Glory Day's

I zip the navy blue, prison issue, nylon jacket and walk the last half-mile to Glory Day’s, a dilapidated trailer park that had been home for three years. I wind my way along the narrow road showcasing gray and dirty beige battered trailers on cinder blocks. Some still have multi-colored Christmas lights strung around and they will remain until the next Christmas. Old tires used as planters and faded plastic flamingos clutter postage stamp courtyards. I’m scared, but I have nowhere to go.

Stopping to pet a tan English bulldog chained to a post in front of the trailer before mine, he nuzzles my hand looking for a handout. I feed him a few peanuts I’ve saved from the long bus ride out of federal prison. The door swings open and old Otter Cotter barks, “Whatcha doing there missy?”

“Hi, Mr. Cotter, it’s me, Abby Lane from next door.”

“Oh yeah. You and your boyfriend robbed the bank last year.”

“I didn’t rob any bank. I didn’t even know Rick was robbing the bank.”

It was true, but nobody believed me. I was charged as an accomplice even though all I did was sit in the car while Rick went to cash a check given to him by a person who owed him money. It turned out it was a bad check. Rick must have gotten mad because without money he couldn’t buy beer. I remember he got back in the car and sped home like his hair were on fire. I wasn’t even aware of what he did until the police swarmed the trailer and dragged us to jail.

“So where’s your boyfriend?” Otter Cotter is standing in the doorway wearing, a once white, dingy sleeveless tee shirt that struggles to cover his round belly.

“Still serving time.” He’d been in trouble before so I didn’t expect to see him for a bunch more years.

“Whatcha gonna do now?”

“Don’t know yet. Get a job or something.”

“Well, good luck with that. No jobs around here.” He gives the dog a sharp kick before he pulls the door closed.

Horrified, I hug the dog, apologizing for his owner’s atrocious behavior. His name tag says Basil and he lets out a soft whine when I walk away.

My hand searches for the spare key Rick hid under our trailer and let myself in. It looks worse than I remember. All our possessions tossed and strewn everywhere when the police raided us looking for the money.

It stinks inside. A few mice scramble and seek shelter in the scattered mayhem. I budge open a window even though it is still cool outside. The rancid odor stays and clings to everything. I gag on the smell and go outside again. I don’t know what to do with myself. I shove my hands into my pockets and walk around and visit some of the neighbors.

Some are surprised and shocked to see me. They offer low-income hospitality of pretzels and cheap beer. Time is spent filling in everyone on my experience. Everyone knows Rick is downstate serving his time for a couple more years. I’d like to think he tried to plead my case, but he never once said he was sorry for getting me involved.

The last thing he said, “You’re on your own Abby.” I guess Rick was always a crappy boyfriend. Some people have said I’m socially retarded and don’t read cues very well. But I’d been in foster care so long; I fell for the first guy who said he loved me.

He couldn’t keep most jobs longer than a couple of months. His money went for beer and losing the rest in poker games. When he wasn’t working he took the money I made at the Thrifty-Mart to keep his Trans-Am gassed up. That’s his real pride and joy, a silver gray 1976 Firebird with red pin-striping. It’s covered with pine needles and sap right now parked behind the trailer.

People in Glory Day’s don’t make any bones about staking a claim on something if you’re not around to own it. But I’m pretty sure Cowboy Gus has a lot to do with protecting both the trailer and the coveted Trans-Am. He’s not the only one to own a gun, but he won’t hesitate to use it.

It’s not unusual for people to have a moniker attached to their names either. Cowboy Gus wears a genuine cowboy hat. Also, the red bandanna around his neck is his trademark. It’s difficult to know when he smiles because of his bushy mustache, but I can always tell because his blue eyes get squinty.

When he sees me he wraps his big arms around my skinny body and says, “Welcome back pretty girl.” When I blush he adds, “Well, you’re the prettiest girl I know.”

“Thanks Gus.” His breath always smells of cherry cough drops.

“I’m ready to run an errand. How ‘bout you come around later and have dinner with me?”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. See ya ‘bout six then.” He turns and trots to his pick-up truck and drives away.

Not wanting to go back to the trailer I visit with Canary Mary. She owns a dozen yellow canaries in cages scattered about her trailer. Her husband Fred hates them, but Mary doesn’t get out much with her bum knees so he considers them her companions.

“How’s Fred doing?”

“We hate each other, but other than that…we’re stuck with each other.” Mary’s hair is grayer, and she winces when she struggles to move about the trailer. “Help yourself to a beverage. I’ll take a cola, as well.”

I grab the colas and the birds all start twittering. Mary ignores their tweets and asks about prison.

“Actually, it wasn’t so bad. My cellmate is in for whacking her husband with a hammer while he beat her with fists.”

