✨As the World Falls Down✨

The first thing people noticed about Whispering Pines Mobile Home Community wasn't the sketchy looking trailers. It was the road. A long, winding ribbon of packed dirt split through the woods, cratered with potholes big enough to go swimming in every time it rained. If somebody came barreling down it too fast, everyone knew. The rumble carried from one end of the park to the other, rattling windows and shaking loose porch decorations that had somehow survived another season.

There were only about a dozen trailers tucked back there, each one with its own personality.

The Henderson boys at the front were responsible for most of the late-night mischief, usually banging on doors before sprinting into the darkness, laughing like they'd discovered the greatest game in history. Miss Patsy's yard looked like a garden center exploded. Someone always had laundry hanging on a line outside whether the forecast called for sunshine or thunderstorms.

Everybody knew everybody. Which really meant everybody knew your business. Especially Earl.

Your trailer sat third from the very end of the road. Earl lived in front of you, just close enough to notice when you left for work, when you came home, and who visited. Any time you left the house, he was outside, waiting to fill you in on the most recent scandals.

Truth be told, Earl exhausted you, but he wasn't mean. He would help you jump your car if the battery died. He'd even keep an eye on your trailer if you weren't home, but he'd also tell the entire park if you had anyone over.

You learned to accept that those qualities came as a package deal.

Behind your trailer lived Mrs. Gertrude. Sweet as peach pie, she was the kind of woman who never let anyone leave her porch hungry.

The first month after you'd moved in, you'd run out of sugar halfway through making sweet tea. You sheepishly knocked on her back door expecting to borrow maybe a cup. She handed you nearly three.

When you tried to pay her for it, she waved the money away.

"Oh, honey," she laughed, "Just come sit with me every now and then. That's payment enough."

Since then, you tried stopping by at least twice a week, usually with whatever you had baked recently.

Beyond Mrs. Gertrude's lot was the last trailer.

Nobody ever went down there. If someone had driven too far down the road, they'd always reverse until they hit your yard, and then turn around.

Donnie Barksdale lived at the dead end of the road. His trailer looked less like a home and more like a junkyard that happened to have walls in the middle.

Rusted truck parts leaned against the skirting. Tires were stacked shoulder-high beside an old engine block. Toolboxes sat open under a makeshift awning. Crushed beer cans glittered in the patchy grass like jewels. There was no porch either, only cinder blocks stacked side-by-side, high enough to reach the door.

The trees surrounding his lot were covered in signs that read, "PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. WE DON'T DIAL 911, WE CALL THE CORONER." Every single one featured some variation of a pistol or a shotgun. Subtle didn't seem to be Donnie's style.

You had only met the man twice. The first time was the week you moved in. Trying to make a good impression, you baked chocolate chip cookies and walked them to every neighbor's front door. When you got to Donnie's, he answered after the fourth knock.

He stood tall and broad shouldered as he leaned against the door jamb. He wore blue jeans, boots, and a faded NASCAR t-shirt, all streaked with grease. His hair flowed down to just above his shoulders, like a less weird version of a mullet with a matching dark beard.

You introduced yourself.

He looked you up and down without smiling, "…Donnie."

You smiled at him anyway and gestured with the plate of cookies, "I'm your new neighbor! I made these for you."

Donnie took the plate from your hands and shut the door in your face.

That had been the entire conversation.

The second time happened when one of your packages was delivered to his trailer by mistake. He appeared on your porch late that afternoon, holding the box in one hand.

"This yours?"

You thanked him, took it inside, and figured maybe he wasn't as awful as everyone made him out to be. Then you opened the box.

The dress you'd ordered has been pulled completely out of its plastic wrapping before being crammed inside, wrinkled beyond belief. You were expecting to wear that dress for a date that very night!

You stared at it for a while.

"You have got to be kidding me," you muttered under your breath.

Marching down there crossed your mind. So did asking him exactly what business he had opening someone else's mail. Maybe you'd even call the law on him for it.

Instead, you plugged in your iron, took a very long breath, and decided preserving your own peace was worth more than winning an argument with the meanest man in the trailer park.

Outside, somewhere toward the end of the road, the unmistakable growl of Donnie Barksdale's truck echoed through the trees.

You rolled your eyes. He was definitely not the type of neighbor you had been hoping for. It wasn't like you were expecting Mister Rogers, but an ounce of friendliness would have been nice.

