Ranger - 1. The Place

January 2020

“So, what’s your story?”

Brad could not help chuckling. “Right to the point, eh? I like that.”

“Why pussyfoot around?” The man ran a hand over his shaved head and pointed towards the right. “We’re going there. Those legs of yours tell me you’ve seen real action. You may have left your original ones behind, but I’m certain you brought back a new outlook on life like most of us did. Life’s too short to waste our time with bullshit.”

“Yep. I have less patience for beating around the bush these days. I leave that shit to the politicians.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Like your friend?”

“CJ? I guess you know who he is. He’s not that bad. He actually cuts to the chase pretty quick. But then again, he’s not really a politician. Yet. He’s gonna work for the State Department once he graduates from college.”

“I’ve met him before, and I know he’s on the board of directors here. I was surprised and impressed a rich, gay kid would care enough to help us out.”

“He’s not one of those spoiled brats that grow up to be spoiled grownups. He’s not typical anything, and he’s not afraid to take a stand when he believes in something. Plus, he has strong ties to the military. One of his fathers’ a retired Marine, and he’s lived next to my Army vet dad for years. A close friend of ours was in the Navy too. When I enlisted, CJ was one of those who supported me instead of pushing for me to go to college. ”

“At least he doesn’t have any Air Force pansies around. Those guys think their shit don’t smell.”

Brad had to stop; laughter threatened to make him tumble on the icy path. “Dude! His stepfather was in the Air Force and his younger brother’s headed to the Air Force Academy in the fall.”

“FUCK!”

Brad laughed again. While Heroes Haven’s head honcho and Brad’s traveling companions ensconced themselves in an office to discuss who knew what, Mark had been assigned to show the military veteran around. Brad thought of him as his minder, making sure he did nothing to disturb residents or staff. He did not object to the babysitting. It reminded him of entering a new community while on patrol and being escorted around by village elders. The building Mark singled out as their starting point was a large structure at one end of the property.

Two years before, CJ had stumbled across a GoFundMe page for Heroes Haven and made a contribution. He shared the link on social media and donations poured in from his followers. The community’s founder invited him for a visit and subsequently asked him to join the organization’s board of directors. CJ had recounted the story on the drive from Washington, D.C. to Wyoming, Delaware.

“So, my story. Prepare yourself to be bored.” Brad snickered. “Born in Boston, Irish Catholic. I have a younger brother who’s in college and wants to become a preacher. Mom and Dad divorced when we were little kids. Dad’s gay and when he came out, the family ostracized him. He moved to Washington, and it was years before we broke my grandfather’s stronghold and reconnected. Mom thought it would be good for us to get to know him, so Patrick—that’s my brother—and I moved to DC and went to high school there. Enlisted right after graduation.”

“Man, that ain’t boring. Sounds a little fucked up, but all families have their drama.” Mark stopped at the building’s entrance. “Okay, this is the community center.”

The whitewashed, concrete structure appeared to be in good condition. Two utilitarian stories with little ornamentation, it was obviously designed to serve its purpose and not win any architectural awards. An American flag flying from a pole next to the entrance provided a splash of color. Mark pushed the door open and gestured for Brad to step inside.

“This was the first thing we built. I was here at the beginning, and we lived in tents while it went up. Big kitchen, dining room, large gathering space, a few smaller all-purpose ones… That’s the first floor. The barracks are on the second.” Mark pointed at the stairs to the side.

“Barracks?” Brad’s nose twitched. The enticing aroma of something baking wafted from the kitchen. The sound of movie gunfire reached his ears; a couple of men sprawled on a couch watching an action flick on a large flat screen waved at them.

“I’m gonna show our guest upstairs. I’ll introduce him to you guys when we come back.” Mark spoke to the lounging men while steering Brad towards the stairs. “The brass calls it a dorm, we call it the barracks. It’s where anyone accepted as a new resident stays while their own place’s being built.”

“How long does that take?” Brad held on to the banister while ascending; he did not trust his prostheses entirely. Flat surfaces he felt comfortable on, but steps worried him. One of his physical therapy exercises was designed to address it.

