Trailer Park Blues

My neighbors were an odd couple. They were a seemingly indigent pair that lived on the first floor of a three family unit across the street from me. Neither the wife or boyfriend/husband were particularly friendly--especially the wife (Milly). She was a middle aged white woman who looked like she never got the note that the 1980s had come and gone. The few times I said hello, Milly didn't respond or even make eye contact to acknowledge me. Eventually I concluded that she didn't like black folks. After all, Milly and her husband (who was also white) fit the "trailer park" stereotype to a tee. I was surprised there wasn't a Confederate flag draped on their porch.

The year was 2006. The car Milly drove was a late 1980s model Crown Victoria. She also sported a Farrah Fawcett doo, but it lacked the bounce and glamour of the late great 80s icon. Milly and I usually left around the same time in the morning. Based on her attire (blue jeans, sneakers, and a white tee) I concluded that she was a waitress somewhere. On the other hand, it seemed like her guy was a homebody. When I got home from work, he was always on his porch smoking a cigarette or pounding a can of beer.

Milly's guy wasn't a man of many words. He also didn't have much in the form of threads either, as he generally wore blue jeans and a wife beater in the summer (or blue jeans and a hoodie when it was cooler out). It became clear after awhile that the couple was in dire straits financially. I concluded this when they put on a yard sale that featured everything from old records to bedroom pillows.

The summer after their yard sale I noticed that Milly's hubby didn't hang out on the porch anymore. As a matter of fact, I didn't see him on the block at all. I didn't care to find out what happened to him until Betty, the unofficial neighborhood watchwoman, offered a report of his whereabouts while sharing news about some recent criminal activity on our street (re: Cocksure).

Betty: The cops been on this street like crazy lately. Everything's happenin' at the same time, it seems!
Me: I never see the cops, though. I feel left out. Haha.
Betty: That's cuz you're at work, baby. You're missing out on all the drama.
Me: Yeh. Seriously.
(As we were talking, Milly walked out of her pad.)
Betty: That poor woman. I can't even imagine. Three kids and all. Such a shame.
Me: What's a shame?
Betty: Boy, you really don't know what's going on, do you?
Me: I'm not even pretending. Did something happen to the kids?
Betty: Naw. That man who lived with them ain't there no more. I'll tell you that much.
Me: Was he in on the cock fights?
Betty: No. He was beatin' Milly like a tambourine. Couldn't you tell? She was always bruised up!