The hot water finally chased the ache out of your shoulders.

It had been one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong. The power flickered twice while you were making dinner, the AC unit in the living room barely worked, and somebody's dog had barked for nearly four hours straight. By the time you stepped out of the shower, the steam hanging in your little bathroom felt like the first peaceful thing all day.

You wrapped a towel around yourself and walked into your bedroom. Your pajamas were folded neatly on the bed where you'd left them earlier. White tank top, pink shorts, and your comfiest pair of underwear.

Simple, but cute.

You dropped the towel on to the floor. One leg slid into your underwear before something outside caught your eye. You looked up toward the bedroom window.

There was a face! A teenager's face, pressed close enough to the glass that his nose looked flattened against it.

"Oh, hell!" you screamed, stumbling backward.

Nearly tangling yourself in the towel, you yanked it off the floor and clutched it against your chest. The boy didn't even blink. A slow grin spread across his face as you stood there.

"You sick son of a bitch!" you shouted, "Get the fuck away from my window!"

He shook his head.

Heart hammering in your chest, you shuffled over, keeping the towel wrapped around yourself with one hand while jerking the curtains shut with the other. Your hands shook as you stepped into your underwear, dragged on your shorts, then your tank top. Barely bothering to fix your hair, you threw open the front door.

"Hey!" you yelled out.

By the time your bare feet hit the porch, you could hear another voice cut through the night.

"What the hell're you doin', you pervert?" a man's voice boomed off the trees.

You rounded the corner. The boy, Jake Henderson from down the road, who had been peeping in your window was perched awkwardly on the rusted tow hitch bolted beneath your bedroom window on the end of your trailer.

Donnie Barksdale stood a few feet away, furious.

"W-what?" Jake stuttered.

"What?" Donnie barked back, "You heard me."

"I wasn't doin' nothin', I swear," Jake threw his hands up, "Honest!"

"The hell you weren't."

Before he could climb down, Donnie grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked. Jake hit the dirt, flat on his back with a grunt as the breath exploded out of him.

"Oof-" Jake choked out.

Donnie stood over him and spit onto the ground next to his head, "Hope that teaches your sorry ass not to be a fuckin' creep."

Jake wheezed dramatically, clutching his ribs and starting to cry.

Lights flicked on in nearby trailers. Screen doors creaked open. Right on cue, Earl speed-walked across his porch in a wifebeater, already grinning.

"What in God's name's goin' on now?" Earl asked excitedly.

You hurried over to Jake, kneeling beside him despite yourself.

"You okay, buddy?" you put a hand on his arm.

He nodded between exaggerated groans, "I'm fine…"

"You ain't dyin'," Donnie muttered, "Quit actin' like it."

Jake shot him a glare, "I'm gonna tell my Momma what you did to me."

Donnie shrugged, "You want me to tell her you was climbin' around behind a young woman's bedroom first?"

Jake went silent and Earl's eyebrows shot up.

"…Behind her what?" Earl said, taking a step forward.

You slowly stood up, brushing your knees off.

You pointed at Jake, "He was watching me through my bedroom window."

Earl's grin disappeared, "Are you serious?"

"He was pressed up against the damn glass," Donnie huffed.

"I wasn't-" Jake protested.

"The hell you wasn't!" Donnie interrupted, "I watched your dumb ass crawl under that window like you was 'bout to climb on in."

You helped Jake stand up and shoved him toward the road.

"Go home, Jake," you said flatly.

He wouldn't make eye contact with you, instead he opted to stare at your nipples poking through your tank top. You were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were braless in the middle of this group of men.

You crossed one arm over your chest and pointed into the darkness, "Go!"

Jake took off jogging before Donnie could drag him home.

The trailer park settled into an uneasy quiet. Earl looked between you and Donnie like he'd just stumbled onto the greatest gossip of his life.

"You alright?" Earl asked softly.

You nodded, "Yeah, he just scared me."

"Should've scared his ass back," Donnie snorted.

Earl folded his arms and gave Donnie a hard look.

"You could've handled that differently, Donald," Earl said.

His real name was Donald? You almost laughed out loud.

"He was peepin' through her damn window, Earl!"

"That's true, I guess."