“Depends. Most of the work’s done by volunteers from the surrounding communities. Those with full-time jobs come in when they can. Some are always available. Like there’s this one retired plumber next town over who’s here all the time. Even when there’s nothing for him to do. He claims it’s more peaceful here than having to listen to his wife. He’s a good man, and the guys enjoy having him around.”

“So you interact with the townies?”

“Oh, hell yeah. We try to be good neighbors. Too often communities take a not-in-my-backyard approach to anything that brings marginalized people into their hood. We’ve been lucky we’ve been welcomed and accepted. We host open houses every quarter and that helps. We also do weekly outings for kids. The town residents get to know us and realize we’re not a threat to them.”

“How many of you live here?” Brad sat on one of the beds in the room and stretched out his legs. The damn stumps were bothering him again so he adjusted the fabric covering them and the straps holding his prostheses as best he could through his jeans.

Whether from experience with other amputees or a desire not to intrude, Mark ignored Brad’s actions and carried on with the conversation. “We have twenty-four houses right now and hope to double that by the end of the year. We’ll start working as soon as the temperatures climb a bit. We also have two slightly larger residential units aside from the little houses. The director lives with his family in one of them, and a nurse lives in the other one. Then there’s another large, multiple use structure.”

Mark opened his quilted vest and the flannel shirt he wore under it; he flapped the sides and revealed a thermal shirt underneath; he pulled at it a couple of times before gesturing towards the staircase. “Too damn hot up here. Let’s head back. I’ll introduce you to the couch potatoes, and then we’ll go check out my place.”

The cookie cutter homes’ layout resembled a town. “The dark green one’s mine.” Mark explained the paths were meant to resemble streets even though no vehicles were allowed on them; a parking lot was shared by visitors and residents with cars. Paint color was the only thing differentiating each building; the ubiquitous American flags flying in front of each tied them all together.

“Are they all the same inside?” Brad asked as he stepped through the door. The front room dominated most of the space. A wooden bench held a remote control and a newspaper between a couch and a wall-mounted television. A high table with two stools, and a galley kitchen towards the back testified to its multiple purposes. Sunlight filtered through slanted blinds cast alternating lines of brightness and darkness like an abstract painting against the wall opposite the window.

“Pretty much. There’s a bathroom behind the kitchen and the other door guards my bedroom.” Mark snickered. “Gotta be careful with all these horny bastards running around. We get to pick paint colors for both the exterior and the inside, and we furnish it mostly with items donated by supporters.”

Brad had been uncertain what to expect after the bold green of the outside. Spartan white walls devoid of decoration enveloped the minimal furniture. He pointed at a fruit-filled ceramic bowl atop the dining table that provided a colorful touch. “That’s pretty.”

“Thanks. The only thing I kept after my divorce. I was in Ann Arbor, Michigan once and bought it from someone at a pottery show right before Christmas. My ex threw it at me during our final fight and it shattered. I kept the pieces as a reminder.” Mark lowered his voice while caressing the bowl’s sides. “I swore I would fix the broken thing while trying to fix a broken me.

“Anyway, a couple of our guys started working with clay as part of their therapy. They joined a group in the next town over and use their kiln. One of them fixed it for me. You can see the break lines. He used some sort of resin with silver dust in it. He claimed it was a Japanese technique called kintsugi.”

Brad found the sadness in the man’s voice disconcerting coming from someone who appeared so together. He needed to lighten the mood for himself and for Mark. “I like it. I’ll have to buy pottery at some point and break it so I can have him do the same thing.” The comment brought a smile to Mark’s face, and Brad felt confident enough to delve a little deeper into the man’s past. “You mentioned a divorce. Is that how you ended up homeless?”

“Want something to drink?” When Brad shook his head, Mark motioned for him to sit on the couch and took the opposite end. “The divorce was part of it.” He sighed and his eyes lost their focus. “When I became a civilian, war nightmares woke me up every night. I dreaded going to sleep. Of course, the VA flunkies didn’t consider the possibility I needed counseling, and I was too proud to ask for help. Instead, they prescribed sleeping pills.”

