RE: Trailer Trash 4 pt 7 (Patreon)

(pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6)

   Tabitha lay on the neatly-made bed within her tiny, orderly room and stared blankly up at the ceiling, her healthy tangle of reddish-orange hair strewn across her pillow. She was feeling light-headed from skipping dinner, her hand ached in a dull way, and the codeine tablet she’d taken for the pain made her brain feel fuzzy. More than anything else, though, she felt thoroughly lost, despondent and directionless.

   Ashlee Taylor. Try as she might, she couldn’t conjure a face to associate with that name—honestly, she wouldn’t have remembered the name at all if not for her father reminding her. The girl had been an early childhood friend, and little more than a vague impression of her remained after forty-some years. I think she must have been from… fifth or sixth grade?

   The incident with the trampoline happened more than four decades ago—but, she wasn’t so sure she could chalk up her lapse in memory entirely to the passage of time.

   More likely, I just didn’t want to think about it, Tabitha thought, lifting her new cast up into the air and straightening her arm, trying to find a balance point where it took as little effort as possible to maintain it up. The thing was awkward and heavy, but keeping it elevated seemed to lessen the throbbing sensation. For the past few hours, it felt like her hand and wrist were so swollen up they were straining against the confines of the cast.

   I was ashamed, so I tried to never think about it, Tabitha listlessly stared at the cast. Eventually, over the years, I ACTUALLY started to forget, started to lose the finer details of it. But, deep down, I knew. I kept quiet when a friend was being abused, because I was scared for myself—and no matter how much I put it out of my mind, it was always there, deep down there inside of me. Shaping my life.

   As a writer, she couldn’t be any more familiar with character flaws—but, applying that familiarity to herself as a person? That was the work of a counselor, a therapist, maybe a psychologist. She knew by now that throughout life, people would do anything and everything to overlook their own personal shortcomings. It was easier to justify themselves as the victim, or project their flaws onto others, to stonewall themselves into denial, or make any number of excuses.

   “Tabitha?” Mrs. Moore’s voice called softly through the door. “One of our friends is on the phone for you—an Elena? Are you okay to talk right now?”

   “Yes, Mother,” Tabitha gingerly lowered her arm and twisted to sit up with her feet over the side of her bed. “Thank you, I’ll speak with her now.”

   The door opened, and her mother stepped inside with the phone. The heavyset woman was wearing a sad, almost timid expression as she offered the cordless handset to her daughter. It seemed like she couldn’t help but send glances towards Tabitha’s light blue cast, and Tabitha felt an inexplicable urge to hide it, or cover it up somehow.

   “You’re... talking like that again,” Mrs. Moore said.

   “Yes. I know,” Tabitha squeezed her eyes shut in a grimace of frustration and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It just—it helps, it keeps everything at some distance. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to be real right now. I don’t have the energy, I-I just—I’m just not up for it.”

   “Okay,” Mrs. Moore nodded. “Here for you, if you ever want to talk. About anything.”

   “Thanks, Mom.” Tabitha watched her mother carefully close the bedroom door, and then slowly hunched forward with her elbows on her knees, cradling the phone against her ear. “Hello?”

   “Hi, Tabitha? It’s Elena,” Her friend said. “Sorry, I found your number in the phone book. Just found out about what happened from Carrie earlier—are you okay? What really happened?”

   I’m fine, Tabitha almost said, but her throat seized up again and her eyes watered. She wasn’t exactly sure why her first instinct was to lie, or why she’d wanted to hide the cast from her mother’s sight. After all, the vulnerability she was feeling right now didn’t have much at all to do with her injury.

   “I am,” Tabitha let out an unsteady breath, “not okay. At all. But, I’m trying. I’m… I’m going to figure this out.”

   “Tabitha, I-I think it might be my fault,” Elena blurted out. “Like, this was pushback. Yesterday and today I got into it with a few people—everyone was talking bad about you, and like, all of it was just—this completely fabricated bullshit. I got in a few arguments, I defended you, but. I didn’t think they’d ever go this far! Tabitha, I’m so sorry! Everything that’s going on, what they’re doing, it’s all just so totally, completely out of line!”

   “Nothing was your fault,” Tabitha felt herself smile. Elena spoke up for me? That feels… weird and surreal and kind of amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl like her on my side.

   “Do you even know Chris Thompson at all?” Elena asked.

   “I’d never even heard of him before today,” Tabitha said. “I didn’t even see him. It was all too sudden.”

   “Okay. So, he’s Springton’s star running back, sorta,” Elena elaborated. “How much do you know about football?”

   “Um,” Tabitha winced. “I only watch the Superbowl for the commercials.”

   “I guess you don’t really need to know anything, anyways,” Elena said. “He’s a total scumbag. Mom says if you decide to press charges, you can absolutely destroy his chance of getting a football scholarship.”

   “I…” Tabitha paused to settle her thoughts. There was an immediate vindictive pang, but she needed her cooler head to prevail. “I don’t know how I feel yet. Or what my parents will do. I think that… I just want to speak with him. To understand, to find out why.”

