What Trailer Park Did You Fall Out Of?
Mercy Chapter 14.
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Previous Chapter: Completely Understandable
Isla sat at her desk, head in her hands, leaving Doreen at the reception desk confused about the whirlwind that had just come through.
Isla’s old injury throbbed, the shrapnel never removed, unable to be found and extracted. Bill and Andrea didn’t know; they couldn’t. No one really did, not even people she’d told the story to—her parents and Kim. She’d been the victim of someone’s bad day 10 years ago; that was all. “Victim” was too strong a word for it, in fact. And yet her life was divided into “Before” and “After.”
Life had been particularly shiny on that December day in Boston: she had a fresh degree in hand, ready to save the world. Recently back from traveling overseas, she was holding hands with a new boyfriend, and wearing new and better clothes than she’d ever worn. In her Before world, she was comfortable, secure in her identity. A free spirit emerging from the chrysalis of a happy childhood into a life full of possibility, hungry for everything in it. She did not know there were any chains on her.
On they strolled that city street, she’d stumbled against someone while looking at the glittering Christmas windows of Downtown Crossing. Or they’d stumbled against her. She’d just returned from busy, crowded cities where one was slightly jostled as a matter of course throughout the day, so had taken no particular notice. Had she laughed a little, as was her habit? No one had been left sprawling in the street, she was sure; she’d remember that.
The incident had left no impression on her at all until three or four minutes later when a woman with a leather briefcase planted herself in Isla’s path.
“Hello,” she said. She was impeccably dressed and coiffed, from her perfectly unscuffed shoes to her belted black wool coat to her salon-styled hair.
For the last time, Isla had had the innocence to respond with a smiling, “Hello.”
“What trailer park did you fall out of?” With that, the woman was gone, and so was Isla’s shininess.
The businesswoman’s few clipped words were a bludgeon with a blunt object, not an elegant rapier thrust meant to cut to the heart. She was irritated at the end of a long day, probably, so it was nothing personal; it was said and then forgotten, most likely. But still, she’d instinctively known that these words would hurt Isla. Something about Isla inspired them. What made her think “trailer park”? Isla wondered desperately. Her reflection in the large display window suddenly looked clumsy, her new clothes ill-fitting and cheap, her hair crisp with hair gel and her earrings too big. The woman disappeared into the crowd, sleek, polished, graceful, in a way that Isla suddenly knew had to be bred into you.
Isla had never known who she was after that. In high school, she and Kim had loved Jane Austen, swooning over Mr. Darcy and exulting in the fact that Austen’s class complications were a thing of the past. After the incident, she wondered. Deep inside, she had always known that there were divisions, and from her secure position on a higher rung, she had hollered that “white trash” was a cruel and unkind and untrue thing to say. She had offered a hand up and even friendship to many young women she’d known with hard, impoverished lives, girls who were uneducated, ungroomed, children with children. She’d loved them without reservation, and advocated for them countless times. But a hand up had meant she was standing above, not among them.
That was the deepest confusion of all. She had thought she valued everyone equally, without judgment. Now, every time she questioned whether she really belonged somewhere or was just pretending, slipping past the gatekeepers, every time that she liked something and then wondered if it was low-class to like it, she realized that she did not value everyone the same. If she did, she wouldn’t care. So, who the hell was she? Not a confident, cavalier citizen of the world, and not an altruistic saint, just some poor schmuck who didn’t believe in poor schmucks, someone ashamed to be who she was, and ashamed to be who she wanted to be.
By the time Bill and Andrea came in, the adrenaline had subsided and she was just very tired.
“How did the meeting go?” she asked limply.
“I think you know that it went rather badly.” Andrea’s mouth was a straight hard line.
“I mean after I left.”
“We’ve got some great ideas.” Bill’s smiling nod lacked conviction.
“Good.”
“That’s not why we’re here,” Andrea interrupted sharply. “We are here to reprimand you for unprofessional behavior.”
“Let’s see, what’s the definition of ‘professional’ again? Totally lacking in any real human emotion?” Isla bit her lip.
“No,” Andrea was firm and eloquent. “Having the courtesy to curb your emotions for the sake of everyone else and to better serve the overall mission. You didn’t do that today.”
“And we totally understand,” Bill rushed to defend her. “We understand why that was a struggle.”
“Why is that exactly?” Isla challenged him limply.
“Because, well, because . . . maybe it hit too close to home. I mean maybe not,” he said in response to her rising color. “Maybe it wasn’t that.”
“I don’t know on what basis you think people in my home are trying to dispose of dirty needles, but you’re misinformed.” She stifled a pang of guilt towards Robbie; she wasn’t disowning him. He was far from home now.
“Oh my, no not at all. Not at all. No, no, I just meant, you know, maybe your ties to that demographic might be closer than, well, than some of us. And that’s good,” he hastened to add, “we need people like you to help us bridge some of the gaps in this town.”
People like you, people like you, what trailer park did you fall out of?
“And what do we need people like you for?” she retorted. Bill was no longer making any pretense of smiling, but she avoided looking at him.
