The Trailer

by Rachel Crofut, SUNY Cortland, April 24, 2008

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We would toss the supplies into the bed of the truck; firewood, oil, blankets, and as much beer as we could get our hands on. After the eight of us squeezed into the cab, the ’88 Toyota Pickup would tear down the back roads for no more than a mile before turning off onto an improvised trail along the side of an alfalfa field. Once we reached the tree line, Bryan would stop the truck and kick it into 4-wheel drive, hitting the gas and boosting us up into the hill. Careening down the narrow path, twisting and turning at high-velocity, speeding up steep inclines only to fly down the decline, all the while being surrounded by very sturdy tree trunks less than half a foot away - this was my least favorite part. And then, we would break into the clearing, and there it was: a haggard old trailer that had clearly seen better days. The two blue paneled stripes nearly faded into the white middle and the six cinderblocks placed under the door were used as makeshift stairs. No electricity was needed or provided here, it was a whole other world. The drinking would start immediately, quickly followed by the igniting of the fire pit, not unusually with the assistance of broken 80’s TV sets or recliners. The ritualistic jumping of the flames would often commence with minimal alcohol imbibed. Intoxication brought with it laughing, yelling, and boisterous dancing. At least one person was tackled, normally while they were taking a piss. Thankfully the rule only applied to the males. More often than not someone would disappear into the woods only to reappear hours later without anyone having noticed that they were gone. Within hours, bodies were strewn about the grass and inside the trailer. Those who remained awake would lie in the bed of the truck to look at the stars and talk in an intellectual state of inebriation. At those times, all that mattered was us.

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