Satan Lives In Riverside Park: A Real Florida Story, Part I

 I’ve lived in this park a long time…well, three years…and I’ve met a lot of people, but there is only one person I actively avoid. Like the plague (he’s worse than the plague. Funnier joke: he probably gave me the plague. Literally).

He lives four trailers down, and I used to be in a relationship with him. For three months (yeah that was short lived. Should have seen it coming). My then roommate would tell me how great this guy was, how he did seafood boils for the park, how he served coffee after the hurricanes because he was the only one with a generator (along with a propane grill, a golf cart, a street machine (I don’t know what the damn thing is called, looks like a go cart on steroids), and a bunch of fucking boats (yeah there’s gonna be a lot of fucks in this story)). You could say he had it “going on.” He was 64 when I met him. I was 30, and just asking for trouble.

I used to meet him on his porch for coffee in the morning, before I had to drive to Ormond to work at Winn Dixie (hated that fucking job). I was lonely and probably still really depressed. He let me smoke his 305 Lights (who the fuck smokes lights?) because I was smoking those cheap 305 cigarillos (they’re gross too). The coffee was just a ruse. This guy was eyeballing me from the moment I moved in, along with all the other dudes in this park. I guess it was a competition. But I wasn’t giving in that easy. 

So he started taking me to church (because with God everything is possible. Even seduction). It was a drive in church, so we could smoke in the truck (these guys always have big fucking trucks. And it’s probably a Ford too). I assumed Jesus was okay with that. Anyways, this guy was slick. He probably thought I’d melt hearing him recite the Lords Prayer (almost). Then he took me out for breakfast at Pats Riverfront Cafe. I wore a T-shirt with no bra (cause I’m a dumbass). I think at that point I was drinking after my five months of sobriety, because I remember being uncomfortable, probably hungover, and wanting to get a drink in me, not eat sausage gravy with coffee. After that he stepped it up a notch and took me for a ride in the street machine (and I said yes cause I was still a dumbass) all the way to Main Street to Froggys Bar. Now I know I was drinking cause I had a twisted tea (maybe two) and I had to be at work at 11. Little drinky poo before work never hurt anybody.

I wasn’t enamored (yet) but I liked having fun with this guy. He would ride me up to the little flea market on the golf cart. And I’d leave my cigarettes at home (again, Dumbass.) so he’d give me those fucking Lights (I don’t know why anyone smokes them, you might as well smoke paper). Then I started searching him out on my days off, because like I said I was lonely. Really lonely. Oh I forgot about the boat rides. I think the first thing we ever did was ride the pontoon and drink Busch Light (what’s with the fucking light shit? Anyways it is good beer (because Jesus isn’t the way to my heart, stupid, it’s alcohol! Why do you think I relapsed on Valentines Day?)). I got a pretty bad sunburn that day. We went to one of those water side bars for shrimp and more beer (it was a bit nipply in there).

One day I just hung out with him at his trailer while he did his chores and shit. I went with him to pick up firewood for his wood stove (okay I did melt. There’s nothing like watching a man load wood into his truck. Take note). Had a couple canned cocktails from the Dollar General. It was cold that day in March (the 15th. I remember. Beware the ides of March. That’s what they told Caesar. He didn’t listen either). Anyways, he made dinner on the grill (he didn’t have a stove. I always thought that was weird), and he made me an actual cocktail for the first time. Whiskey. I don’t know how much whiskey was in the drink, but that shits powerful. He put some country music on the tv, and one of those Josh turner/george strait songs came on, and he said “May I have this dance?” in that voice that sounds like if Morgan Freeman was from Tennessee, like back in the woods. I didn’t say yes, the whiskey did. Actually, I think the song was called “Why Don’t We Just Dance?” and that guys voice and this guys voice just did me in (gives a new meaning to Deep Throat (no not that, you sicko).

In the morning I’m sitting on his porch in a bathrobe and the park manager comes over for coffee (that happened a lot, in fact it was normal for people to stop by. It was like “the spot”). That was awkward (“Lucy, you have some splaining to do!). I didn’t know what the fuck just happened, pardon the pun. For all I knew I was in the twilight zone. Hey I’m not gonna say I was manipulated, but I did not expect this. This guy was more than twice my age. 

***if you weren’t offended by the language and subject matter, stay tuned for Part II. It’s gonna be killer.

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