   “Well, I think I’ve found out who’s behind all the rumors going around school, at least,” Elena said.

   “Brittney and Erica Taylor?” Tabitha guessed, her shoulders slumping. I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with them.

   “Yeah—” Elena sounded surprised, “how’d you know? You know them?”

   “Do you remember back in Laurel, right before the end of the year?” Tabitha sighed. “The concussion I had? That was them—one of them pushed me, I’m not sure which of them it was. Cracked skull and a serious concussion.”

   “No fucking way!” Elena hissed, and then her voice grew faint as though she’d turned away from her phone’s receiver. “No, I won’t watch my language, Mom! Tabitha says those same two girls were the ones who put her in the hospital back in middle school! Yeah, the Taylor girls.”

   “Sorry,” Elena’s voice returned to full volume. “Tabitha, are you okay? How bad is it?”

   “Three to five months bad, I was told,” Tabitha said, slouching even lower, until she was almost hugging her knees. “I’m. Um, it’s dumb, but I’m... kind of scared to eat. I don’t think I can cook normally, or run, or do my exercises or… really any major activities, for a while. Even with the painkillers. I don’t ever want to go back to being the way I was.”

   “We’re going to figure everything out,” Elena promised. “One second.”

   We are? Tabitha wondered. A moment later, however, she could overhear Elena repeating the words three to five months and then beginning to paraphrase some of what had been said, presumably for Mrs. Seelbaugh. There was something incredibly heartwarming about how her friend was treating her problems as her own, and the way she jumped in without a second thought to tackle them immediately.

*     *     *

   “Mornin,’ Sweetie. Whatcha up to out here so early?” Mr. Moore asked, looking out across the wide open space behind their trailer.

   “I’m going to try to put together an F-22,” Tabitha said with determination, wiping machine oil from her hands onto her skirt as she surveyed the junkyard piles of military surplus aviation components and the incomplete fighter jet chassis she’d propped up on cinderblocks. It was going to need a lot of work.

   “Based on the Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor design. A fifth-generation twin-engine, all-weather stealth tactical fighter aircraft.”

   “F-22, huh?” Her father chuckled. “Another one of them future things? What’re we gonna even do with one, once we’ve got it?”

   “No, it’s not for us,” Tabitha frowned, looking across the yard in confusion for a moment. Was something… off? How long had she been stockpiling old jet parts to even fill this little area by their makeshift machine shop? “I’m hoping if it goes well… maybe we can get a government contract? Then, you won’t have to worry about money anymore.”

   “Well, try not to make too much noise,” Mr. Moore said, shaking his head. “You know we’re proud of you no matter what you do, Honey.”

   “I think I might have to run the smelter later to try out a new batch of alloys, if that’s okay?” Tabitha said, examining the F-22 schematics on her bracelet PC again. She didn’t remember why exactly she’d saved the documents in the future, but it was turning out to be lucky that she had.

   “Gimme a holler when you’re ready, and I’ll come out and give ya a hand,” her Dad nodded. He wasn’t comfortable with her pouring out the superheated metals by herself yet, even though she was almost fourteen already. “Oh! ‘Fore I forget, you got a letter from Julia. Here you go, Hun.”

   “Julie!” Tabitha exclaimed, perking up right away as she accepted the message and then opened it, greenish-blue hologram text projecting up into the air from her bracelet. I’ve missed her! How did she even figure out where I am?

   She beamed an excited smile as she saw the mail—Julia had written her so much! Paragraph after dense paragraph floated up into the air like a Star Wars opening marquee, and the simple fact that she was hearing from her friend again filled her up with joy. Why had it even been so long since they were in touch?

   I can’t… quite read it, though? Tabitha’s smile faltered as she squinted at the blocks of text. She wanted to know what Julia had to say right away, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t actually focus in on the words—all she was getting was some sort of gist of what Julia meant to say. Something about coming to visit her, here in 1998? So… frustrating! It’s all right THERE! I want to read exactly every little thing she says!

   “Dad, I want to read it, but I can’t,” Tabitha let out an exasperated sigh of confusion. “Dad?”

   Mr. Moore was gone.

   “Dad?” Tabitha left the scrapyard behind, trotting up the sun-bleached wooden steps of the back porch to look for him. “Dad, I can’t read it…”

   A growing sense of discontinuity was tugging at the back of her mind as she looked for her father— but it wasn’t strong enough for her to realize that the back porch belonged to an apartment she’d had when she was in her thirties. In the mobile home’s living room, her mother’s massively obese form was seated in her normal spot on the sofa. She was gigantic and bloated, far too fat for her to stand under her own power, and her hair was faded and streaked through with gray.

   “Mom?” Tabitha blinked. “Where’s Dad?”

   “Cancer,” Mrs. Moore scowled in annoyance at her. “Cancer, Tabitha. Weren’t you supposed to fix that, this time through? What’d you need ‘im for, anyways?”

   “Right,” Tabitha nodded slowly, remembering. “Cancer—the brain tumor. Sorry. I-I didn’t um, I didn’t think it would even appear this early, though—when did…?”