The conversation stalled and only then did Donnie take a few steps closer to where you stood. The sour smell of cheap beer drifted toward you before he even stopped.

The old street light behind your trailer buzzed loudly, then flickered. For half a second, darkness swallowed the yard. When the light blinked back on, Donnie was looking directly at you. Something in his eyes caught you off guard. You couldn't place exactly what it made you feel, but you took a half step backward anyway.

Donnie noticed. His mouth twisted into a bitter frown.

"So…" he crossed his arms, "You can't even say thank you?"

"For what?" you quirked an eyebrow at him.

He looked genuinely offended, "I just dragged some creep off your trailer."

"You threw a kid into the dirt."

"How else is the little prick gonna learn?"

"He's just a dumb teenager! You coulda sent him home. I didn't ask you to play vigilante," you were fuming.

Donnie scoffed when you rolled your eyes at him.

"Bullying a child doesn't make you a hero, Donnie."

Neither of you spoke until he let out a short, dry laugh.

Donnie shrugged, "Well, damn. Next time I won't do nothin'."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking toward the end of the road, kicking rocks as he went. You watched until he disappeared inside his trailer. Your hands were trembling, but you decided not to pay it any mind.

Earl made sure you got back inside safely. He assured you with a pat on the shoulder and a smile that he would stay up to make sure no one else came creeping around.

The smell of fresh blueberry muffins filled your trailer before the sun had fully burned the morning fog away. Miss Patsy's blueberries stained your fingertips purple while you worked them into the batter, but you didn't mind. She always insisted you take more than you could possibly use whenever they came into season.

"The deer'll get 'em if you don't," she'd always say.

You smiled to yourself as you slid another muffin into a small, fabric lined baskets. Half of them were for you, and half were for Mrs. Gertrude. You covered them with a clean dish towel and wandered down the short path behind your trailer.

Her screen door was already propped open.

"I smelled those before you even got to the porch," she called.

She welcomed you inside with a coffee and lavender scented hug.

"My goodness," she peeked beneath the towel and into the basket, "Those are beautiful."

The two of you settled into the tiny kitchen with coffee and warm muffins. Conversation always came easy with Gertrude. She was wise, often giving you answers to questions you were too afraid to ask.

Eventually, your smile drooped as you began to think about the events from last night. Gertrude placed a soft, frail hand on top of yours.

"Everything alright, dear?"

"Something happened last night…" you trailed off, debating on whether or not you should even tell her.

She gave you a concerned look and squeezed your hand, "You can talk to me."

You told her everything. From seeing Jake's face in the window to Donnie dragging him off the trailer and Earl making an appearance. When you finished, she sighed softly.

"You know, Donnie's always been different."

"I noticed," you stared into your half-empty coffee cup, "I still think he handled it wrong."

"Oh, of course he did," she patted your hand, "But sweetheart, he was trying to protect you."

You looked up at her.

"That boy just doesn't know what protecting somebody's supposed to look like."

"What do you mean?" you tilted your head slightly, intrigued.

Gertrude hesitated, pursing her lips and adjusting her glasses before speaking.

"I knew his daddy. He wasn't a kind man," she nodded gently, "He raised Donnie thinkin' the only way to solve a problem was with his fists."

"Oh…"

"He never really learned any other way to be."

You sat quietly, sipping your coffee. She didn't have to say any more than that to get the point across.

You let out a heavy sigh, "I guess I was pretty hard on him."

"You weren't wrong, but neither was he, entirely," she said, smiling.

That thought stayed with you all the way home. Maybe you should've at least thanked him. Not for throwing somebody around, but for trying to protect you. You glanced at the plate of muffins still sitting on your kitchen counter. Four muffins remained.

With an exaggerated huff, you gathered them into your last small basket– one with a cherry red bow tied around the handle.

The walk to the trailer at the end of the street felt longer than it usually would. Beer cans crunched beneath your shoes and tall weeds brushed against the hem of your dress as you made your way up to the cinder block steps.

You'd barely raised your hand to knock when the door flew open.

You and Donnie both jumped back.

"Shiiit," he blinked at you, grumbling around the cigarette hanging from his mouth, "What're you doin' here?"

He looked like he had rolled straight out of bed. No shirt or shoes, just plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, showcasing a hint of his happy trail and a gold cross necklace laying on his chest. His dark hair stuck up in every direction imaginable, and an unlit cigarette rested lazily between his lips.

