Monday, October 7, 2013

Trailer Park, Installment 1

Right now I'm living in Sunny Side Park, a trailer park in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I've been there for two months. It's the trailer park where Iggy Pop allegedly grew up as a teenager. I live not in a trailer, but in a floating house-like spot that sits on top of the manager's office, storage compartments, mail and laundry rooms. This complex that I stay in is at the very front of the park, which goes back a quarter of a mile, trailers smashed together incredibly close, maybe 20 or so deep until the park ends and spills into a really beautiful man-made river and some forest paths. A friend of mine had been living in the house for the last eight years, and offered it to me when he decided to move in with his girlfriend. Before that, another mutual friend of ours had lived there forever. Both of these people were perpetual creative/hard working social-yet-loner types, both photographers, music lovers and culture-minded record store employees who'd been having a lot of fun just carving weird, interesting life out for themselves in this sometimes-magical college town for a long time. It made sense that I'd be the next in line, perhaps.

Yesterday was the first day in maybe two weeks straight that I wasn't working one of two jobs, travelling or playing a show. Some friends were coming over at four to work on music, and moments before they got there, sirens started sounding. A fire engine, ambulance and three cop cars pulled up at 3:55. I looked out the window, nosy neighbor style, curious. I got a call from the friends I was waiting on, who'd never been to my new place before. "Uh, dude, someone died in your trailer park." About an hour later, when they went downstairs to smoke, this joking sentiment was actually confirmed by a friendly neighbor I hadn't met but had been waving to since I moved in. "Vinnie's gone. Pat was his best friend and went to say hello to him, found him there. This is hard for me. I lost my mother last year and I was the one who found her. It's got me kinda nervous. He was 61, and I'm gonna be 60 next year."

"Oh, don't think like that. You're doing okay, you're going to do so well."

"Ah, yeah... this is just gonna take a few days to feel alright."

"I know. I'm so sorry you had to be the one to find your mother, and I'm sorry for your loss now. It's a dark cloud, but I know you'll be alright. It's nice to meet you officially."

1 comment:

  1. Thats a good story. I had a neighbor a few years back who always smiled, said hello, some small talk --then one day I saw an ambulance and she was gone. Cancer. I didnt know and she was the only neighbor that I talked to. Also good to hear an update from you FRED!