The Beach Cottage

By G Lusby

Ryan Tatum served his country for three years in the Marine Corps and upon returning attempted to pick up his life where he left off. Finding the economy weak, his expenses large, and his will to work ignored, he took to the streets joining the ranks of the many homeless people in the same position in life. This story tells his struggles, his victories, and the pitfalls of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G Lusby
• Release date: Mar 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476366784

G Lusby

My name is Gary Lusby and I currently live in Ocala, Florida. After working 32 years for Lucent Technologies as a computer analyst, I retired and became a school photographer for 8 years working for Lifetouch National School Studios in Reisterstown, Maryland. I then fully retired to the beach to enjoy life and pursue my passion for writing books. I don't choose to write in one particular genre, but continue to write stories that peak my interest and arouse my curiosity. My motto in writing is to tell the story, keep it simply, and never write books that are full of useless filler, just get to the point of the story. I self-publish all my books so you may find spelling errors and grammar miscues, but I promise the storyline will be there for all to enjoy.

Book preview

Chapter One

I can remember dreaming about the moment I would finally, after thirteen long months, arrive back home in the United States. Dreaming that my tour of duty in Vietnam would finally be over and I would be one of the lucky ones that made it back alive and in one piece. I had witnessed everything in my young life, from killing another human being to holding a fellow Marine as he took his last breath begging me to pass a message to his loved ones. The horrid moments of war were finally behind me and now I could return to my country, my loved ones, and in eight more months my civilian life.

I dreamt of hearing the clapping and cheers as I exited the plane and started walking through the tunnel to the terminal. Approaching the glowing lights of the concourse the voices of the crowd would be music to my ears and fulfill all my dreams of waiting for this moment to arrive. The brightness of the concourse lights would blind my eyes as I exited the tunnel feeling people slapping me on the back and cheering Welcome Home, Thank you for your service, and we love you. I knew tears of joy would run down my face as I shook hands with everyone and hugged anyone that came near me.

For over thirteen months that moment lingered in my mind each day as I lay in my cot surrounded by the jungle of South Vietnam just praying that my wish would ultimately come true, but unfortunately it wasn’t like that, it was all a dream that never took place. No crowds with appreciative welcomes, no cheering and hand-shaking, no I love you. I awoke from my dream to the reality of the American people and how they despised the Vietnam War and everything that it embodied, including those of us that went there and fought and many that gave their lives.

Their mindset was focused on the war itself and not those of us that went over and put our lives on the line for the cause. We didn’t ask to go, we certainly didn’t want to go, but we were just in the age bracket that was in the wrong place at the wrong time in history. So we went, we fought, many died and many came home a shattered shell of the person they were. But, above everything, we deserved as much respect and admiration as our fellow soldiers who fought in World War I and II, the Korean War, and all the wars before that. Just a small appreciation for what we sacrificed for those that were back home.

I awoke from that dream many times in my life, a dream I would have many more times before my life would end, a dream that would always end the same for me, with disappointment and those same questions, why us? The good part was that those dreams overrode the horrible dreams of the war itself that lay in the back of my mind waiting to surface each night.

It’s been ten years since I returned home from the war and besides my welcome home dream being crushed my entire life took a turn I never would have foreseen in my future once I received my honorable discharge from the Marine Corps.

I already knew that my girlfriend of five years had moved on, that was presented to me in one of my daily mail calls. It wasn’t the end of the world for me because I really didn’t expect a seventeen-year-old girl to wait patiently thirteen months for her boyfriend to come home. She was in the prime of her dating years and I couldn’t blame her one bit, but it was still heartbreaking to get the letter and return home to just a casual hello.

So I made it home, finished my last eight months as a soldier and welcomed my return to civilian life. Before I had volunteered for my stint in the service I had lived in a one bedroom apartment close to my old neighborhood and surrounded by all my friends from my school days. Both of my parents had passed away while I was in college so I was placed in the position of being on my own fairly early in life which is why I thought the service would be good for me.