   “Hah.” Mrs. Moore snorted. “Well, make sure you get it taken care of next time, an’ I don’t care if you have to sit at the table the whole damned night to get it done, if that’s what it takes. You hear me? I’m not tellin’ you again, Tabitha Anne Moore.”

   “Yes, Momma,” Tabitha lowered her head. Simply saying the words made her feel bloated and fat and vulnerable, that small and helpless thirteen-year-old all over again. “It’s just… my friend Julie was going to come visit. I, um, I wanted to go meet her, when she arrives?”

   “Hmmph,” Mrs. Moore sneered. “You’re not goin’ anywhere ‘till you clean up that God-awful mess out there, or your father’s gonna hear about it. Now go on, get.”

   “Yes, Momma,” Tabitha turned to run back out the—back out the what?

   Their trailer only had a front door, on the one side. They didn’t have anything like a back porch. Embarrassed and confused, she ran out down the front steps and then made her way around to the back of the trailer. There was just grass and weeds, those few feet of patchy landscape between their tiny shed and the trailer behind them.

   I... guess that counts as cleaned up, then? Tabitha decided with one last guilty glance around, unable to place just what was wrong with the situation. Need to get to the hospital and make sure Julie comes through okay!

   Thankfully, her battered old 2022 Honda Pilot was right where she’d left it after her parents passed away, and someone or other had refilled her tank. It was a long drive over to Louisville, and Tabitha knew something was definitely not right. Streets and intersections passed by in a blur as she drove on and on what seemed to be forever, and that wrong sense pervading throughout the back of her mind had her gripping the steering wheel anxiously with her weathered old hands.

   In her mind, it became more and more important that she see Julia right away, no matter what, because something wasn’t right, and she had a foreboding feeling that she’d never get a chance to see her friend again otherwise. She didn’t quite remember arriving or even parking, but eventually she was at the University of Louisville Hospital complex, lost somehow in an endless jumble of mislabeled corridors and waiting areas and examination rooms. There wasn’t any time to ask anyone for directions!

   When she finally, finally found the familiar room with that collossal MRI device… it was too late.

   Brittney and Erica Taylor, Elena Seelbaugh, and two of the other intimidating girls from middle school were standing around the room waiting for her, greeting her arrival with mocking smiles and laughter. When the examination table slid out of the MRI with a whirring noise... it was empty.

   “Wh-where’s Julia?” Tabitha stammered, feeling crushed.

   “She’s nowhere, now,” Brittney Taylor laughed. “It’s like, wow—she’s even more stupid then you are. She wasn’t even born yet in ninety-eight! What the fuck body is there for her mind to get put back into? Retard. That means she’s just gone now, forever.”

   “No— she can’t be gone forever,” Tabitha sobbed, furiously shaking her head in denial and clutching at her clothes. “Sh-she can’t, she can’t!”

   “Uhh, well she’s not here in the past, and now she’s not in the future anymore?” Elena smirked at her. “What’d you even expect? She doesn’t belong anywhere, and you don’t, either.”

   “She can’t be gone!” Tabitha repeated stupidly, feeling herself crumble and break down.

   “You shouldn’t have come back,” Erica laughed. “What, you think you’re special? You didn’t even remember which stocks to buy up! We’ve only been back in time for a few days, and we already have like, six hundred and fifty thousand dollars in shares.”

   “They’re making me a White House advisor, at fourteen fucking years old,” Elena proudly preened. “‘Cause I kept track of every little bit of corruption going on throughout the time period. I’m like, a God to them.”

   “I’ve just been getting laid!” One of the other girls guffawed. “Like, look at me—I’m a teenager again, what the hell else am I gonna do first?”

   “What are you doing, Tubby Tabby?” Brittney sneered. “You haven’t done jack shit. Uh, hello? It’s fucking time travel. If you can’t even accomplish anything huge, why the fuck are you even here?”

   “Yeah, are you stupid?” Another girl chimed in. “F-22s debuted in like, nineteen-ninety-four.”

   “I’m—I’m,” Tabitha cried out, blinking through her tears in disbelief at the empty examining table. The teenage girls surrounding her wore sadistic grins, leering smiles of anticipation, waiting for her to answer. What could she even say? One of them giggled, and Brittney snorted and shushed that girl, eyes flicking past Tabitha’s shoulder for a brief instant. As if— 

   Tabitha flinched with her entire body as some hidden figure forcefully shoved her from behind, and then she was wide awake in the darkness of her bedroom with a sudden intake of breath.

   She trembled in place on her bed, pressing her face into the pillow to stifle an anguished wail. Her wrist had woken her up rather than the nightmare—somewhere throughout the night, that first codeine tablet had worn off, and she was in blinding agony. The details of the dream were already starting to evaporate as she clutched at her arm, trying to pin it in place so it wasn’t jostled by her wracking sobs.

   I can’t. I just can’t. Can’t deal with everything all at once like this. How can I even convince Dad to go in for expensive x-rays, when he won’t even HAVE those headaches for years, yet? 

(pt 8)