Duel for the Airstream

Midge hoped the impending rain would hold off for awhile. As hardy as the little band of octogenarians considered themselves who were gathered around her father’s grave, none were impervious to catching cold, developing pneumonia.

She pulled her own jacket tighter, breathed in scents of the dense forest. A high stretching grove of thick redwoods surrounded their small cemetery, their trailer court, the rich dark bark of the trunks as fitting a background as any church, mosque or temple. Bryan was being laid to rest in the company of his peers, residents of Connie’s Court, all who had lived and died in their world of trees, mist, tall ferns and good friends.

“Thank you, dear uncles and aunts, for being Bryan’s friends, some of you for nearly fifty years. Thank you for being my friends, guardians, teachers. If we can manage to light our candles, hopefully someone has a cigarette lighter as the matches may not work, then we’ll hold silent vigil. My dad wasn’t one for speeches or praise, as you know. Afterwards, let’s share a meal in Space #8, at his Airstream.”

In some cultures a raucous party would follow the burying of the dead. Perhaps others held a week of fasting and praying. Neither was the tradition in this aging community, where the trailers and caravans were nearly as old and tired as their inhabitants, and no one shared the same religion.

What was on everyone’s mind? What would Midge do? She had lived here since she was ten years old. They’d all celebrated her forty-fifth birthday a few months ago. Most had been here when her mother had dropped her off for a weekend visit with her dad, and never returned. 


“That woman disappeared like water in the desert,” they said afterwards.

Midge had been the unexpected result of a week-long affair between her mother, an eighteen year-old waitress in what had once been a cafe down the mountain, and her father, Bryan, a forty-eight year-old biker passing through to somewhere, just pausing for a few days. The day he took off, he lost both his bike and his right leg. Then eight months later, when he was mostly recovered, the VA wanted to release him from the hospital, and Social Services asked him where he wanted to live. By then, Bryan had learned the girl was knocked up, and he chose to stay in the area. Who knew, it might be a boy, he told himself.

Social Services placed the disabled veteran at Connie’s Court, the insurance money paying for a large Airstream. The accident had been judged the other guy’s fault. Bryan also bought a truck with hand controls. He drove it for twenty years, until he lost his other leg to diabetes and gangrene. After that, Midge drove it.

Connie’s Court was nestled, almost buried back into the woods off a mountain road headed to nowhere. Ten trailer spaces with hookups and sewage. The first owner died early and passed it to his brother’s daughter, Connie M, who moved immediately into her uncle’s trailer in Space #1, and remained there until just last year.

To Midge as a child, it was a fairly land, quaint little homes amidst glades and woods, sweet old people always willing to teach her what she needed to know to run her dad’s life. They all adopted her. What a bright spot she was in their lives.

The most willing of souls, she became her dad’s nurse, cook, companion, housekeeper and errand girl. During the school year, the bus picked her up in the morning, dressed in the clothes provided for her by Social Services twice a year, and brought her back in the afternoon.

With her good grades, they all thought after high school she would leave and see the world. Instead, she got a job as a waitress in the same cafe where her mother had worked, using Bryan’s truck to get there and back when it was raining. On fair weather days she rode her bike all five miles there and back. Then the cafe closed and Bryan’s truck died.

When she was thirty-eight she announced she was never going to move out, so they should just stop asking her, making plans for her, bothering her about her future. Bryan needed her, and so did the rest of them. After the vigil, as she followed their tottering bodies down the slop, she knew this was still true, perhaps more than ever.

At the reception outside the Airstream, friends milled around, munching on the snacks everyone had contributed. Their offerings were from the Court’s own community food garden, supplemented by the Food Bank boxes delivered monthly from down in the city on the coast.

Everyone was wondering, but no one as much as Midge. Would it be right for her to live in the largest trailer by herself, even if it was hers?

Three residents, separately, were sure they had the right answer to that question.

Mr. Gomez, a widower of five years, in Space #7, stood considering both Midge and the Airstream. He missed his wife. But he might live another fifteen years. And Bryan had been her father, not her husband. She couldn’t live in that big trailer alone. She wasn’t yet fifty. Decisions needed to be made. None of them could count on having much time.

Mr. Assad, living alone in Space #5, stood at the edge of the gathering. He’d managed to find a shirt that looked new, had brushed his thick shock of grey hair. He’d moved in 10 years ago, and was the newest arrival. He hated ironing his own shirts and cooking his own food. And with his eyesight, he’d had to give up his car and license. He liked going into town.

There was only one other bachelor at Connie’s Court. His was Space #10, nearest to the cemetery. For the price of water, electricity and sewer hookup, Mr. Nakamura maintained the cemetery, the flower gardens that lined the entrance to the Court, as well as being the driving force behind the community food garden. It was quietly suspected he had been Connie’s lover. When she’d died, he’d had to move back into his small camping van.