“Isla, get off your high horse. You know that we all just want what’s best for our town. This is our home,” Andrea said.
“Yeah, and it’s not good enough for some of you.” Isla stabbed her desk mat with unnecessary force and snapped her pencil.
“That’s not it at all. I don’t know why you have so much of an issue with people wanting good things for the town.”
“Because I don’t think you want what’s good for everyone; because you have the nerve to think you know what everyone else needs or wants.” Andrea seemed genuinely hurt, but Isla didn’t look up at her.
“Well, that’s where you’re 100% wrong, Isla. We absolutely do want to better everyone’s lives here. We hurt for the people suffering in this town. Maybe you don’t like how we’re trying to do it, but do us the courtesy of believing that we’re trying. I don’t know why that’s so hard for you. I think you’re the one who doesn’t believe in the future of this town.”
“It’s always been a hard-bitten town. That’s what I expect it to be in the future and that’s not all bad. I wish you’d stop acting like everything you want is better than everything that we have.”
“Can’t you see any other future for the town?”
“Yes,” Isla folded her arms across her chest and finally looked up, “I can see it being taken over by . . .” she gestured generally, “who will make a lot of rules instead of just letting us live our lives.”
“I have to question whether you belong in this position, Isla, I really do. And this is a formal reprimand that will go in your records.”
Question whether you belong, question whether you belong, what trailer park did you fall out of?
“Is that emotion I see you displaying, Andrea? Is that why your nostrils are flailing?” Isla taunted. Andrea took a deep breath and composed herself.
“Isla, Isla,” Bill leaned forward with renewed fervor, “don’t you know this is ‘the town that refused to die’?” he said, invoking some mid-century propaganda created when the town’s industry started slipping away.
“Life support ain’t pretty, Bill. I’ve lived here all my life and I only heard that phrase in the last two years. I think that slogan lives at City Hall and on Wikipedia exclusively. It never formed part of my civic pride.”
“Isla, look, I hope you’ll change your mind and work with us. I really do think you can do a lot of good. Just get a hold of yourself; you have to.” Andrea rose to go but Bill hesitated. She looked inquisitively at him.
“Go ahead,” he nodded. Andrea went out and closed the door behind her.
“Isla,” he began, drawing a shaky breath after a few silent moments that grew awkward. “Isla, I love the passion you have for this town. I think . . . I think you really want to be an advocate, even when you sound like a critic.”
“I do.”
“If you can channel that into useful progress, you’ll be a major asset. Hell, I think you are a major asset now.” Isla studied him. Bill was unmasked and earnest, anxious even, and he seemed much smaller without the energy-draining grin. His face seemed older, pink around the eyes and ears. His shoulders drooped and Isla saw that all his usual display of strength was in his carefully cultivated bearing and not in his physique.
“So, my job isn’t really in danger then.”
“Oh no. Oh no,” he rushed to reassure her, “you’re a treasure, Isla.” The new softness in his voice suddenly set her on alert. “I mean, don’t keep rushing out of meetings. Please don’t. The decision doesn’t entirely lie with me. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re the last person who would ever be let go.” Was he blushing? He seemed confused. Isla knew she was.
“Well, uh . . . that’s good to hear. Thanks.”
“You’re absolutely welcome.” His assurance was, as usual, too hearty. But perhaps even more so than usual. He stood to go but didn’t open the door. “What, uh . . . what are you doing tonight?”
“Not working, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, haha no, I didn’t mean . . . I just thought maybe we could grab a drink?”
“I don’t drink.” Isla was brusque in her confusion at this totally unexpected change of events.
“Maybe a bite to eat?”
“I wouldn’t think so, no. Thanks, anyway.” Isla had never gotten good at handling situations like this.
“Right, right. Ok.” Bill put his smile back on, straightened his shoulders, opened the door, and said heartily, for Doreen’s benefit, “I’ll get back to you soon on those conferences.” After the door closed, she found herself giggling nervously to dissipate the tension.
“I’m unprofessional?” she muttered.
She texted Kim after supper as she sat on the couch by Mum.
<<I’ve had a day.>>
<<Yeah? What happened?>>
<<I stormed out of a meeting and I think Bill made a pass at me.>>
<<Bill?>>
<<Yeah, the town manager who’s twice my age?>> Isla made a mental note to take a hard look in the mirror before she went to bed to see if she was looking older than her thirty-odd years.
<<BILL!>>
<<Yup>>
<<What did you say?>>
<<Um . . . no?>>
<<Aw poor Bill. You could give him a chance.>>
<<Um . . . NO.>> After a few minutes she messaged again. <<Oh, and I think my job is in jeopardy. For unprofessional behavior. But Bill says I’m all set.>>
<<OH . . . sinister. Strings attached?>>
<<Sheesh, I hope not. This job ain’t worth it.>>
<<Aw, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. You’re too good at what you do.>>
<<Maybe. I’d better step it up for real.>>
Next Chapter: A Silly Thing to Keep Secret
Copyright 2025 Jennie Robertson