"If you came to fuss at me some more, I ain't in the mood," he muttered.

You lowered your hand and lifted the basket instead.

"I actually came to apologize," you paused as he pulled a lighter from his pocket, "I was pretty harsh last night."

"You were."

The lighter clicked and the cigarette crackled to life as he took a breath.

"I know you were trying to help," your shoulders sagged a bit, losing your original confidence.

"Hm," Donnie grunted, studying you through the first curl of smoke, "Those blueberry?"

You smiled brightly, "They are."

He finally looked interested, lifting an eyebrow at you and blowing a puff of smoke out of the side of his mouth.

"Miss Patsy brought me more blueberries than I knew what to do with."

He scratched the back of his neck, "She still got them bushes?"

"Yep. They're loaded this year."

"S'pose they would be. Woman's got a green thumb."

You laughed, "She said somebody better eat them before the deer do."

He reached for the basket handle, almost brushing your fingers with his. Just as he opened his mouth…

CRASH!

Something hit the floor somewhere inside the trailer, followed closely by a woman's giggle. Donnie shut his eyes for half a second and took a deep breath.

"The fuck are you doin' in there, baby?"

A sweet voice answered from out of view, somewhere behind the open front door.

"Sorry, Donnie!" she laughed, "I knocked the lamp over."

Your smile faltered. That shouldn't have bothered you. It really shouldn't. You barely knew the man!

He took the basket from your hands, said a quick thank you, and shut the door in your face. Again.

You stood there another second, staring at the dented white door. Somewhere inside, the woman laughed loudly. Why did your chest feel so tight?

"…you're welcome." you said quietly.

You sighed and headed back home. At least you had apologized, whether he deserved it or not. That made you the bigger person.

-

By lunchtime, you had forgotten three drink refills. By two o'clock, you had rung up a cheeseburger instead of a grilled chicken sandwich. At three, you handed a customer ketchup when he had asked you for ranch.

Your manager gave you a puzzled look.

"You feelin' alright today, hon?"

"Huh?" you stopped in your tracks to look over at her.

"You've been somewhere else all day," she said.

You forced a smile, "I'm okay. Just tired."

But you weren't. Every time you caught yourself staring blankly out the diner window toward the gas pumps, your mind drifted back to Donnie opening his door.

Then, to the woman inside his trailer. Whoever she was.

You accidentally sent old Mr. Lewis home without giving him his change. Realizing it nearly twenty minutes later made your stomach sink. Your manager waved it off, telling you he'd be back the next day like he always was. You still felt awful.

After an eternity, your shift finally ended, you drove home in silence. Instead of pulling into your own driveway, you parked beside Mrs. Gertrude's. She answered the door before you even got a chance to knock. The people in this park sure were good at predicting visitors.

"I was wonderin' when you'd wander over here," she ushered you into her living room and to the couch.

You sat down awkwardly. It took you close to fifteen minutes before you managed to work the topic into the conversation.

"So, um," you cleared your throat, "Donnie had someone over this morning."

Gertrude nodded, "Mhm?"

"A woman."

"I heard. Earl came over here in a tizzy when he found out," she laughed, setting down her glass of tea.

You looked at her expectantly.

"You want to know who she was," Gertrude mused.

Heat crept into your cheeks, "I was just wondering."

"Of course you were, dear," she chuckled softly, "That was his newest girlfriend."

"Oh!" you sounded more surprised than you meant to.

"That Donnie… He always has somebody," she spoke without judgment, "Trashy heifers, mostly."

"They don't stay?"

Gertrude shook her head, "Only a couple months, usually."

"What happens?" you felt like you were interrogating her. You couldn't explain what was driving your curiosity so hard, but you had to know.

"Those girls follow that man around like lovesick little puppies," she said quickly, "and then he gets bored, starts chasin' tail somewhere else."

Well, there it was. Exactly the reminder you needed. Donnie Barksdale was not misunderstood. He wasn't some lonely man waiting for the right woman to come along. He was trouble with a capital T.

Friendly neighbors. That was all you could afford to be. You could wave when you passed him. Maybe even bring over food every now and then if you baked too much, but that was the line.

Keeping your distance from Donnie Barksdale suddenly seemed like the smartest decision you'd made since moving into the trailer park.