Mary’s eyes look aghast. “There really isn’t any justice is there? A woman gets beat and she fights back…bam she’s in prison. Such a shame.”

“Well, I guess the justice is she isn’t getting beat anymore.” That’s how some of the women feel. There are rules and routine and you’re protected from the outside.

“If I were you, I’d just leave this place before you’re stuck here like me.” She pulls the blue knitted fringed shawl tighter around her shoulders and lets out a big yawn. It saddens me that she is so unhappy. I wish I could help her.

When Mary stops speaking and her eyes flutter shut, I excuse myself and say I’ll be by again soon. I visit with Basil; still chained up outside before I go to Rick’s trailer and wait for six o’clock to arrive. That’s when I find the note jammed into the side of the door. The printing—crooked and uneven is an angry message written with a heavy hand.


Cowboy Gus didn’t even wait for me to knock. He must have heard my footsteps on the gravel and hollered for me to come right in.

“I hope you’re real hungry. I got us some fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn on the cob.” Gus motioned for me to have a seat at the pull-down table and brought over steamy hot containers of food. It’s the first time I’d been in his trailer, and I can’t help but notice it is the best one on the property. The red and blue plaid furniture looks nice and comfy.

I sink my teeth into a juicy chicken leg. I didn’t let embarrassment stop me from loading up my plate with a second helping of mashed potatoes. Prison food doesn’t taste all that great. Gus just grins and says, “Eat up. You’re too skinny.” We eat in silence until our stomachs grow bloated. Gus grabs two beers for us and then he gets serious.

“Abby, we gotta get you out of here.”

“Am I in trouble or something?” Puzzled, I watch him light a cigar and blow out the wooden match stick. Blue smoke curls in the air.

“News travels fast. Donny is off his meds and drinking real heavy. I heard he lost his job. Says he’s moving into the trailer. Says it's your fault Rick’s in prison. That’s how he thinks.”

I hadn’t seen Rick’s brother, Donny, in a long time. Rick called him a Looney Tune schizophrenic when he’s off his medication. “That explains the note.” I show Gus the wrinkled warning.

“Get out now or die,” read Gus. “Okay…I have to ask this. Do you want to stay around and wait for Rick to get out of prison?” He watches me take a sip of my beer before I shake my head.

“Good. Rick and Donny are a dangerous combination. Do you have anywhere you can go, other than here?”

Tears slip down my cheeks, “No. I’ve been in foster all my life until I met Rick.”

“Okay…this is what I suggest.” Gus put his rough hand upon mine and made plans for me to leave Glory Day’s.

“Why are you doing this, Gus?”

He tells me he lost his wife and daughter close to ten years ago. Killed, when they surprised an intruder in their home. Gus was away buying a horse for his daughter’s sixteenth birthday. “You look a lot like my daughter.” He slid a picture toward me. A young teenage girl with straight brown hair and bright eyes posed for a school picture. The resemblance seems uncanny.

I hug Gus for sharing his misery. He tries to convince me to stay in his extra bunk, but I want to gather my thoughts so he agrees to walk me back to Rick’s trailer. He waits until I am locked tight inside and then the plan goes into action. I pack my meager belongings and sleep a few hours while Cowboy Gus and Mechanic Mike work outside in the spring misty rain.

As planned, before the sun breaks through the clouds, I step outside the trailer. The Trans-Am is parked next to my door. All cleaned up. Mechanic Mike wipes his greasy hands on an already filthy rag. He wears a Texaco cap on his head backwards. “Keys are in the car,” he says. “Now, get the hell outta here.” He smiles and winks.

The engine rumbles to life. Rick only let me drive the Trans-Am when he was too lazy get his own beer. I’m nervous, but I shift the gear into drive and let the car roll forward. The rumbling engine echoes throughout the trailer park. I’m on my way until I see Basil huddled outside, his body pressed against the cinder blocks of the trailer for shelter. Without thinking, I put the car in park and scramble out to the poor wet dog. I unhook him from the post, carry him back to my car, and lay him on the front seat next to me.

Proceeding to the end of the lane, Cowboy Gus waits for me. I crank down the window. “Thanks, Gus. I owe you.”

“No you don’t.” He presses a banded roll into my hand about the size of pack of Lifesavers. “This is for gas and food. Call me every now and then.” He bends down and kisses my cheek. He rolls his eyes when he sees Basil.

“He’s a runaway, too,” I sniffle.

“You’re not running away. You’re going somewhere.”

Entering the freeway, I pray Rick will never search for me and his precious car, but Cowboy Gus says he owes me the car and Donny will just wreck it anyway with his drinking. As for Basil, Otter Cotter should never have a dog.

And that’s how it is. Cowboy Gus arranged a new start for me. His sister, a veterinarian, lives miles and miles away. She knows I like animals.

My glory days are just beginning.



Word Count: 1976