries, or skating rinks. There was nothing but a run-down bowling alley, a soda shop that closed at five, a rock quarry where the cowboys hung out, and apparently an old mine, where the preps and jocks got high. There was beer, and weed, and guessing from the activities going on between Christine and Brad on the other side of the fire, plenty of sex, but not much else.

  The joint inevitably came to Nate, and he tried not to be too obvious about taking the smallest hit ever.

  “You going out for football?” Brian asked as Nate passed the joint on.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Wrestling?”

  Nate sighed. His dad would certainly like it if he made an effort, but he had no desire to appease him. Besides, Nate didn’t know the first thing about wrestling. “I don’t think so.”

  Brian finished off the joint. It wasn’t long before he gave up on the Jennifer he obviously preferred and started making out with the one who wanted him. Brad and Christine hadn’t come up for air in ages. That left Nate and big-bangs Jennifer, who scooted closer, looking hopeful. He felt trapped and completely out of his element.

  Dear God, get me out of here!

  His dad’s policy had always been “call if you need a ride home.” He claimed it didn’t matter where Nate was or what kind of situation he’d gotten into, his dad would rather Nate call than ride with somebody who’d been drinking, or stay at a party where Nate was being pressured to do something he wasn’t comfortable with. Nate had always laughed at the idea before, but suddenly, he wanted more than anything to take his dad up on that offer. He wanted to beg his dad to take him home, even if “home” meant their house in Orange Grove. But he was a long way from a pay phone. More people were arriving too, all of them eyeing him, sizing him up. He didn’t want to deal with any of them.

  He made a show of looking at his watch. “I need to get home. My dad’ll kill me if I miss curfew.”

  Jennifer squinted at the three Swatches on her left wrist. “It’s only ten thirty.”

  “I know, but he’s pretty strict. Can you give me a ride?”

  “I’ll come with you,” a girl who’d just shown up said. “I’m out of cigarettes, and we can pick up more beer on the way back.”

  Nate ceded shotgun to the newcomer, who introduced herself as Michelle. She and Jennifer hit him with a barrage of questions as they made their way through the winding, unpaved county roads. Where was he from? Why had he moved to Wyoming? Where had he been hanging out? Did he have a girlfriend back in Texas? Nate answered in a monotone without ever saying Cody’s name. He just wanted out of the car.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally entered Orange Grove. There was a house for sale on every block. So many homes, most of them l
ess than ten years old, but nobody was buying. At least a third of the empty houses had broken windows and graffiti spray-painted across their sides.

  It was downright depressing. No wonder getting high was such a popular pastime.

  “Back already?” his dad asked when he walked in. “You’re an hour before curfew. Did you have fun?”

  “It was kind of lame.”

  He went upstairs and showered, washing the smell of bonfire smoke from his hair. He climbed into bed and thought about Austin. About the tennis team, which he was no longer a part of, and his old bedroom, and his friend Mike, and all the times they’d complained that there was nothing to do in Austin.

  What a fool he’d been.

  “Have you been to the Basement yet?” Cody’s mom asked a week before school started. She’d come home from work and gone straight to the shower, and now she sat with her hair combed but still dripping, the shoulders of her Led Zeppelin T-shirt soaked through, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She kept her eyes glued on the TV, even when she asked him a question.

  “Not yet.”

  She’d given him a bit of money from her tip jar the week before. It wasn’t much, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. She worked hard waiting tables, and there were too many expenses and not enough left over in the end. Cody tried looking for work of his own every so often, but there weren’t many jobs in Warren to go around, especially now that the boom was over. With too few businesses and too many unskilled workers, most of the entry-level jobs went to adults, many of them fresh out of high school and already trying to support kids. The few spots left for teenagers usually went to family members and friends, and Cody was neither. Sometimes there was seasonal work to be had—mowing lawns, painting houses, shoveling snow—but those never lasted, and neither did the few dollars they brought in.

  He appreciated that she’d given him what she could. Yes, he wished like hell there was more, but at least she tried, and he recognized that every time she handed him money—even a few dollars—it meant something she was giving up for herself. Maybe it was only a couple of drinks at the bar, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned them. If a few beers on Thursday night was the high point of her week, Cody understood. In a place like Warren, you took what distractions you could find.

  For himself, he had a new distraction: Nate. Every evening, when Nate dropped him off at the end of the day, he’d say, “Want to meet again tomorrow?”

  Cody’s heart did the same funny little dance every time. He tried not to get his hopes up too high—it was only until school started—but like his mom with her drinks, he chose to take what happiness he could when the opportunity presented itself. When they got tired of playing cards, they drove around town. They even stopped at a yard sale and picked up an eight-track tape for fifteen cents, just to test the player in Nate’s Mustang. It turned out it still worked, and after that, Nate stopped at every yard sale he found in search of more. Cody couldn’t help counting those coins as Nate handed them over, thinking how he could have put them to better use, but it was Nate’s money, and it made the afternoons a bit more fun. They ended up with a ridiculous collection—everything from KISS to the Bee Gees to the soundtrack from Pete’s Dragon—but it was better than the country station out of Casper and the static that filled the rest of the radio bands.

  His mom was watching him now, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer. “Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.” The truth was, there was a better store in Rock Springs, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve yet to ask Nate for a ride.