Mark smirked and scoffed. “The fuckers increased the dosage every time I said they weren’t working. I started drinking. But the solace I sought was not to be found at the bottom of a bottle. The wife and I started fighting, and I started screwing up at work. A year into it, I lost the job. I went home early and found the bitch in bed with some guy. I lost it and almost killed the asshole. That’s when she threw that bowl at me.”

“Did they call the cops on you?” Brad realized he was out of his depth; the man’s experiences were not something he was familiar with.

“Nah… The dickhead was married and didn’t want publicity. Anyway, that was three years ago. Soon after, I was evicted and spent six months on the streets. Let me tell you something, begging at intersections with Homeless Vet Please Help scribbled on a piece of cardboard is not something I want to do again. Ever! A volunteer at a homeless shelter talked me into rehab. I dried up, and eventually found my way here. Now I’m ready to leave.”

Brad was surprised. “Really? You’re moving out? Is there a time limit to how long you can stay?”

“No limit. People can stay here as long as they want. We have a couple of residents who swear they’ll be here until they die. They’re a little older.”

“Can I ask when you’re moving out and what your plans are?”

“Probably towards the end of summer. I mentioned we’d start working once things warmed up, and I want to be here to help. The houses are built off the ground, so we sink a few pylons in the soil to support them. The only real digging is for utility lines and for some of it we bring in heavy equipment I can operate.

“As for what I’m doing, an old friend started a private security company last year, and he’s offered me a job. He’s in Northern Virginia. Maybe you and I will run into each other when I’m in the DC area.”

“Dude, no maybe. I’m giving you my contact information.” Brad liked the man. On top of the military service kinship, Mark was the type of guy he would feel comfortable having beers with. Although, that was not going to happen; Brad knew better than to entice someone recovering from addiction to drink. “So, you’re gonna be like a mall cop or something?”

“Fuck you! Mall cop, my ass. My buddy provides security for businesses and business executives. You’d be surprised at how many of them want a gun-toting bodyguard around.”

“What’s the average stay here?”

“Right now, between twelve and eighteen months. Some of us stay a bit longer, some less. When someone moves out, they’re welcome to take every item inside with them—even the appliances—if they need.”

“You know something? The setup reminds me of base housing.”

“You got it, bro. That’s by design. It recreates the environment a lot of folks were in when they were stable. It’s a great transitional setup. For those with anxiety and PTSD, a tiny house’s better than a shelter or apartment. With one of these, you can do a perimeter check. It makes them feel safe, and it makes them feel comfortable.”

Mark looked at his watch and rose to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go. Not sure how long your friends will be occupied, but I want you to meet some other people.” He held the door open while Brad followed him outside. “I meant to ask you, who are the other two guys with you and CJ?”

“The taller one’s Ozzie—Owen Liston. He’s CJ’s husband. The other one’s one of CJ’s classmates at school. Carson’s from Delaware and he decided to tag along for the hell of it.”

The structure Mark ambled towards was the other large one on the property. “This is the result of your buddy getting involved. With the money he helped us raise, we built a gym and offices for counselors, our nurse, and the brass. In the back there’s a small indoor arena, barn stalls, and a couple of horses. Their paddock’s behind it, but we keep them mostly indoors in winter. This is where we offer wraparound services to our residents. Anything needed to help us reintegrate.”

“You guys warm enough back there?” A shivering CJ rubbed his hands together. Getting into a snowball fight with his gloves back home in Washington was not his smartest move.

Carson stopped tapping on his phone. “I'm good. Brad?” CJ’s Georgetown classmate was the latest individual folded into The Squad. Brad did not know him as well as the others but thought the guy was likeable.

“Yeah, it's fine.”

“What’s on your mind, Red? You haven’t said much.” CJ orchestrated the trip to Delaware as part of his continuing efforts to ensure Brad did not become a statistic. Over twenty veterans killed themselves each day in the United States. Brad did not want to become one of them.

“Thinking… Man, I really don’t have that fucking much to complain about, you know? Some of the people I talked to today have nobody. Having no support at home when they got back is part of the reason they ended up homeless.” Brad thought of Mark and how after his divorce he was left alone. “I’m making you guys a promise right now. I’m gonna stay alive and do my best to help anyone not as fortunate. Those men would do anything to have family and friends around like I do.”