Over the next few days, each of the men made his first tentative step. Mr. Gomez loaned her one of his dogs as a guard dog and to provide her company. Mr. Nakamura repaired the front stairs and cleaned up the hedges and fencing. Mr. Assad offered to help her with any legal paperwork to settle her father’s estate. Midge was touched. But not moved.

The Dublier sisters took the bachelors in-hand. The suspense was killing the rest of them.

“Just ask her out, for a date. We’ll figure the rest out for you. But you must have a day for the date.”

It was awkward at all points. Of course, they each approached her individually, which may seem reasonable, but since within two hours Midge received three weirdly worded invitations to meet over dinner to discuss future possibilities, she had no idea what was being proposed.

So she went across the Court and asked the sisters if they knew what was coming up.

Finally, all explained, Midge set the rules. She wasn’t going to squeeze in three dates in one week. If they were serious, they would all agree to having dinner together with her on Saturday, on Connie’s back patio. This last was because Connie’s was the largest patio, had a solid roof, in case of rain, and had plenty of seating.

All three men said no. How could they shine or speak personally if they were all together?

Midge answered through the same intermediaries, the Dublier sisters. As this would be her first date in her life, she felt she should set the rules. How could she choose if they weren’t all together. Otherwise, she might be influenced more by the order of the dates than by the actual person. And secondly, she would have to inspect each of their trailers the same afternoon. Saturday, ten days after Bryan’s funeral, was chosen as the big evening.

Meanwhile, every inhabitant was abuzz. The idea of something new happening inspired all of them. The Dublier twin spinsters took on the challenge of preparing each man’s trailer for Midge’s inspection.

“You know,”Midge admonished the twins during the tour, “I suspect you’ve created an atmosphere that is more representative of your own trailer’s decor, than Gomez, Assad’s or Nakamura’s.”

“No, just a few little items,” they quickly assured her, giving winks in unison.

The rest of the community trailed behind the dating party, admiring and commenting.

Having completed her inspection, Midge guided the party to Connie’s patio, and their seats at the picnic table. It looked lovely. Mrs. Butler had baked a few small cakes, others provided a lovely soup of canned salmon and cream, and Mr. Kastner had grilled veggie burgers.

But the peak of the evening was when Mr. Nakamura brought out two bottles of a mellow Merlot. A high card. His legacy from Connie. She’d left the trailer court to her niece, her namesake, who became Carole II. But she had left him her “wine cellar.”

There were four wine glasses on the table. Mr. Nakamura attempted to open the first bottle. To no avail. Mr. Gomez offered, and had to struggle to remove it from the other man’s hands. Finally, bottle in hand, Mr. Gomez attempted with the corkscrew, saying “This is a little trick my father once showed me,” but failed. Mr Assad, who did not drink, would not having any part of opening the bottle of wine.

“This has always been a non-alcoholic community,” he stated in disgust.

All four had sat staring at the unopened Merlot. Suddenly, Midge reached out, grabbed a bottle of Merlot, picked up the cork screw, in four seconds had the cork out and poured herself a glass of Merlot.

“Ah,” she sighed deeply. Then took a second swallow, let it mull around in her mouth, her eyes smiling. “This is delicious.”

She stood up, smiled at the still assembled crowd who had followed them from the inspection tour, bowed to each of the three men.

“How can I choose anyone of you over the others? You’ve all been my good friends.”

Picking up both bottles, one in each hand, an empty glass tucked in her jacket pocket, she traipsed back to Space #8.

The date had been a failure. The three men each felt terribly defeated, although for slightly different reasons. Well, they had to shrug, wait and see. Everyone trudged back to their trailers and finally fell asleep. The suspense was killing them, but not literally.

A taxi came all the way up from the city to pick Midge up at six the next morning. She left under cover of dark, without fanfare, taking with her only the money Bryan had stuffed in the spare mattress, bit by bit for forty years.

Had she planned to leave, even before the dating party? Her note said she was going to travel a bit, but would return.

When she did, it was with a husband, Jeremy, fifteen years her junior. They had met at the Food Bank down in the little city on the coast. Midge had volunteered there for a few months.

It was very dramatic, their entrance. They drove up in a new Subaru station wagon, packed with gifts and treats. The members of Connie’s Court were stunned but fascinated by her large husband as the two of them settled into Space #8. Afterwards, Jeremy was especially nice to all three first dates.

Over the years, when one suitor would die and be laid to rest, Midge would linger afterwards, drink a glass of the Merlot with her old friend, before pouring the last few sips from the glass onto the freshly piled earth.