  His mom went back to watching TV, but a minute later, she ground her cigarette out and stood up. As she passed him, heading to the kitchen, presumably to scrounge up something to eat, she laid a bundle of folded bills on the coffee table in front of him.

  Cody’s heart sank a bit.

  She didn’t say a word. Just opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, then stood there staring in, the unopened beer in one hand while she contemplated their severe lack of food.

  Cody licked his lips, debating. Leaving it lying there wouldn’t change what had been done. He picked it up and unfolded the small bundle with shaking hands. It was more money than his mom should have made waiting tables. He closed his eyes, trying to find his center. Trying to find that quiet place inside of him where he didn’t have to feel anything.

  He wished he’d never made a big deal out of it. He wished he’d never even mentioned his clothes not fitting.

  Too late now.

  The money felt dirty in his hands. He imagined he could feel its taint seeping into his flesh, leaking into his bloodstream, rushing headlong for his heart. He didn’t want these crumpled, fading bills, but telling her would only make him look even more ungrateful.

  He opened his eyes, trying to feign an innocence he didn’t feel. “Where’d you get this?”

  “I had a good night.” Punctuated by the click-fizz of her popping the tab on her beer.

  Cody’s bile rose, and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He was torn—grateful for the money, but ashamed of it. Embarrassed for her, annoyed at himself, angry at his no-good father for forcing their hands.

  “Mom . . .” He wanted to say, I’m sorry. He wanted to say, You don’t have to do what I think you did. But her back was rigid as she stared resolutely into the fridge, and Cody said the only thing he could. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t blow it on records.”

  Cody couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought music of any kind. That was a luxury he’d long ago learned to live without, Nate’s sudden infatuation with eight-tracks notwithstanding. “I won’t.”

  He slid it into his back pocket, trying to let go of his misgivings. Maybe she’d been saving up for a while. Maybe there’d been a really big table, or one high-roller who liked the way his mom smiled.

  Anything was possible.

  Anything was better than the truth.

  When Nate wandered into the field the next day, he found Cody sullen—even moodier than usual, and that was saying a lot. Nate didn’t tell him about the encounter with the Grove clique. He knew bringing it up would only drive Cody deeper into his anger. Cody expected him to fall into line with that group once school started, and although he couldn’t quite picture it, he kept hearing their voices in his head.

  He’s a loser.

  He’s worthless trailer trash.

  Nate studied his class ring, remembering the second day he’d spent with Cody, and his assertion that there was no escaping Warren, Wyoming. What if he was right? What if this really was a black hole nobody managed to leave? Nate felt like he could barely breathe, just thinking about it. School was only four days away, and he was dreading it more than ever.

  “There must be something around here we can do,” he said at last. “Besides shooting things, I mean.”

  Cody shrugged as he ground his cigarette out against the side of the wagon. There was a pretty substantial black mark there from all the times he’d done it in the past. “I don’t know. There’s the places I told you—City Drug, and the bowling alley.” He looked down at the toes of his shoes. “I can take you to the bowling alley, but no way in hell I’m going where all the preps hang out.”

  “Well, I have a car, you know. What about if we left town? What’s the closest place to go?”

  Cody blinked at him in surprise. “Rock Springs.”

  “Is there anything to do there?”

  Cody’s eyes shifted to the side, and he bit nervously at his lip. He obviously had something in mind but didn’t seem to want to mention it.

  “What is it?” Nate prodded.

  “Well,” Cody glanced sideways at him, “there’s a store there.”

  “What kind of store?”

  A slow blush started to climb its way up Cody’s cheeks. “A clothes store.”

  Nate wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that sure as hell wasn’t it. “You want to go shopping? Are you serious?”

  Cody blushed even more, and ducked h
is head. “Never mind,” he said, his voice quiet.

  Nate was confused by Cody’s sudden embarrassment. He’d been teasing, but this was clearly something Cody couldn’t handle being hassled about.

  “Cody?”

  Cody looked cautiously toward him. His cheeks were still bright red.

  “It’s cool, man. I’ll take you. Anything’s better than sitting here.”

  A flash of hope lit Cody’s eyes, but he seemed to smash it down, grinding it out like he had his cigarette. “The thing is, it’s . . . Well, it’s a thrift shop, you know? Like, used clothes people donate.”

  Used clothes?

  Suddenly, the reason for Cody’s embarrassment was crystal clear, and Nate couldn’t even blame him for it. Secondhand stores were something he was vaguely aware of, but he’d never set foot inside of one. He’d always thought of them as places homeless people and bums went. Somehow, it hadn’t ever occurred to him that regular people shopped there. People his age.

  People like Cody.

  Cody was still looking at him, his cheeks red and a mute plea in his eyes—not asking if Nate would take him to Rock Springs, but asking Nate to please, please not laugh at him for this.

  In some past life, he might have done just that. But not now.

  “They have a McDonald’s there too, right?” Nate asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d kill for a Big Mac right now.”

  Cody gave him a big, broad smile that was cute as hell, and utterly contagious. “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese—”

  “Pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun.”

  “Let’s go,” Cody said.

  But Nate was already on his feet and running for the car.

  They drove south to the interstate, then turned west. The sun was shining, semis blasting past them in the left lane, and the farther they got from Warren, the more Cody seemed to shine.