Ominous clouds on the horizon made me want to find shelter. The radio said there was a high possibility of a tornado and I had no desire to be swept away by one. My gas gauge was near the bottom and the spare can in the trunk was only half-full, so when I saw lights about a mile ahead, that seemed to be the best option for refuge. The lights turned out to be coming from a bunch of ramshackle buildings that had probably been built by a company for its workers as they were nearly identical. Some in better shape than others, but all tawdry and worn. It was hard to believe anyone could live in such squalid conditions, but hopefully, someone did and would let me in to weather the storm.
There was no response at the first three doors I knocked on. I thought about just letting myself in but if someone came home and found me in their abode there could be a violent confrontation so I kept moving. At the fourth shack the door creaked open and I found myself facing a slattern woman in a moth-eaten robe. Her cheeks were heavily rouged and a half-burnt cigarette dangled from carmine lips. When she pushed back her tousled grey hair, I noted that her fingernails were caked with dirt. The odor of burnt coffee radiated from inside as she pushed the door open wider. When she smiled, it revealed a yellowed row of crooked teeth.
“What can I do for you stranger? Looking for company?” I cringed at the thought.
“Storm coming. Need a dry place till it passes. Any of these places unoccupied?”
She tugged at the bodice of her robe, then pointed to the hut next door. “Nobody living there. Course, you could sit with me a while. I don’t bite.”
I thought about declining but found myself increasingly curious about this place and its inhabitants. She stood aside as I nodded and stepped forward, looking over my shoulder at the gathering momentum of the storm. The place was cleaner than I expected, furnished with an eclectic mix of furniture and a jumble of knick-knacks and hotel lobby art. She offered me coffee as I settled on a club chair, but I said no, expecting it to taste worse than it smelled.
While the storm battered the surprisingly resilient shack, she told me her story. Evidently, the county landfill was about a half-mile down the road. People that she called tumbleweeds drifted in and out, gleaning a meager living from the dump. Bits of food, clothing, trinkets, and treasures were rescued and reused. She’d lived there when it was a thriving company town whose employees ran a gravel quarry until the owner died and his heirs lost interest and closed it. Over the years she’d seen a lot of change. Drug dealers cooking and selling. Road tramps taking a break before moving on. Hookers setting up shop until the sheriff shut them down. The town’s greatest asset was a deep well providing a year-round supply of cool clean water to anyone willing to pump. The lights I’d seen in the twilight came from candles and lanterns as there was no power available. She created beautiful candles from scraps and made cigarette money by selling them in the town five miles away. Hearing there was a town was a relief as I could get fuel in the morning if the storm didn’t wreak havoc on it.
I didn’t sleep a lot but passed the night in comfort. In the morning, I was grateful for her hospitality and offered to take her into town and buy her some groceries. She declined, so I bought a few candles, which allowed her to maintain her dignity by not accepting charity. However, I did stop at the store after filling my tank. I knew I would never pass that way again so I drove back to Trash Town and left two cartons of smokes by her door along with a good bottle of wine. As we navigate life’s twists and turns, we never know who might be willing to provide shelter from the storms.