“Turn right at the next intersection, Ozzie.” Carson had promised a home-cooked meal when he invited himself along. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer had insisted their son’s friends spend the night at their home.

“That’s not what the GPS says.” Owen drove while CJ occupied the front passenger seat.

“Screw the GPS. We’re taking the scenic route. It’ll take a little longer, but I texted the ‘rents. They’re not expecting us until later. I want you guys to see a bit more of my home state.”

“Okay… if we get lost, I’m siccing CJ on you. Brad? Keep thinking the way you are. You living and thriving is what we all want too.”

“Thanks, Ozzie. And thank you, CJ.”

“For what?”

“For once again jumping in trying to help me. You seem to do that a lot. Kinda funny you were the ice breaker today.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the guys I met knew who you were. Those who met you before said how nice you are. Those that hadn’t at least knew you were the youngest member of Haven’s board of directors. When I ended up following them to see the indoor arena, one asked me how I knew you. Ended up telling them the entire story of how we met.” Brad chuckled. “They thought I was gay too. Had to set them straight.”

“So to speak…”

The chuckles were more pronounced. “Yeah… It felt good to share stories of our high school days and our friends. I even had to show them the tat.” Over Christmas, Brad and his brother, Patrick, had the same tattoo other Squad members shared inked on their left arm. “I swear some of them were salivating. We’ve really led a charmed life, haven’t we?”

“I remind CJ how lucky we are constantly.” Owen winked at his husband.

“Yeah, well, it’s not what those guys know. They never had the tight relationships we do. Some found them in the service and then lost them. That’s part of what landed them where they are. The changes and the isolation. But I could see hope in them. That if they were lucky, they might one day have something similar again. It felt good to share those memories. The fact we all had battle experience made it easy to talk to them. Kinda fucked up to laugh at our antics, when shared pain’s the main thing we have in common.”

Brad stared at the landscape rolling outside the window and sighed. His mind screamed a thousand different things at him, but he and the other car occupants remained silent. Countless ideas on how to help his fellow military veterans sparked to life in those moments. He would have to do some research when he returned home. Funny how CJ trying to help him led to him trying to help others.

“The reason we were in there so long’s they wanted to show me the horses. They move lessons indoors when the ground freezes. The loose sand’s easier on the body when you fall, you know? That was the closest I’ve been to a horse. Excluding when CJ dragged us out to Central Park for carriage rides. Those guys came alive when they talked about their relationship with the animals. It’s not only getting on the animal and running around. It’s caring for them. The guys spoke about how rewarding it was to be responsible for something and then enjoy exploring the countryside on it. I’d love to learn how to ride.”

“YES! Yes, yes, yes.” CJ’s shout and fist-pumping made Owen take his eyes off the road for a second.

“You gonna be alright, CJ? I think I know what got you excited. Why don’t you share it with Brad and Carson?”

CJ twisted to face the back seat. “Hell yeah, I’m okay. This is perfect! Brad, buddy, you just solved my dilemma.”

“What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“How’d you like to move to Heroes Haven for six months or so?”

“I wish… But I ain’t homeless. I wouldn’t qualify. And I don’t want you pulling strings, bending rules, or pushing your weight around to get me in. You hear?”

“Ahhh, but there might be a way. Without me having to do any of those things. Listen, the reason we spent so much time with the executive director was a long phone call to someone out in California. The woman we spoke with wants to do a documentary on the place. It would follow a resident for a few months. To chronicle participation and changes. Ozzie and I agreed to invest in the project. And when we get back to DC, we’re talking to the dads about the family foundation getting involved too. But they were also trying to convince me to be in it and maybe narrate it.”

“Yeah? Sounds good. But that don’t mean shit for me.”

“Dickhead! Don’t you see, Brad? This is the way you get to move in. Dude, we tried to come up with a good hook for my involvement in the film. You’re it. What could be better than one of my closest friends, one of my brothers, being the connection?”

“But I’m not homeless or destitute!”

“Details, details. We’ll work that shit out. They can focus on you, and cover the homeless aspect through your interactions with the others. Like exploring the reasons for their condition and how Haven tries to help. Damn it! I’m a fucking genius.”

“Asshole!”