White Trash Vixen by Budgie Bigelow (@BudgieBigelow)

White Trash Vixen
by Budgie Bigelow

She was my white trash vixen, my trailer park Aphrodite, hot as a dumpster fire and twice as dangerous.

It’s too bad she had to go and die on me.

Her name was Tammy Lynn, and it was tattooed six inches above her pale, white ass in barbed wire letters. That’s how I learnt it. The night we met at Bobby Joe’s barbeque she said a sentence to me I won’t never forget.

“I don’t want no names. I just want you ridin’ me like a tamed bear.”

And I rode her good too, right up against an old washing machine behind her trailer. I knew right then, bear-fuckin’ Tammy Lynn in the great outdoors, that it was love at first thrust. I done got hit hard by Cupid’s arrow.

“I never want you to leave,” she told me as she pulled her stretch pants back over her ass, “but muh husband will be back from the bar soon. You gotta go.”

Her husband was this guy named Randy, smoker of Camel unfiltered and drinker of cheap booze. There was a problem with Randy too: he was a good guy. It would be easier if he was some fuckin’ asshole who knocked Tammy Lynn ‘round when she got mouthy. But he wasn’t, and I felt like shit for nailin’ his ol’ lady behind his back. I wish she was married to Carl. Carl’s a fuckin’ slimeball, and I wouldn’t give a fuck about ruinin’ that mother fucker’s life by slammin’ his woman.

But I loved Tammy Lynn, dammit. It didn’t matter if Randy helped muh cousin change a tire in the mud or helped John Junior’s grandmama when she needed a ride to her dialysis appointment. I wanted to be with her, and I was on her like stink on a dead possum every dang chance I got. I fucked in her trailer, in the bed she shared with Randy. I fucked her in the back of my pickup next to my toolbox, usin’ a rolled up towel as a pillow. Hell, I even fucked her in the woods next to the trailer park twice a week. Tammy Lynn likes gettin’ fucked in the woods, lemme tell ya.

Nothin’ this good is meant to last, and Tammy Lynn was real fuckin’ good. All that sneakin’ ‘round weren’t good for me and her, and Randy was on to us after the first month. He still hadn’t slapped her silly. I woulda done it if I was him, but he just sent her to live with his sister on the other side of the park. As if a few rows of trailers would stop me from tryin’ to be with the woman I loved!

Randy’s sister was this bleach-blonde bitch named Brittany Anne. Brittany Anne had a husband named Chet, and he weren’t nothin’ like his brother-in-law. He cooked meth in his trailer, but Randy didn’t know. I don’t think he woulda sent his missus to stay there if he knew the whole back of the trailer was Chet’s mini meth lab.

His shit sucked anyway.

I was walkin’ over to see Tammy Lynn when the trailer went up like a bullfrog with an M-80 in his mouth. I was done thrown backwards by the blast, and I landed in a puddle of water and old oil. I felt the heat against my skin as the fireball shot up into the sky.

“Tammy Lynn!” I shouted, gettin’ off my ass and runnin’ to the wreckage. I was pulled back by Randy.

“Don’t!” he said. “There’s nothin’ you can do.”

“This is your fault!” I said, punching Randy in the face. He fell over into the same puddle I sat in just a second or two before. He put his hand to his nose and wiped the blood.

“Walk away, Cas,” Randy said, getting’ back up on his feet.

“Or what?!” I asked, steppin’ to him. “You put her in that goddam trailer! You good as killed her!”

I thought Randy was gonna thump me good for that one, but he just stared at me. Then he looked at the fire and let out a breath. “Just go home, Cas,” he said. “If you loved her, just go the hell home and lemme handle this shit.”

I watched him, waitin’ for something else to spill out of his mouth, but he didn’t say nothin’ else. He just watched the flames, and I weren’t so mad no more. “I’m sorry,” I said. I left him there to tend to his dead wife and kin, whatever was left of ‘em.

Randy left the park not long after the explosion. I heard he ended up at the park across town, the one behind the Wal-Mart. I guess stayin’ here was too much for him. I didn’t get to say goodbye, but he probably wouldn’t wanna hear it. Some things are better not said.

And that’s the end of muh story. I wished it were a happy one, but there ain’t much happiness in this here trailer park. You gotta get it while you can, even if you can lose it all in a meth lab explosion.

Catch up with Budgie on Twitter at: @BudgieBigelow

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