Returning was a harsh reality that I was just not prepared for. I had saved up a tidy little sum of money while in the service, enough to get me a decent car and a one-room efficiency apartment on the outskirts of town. The majority of my close friends were now either married, away at college, moved entirely, or total jerks. What I mean by that last remark is they are the ones with all the stupid questions when you return and are trying to get your life back together. "How many gooks did you kill while you were over there? I bet you guys partied every night over there with all the foreign chicks." Not, good to have you back, or glad you made it home safely, just questions they pulled from their comic books and feeble immature minds.

The days and weeks ahead of me were filled with the realization that I was on my own with no help from my deceased parents, no help from the armed forces, and no help from my friends. If I was going to do this I’d have to do it myself.

Chapter Two

Once I had my car and my apartment was furnished with the essentials, a television and a bed, I took half of the little money I had left and bought some civilian clothes and some food for the fridge. It was amazing to me how fast my little bundle of cash went, by the time I bought the car, car insurance, tags, and renewed my driver’s license; one-third of it was history. Then as I looked for a place to live I went for the smallest thing possible, a small one-room efficiency where I was required to put down two months’ rent and a security deposit equal to a month’s rent. Once that was done and I purchased a single bed, mattress, bedspring, sheets and a pillow, I had blown through two-thirds of my money and it was still my first week home.

Food was no problem, after eating C-rations for thirteen months and the slop they feed you at the base I knew I could eat anything put in front of me. As far as clothes I had always been a casual dresser so all I needed was a few pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, and one pair of dress pants and a tie for job interviews.

With all that completed it was time to get down to replenishing my money supply by getting a job. I really didn’t have much experience in anything except going to school and shooting a rifle, so when it came to jobs I was wide open to anything that paid the bills and put food on my table and gas in my car.

I hit the classified ads, which I had always remembered as being a whole section of the newspaper by itself but was now down to about three pages in the back of the business section, pitiful. The selection of jobs was pitiful also; not too many hourly jobs just management and labor jobs that of course looked for a high level of skill which I didn’t have. The most advertised jobs were for truck drivers but most of those were for cross-country drivers of the big rigs and of course you needed a CDL license which I also didn’t have.

So, with the classified ads not having anything eye-popping for me I decided to pound the pavements and find what I could that was fairly local to the area. I wanted something more than just a burger-joint job, something with some challenge to it that could maybe benefit me in the job market later, and also something that would give me some health care benefits as part of the job.

I ended up pounding the pavement in many of the surrounding neighborhoods only to find small hourly jobs that required little or no experience and gave little pay or benefits in return. Knowing I had bills to pay that would far exceed the money I was offered I figured the sooner I got started with something, anything at all, the better I would be. Having something coming in while I continued to look around became my sole objective. And so, I became a fast food chain employee working the late night shift because it paid more money than the day shift; I figured it was better than nothing.

I started the next evening and caught on quickly to the routines of a normal late shift. Being low on the totem pole and last hired I was the guy who took out the trash, sweep up the mess, and cleaned the windows and counters; which was fine with me, we all have to start somewhere and the pay was the same no matter what I did, even if it wasn’t challenging at all it was money coming in.

The first month went fine as I tackled looking for another job during the morning hours and worked my evening shift with plenty of sleep time in between. But it didn’t take me long to realize that I definitely wasn’t about to make enough money to cover all my expenses as limited as they were, it was hardly enough after taxes to pay for the apartment and gas. I was lucky because my first two months of rent were paid in advance, so I was able to use what little money I had coming in for food, gas, and my monthly car and insurance payments; needless to say I hadn’t even received my first months electric, gas, and phone bill yet.

The daily search of the job market was hopeless even for someone who was willing to do anything for a little better salary than what I was getting. I debated taking two of the paltry jobs but that would leave me no time at all to search for anything better and I would just be stuck in this just getting by mode. I put the word out on the street via talking with people and flyers on all the local bulletin boards but the boards were so full of skilled people looking for jobs it almost struck me as a hopeless undertaking.

As month two rolled around and the monthly bills started rolling in I knew I was in trouble.

Chapter Three

The first thing to go was the phone. It was a nice luxury to have but I really didn’t use it a whole lot anymore since most of the people I used to call were out in the world somewhere anyhow. Luckily I had enough clothes to get by each week and weekly trips to the laundromat were stretched out to bi-weekly now.

I hadn’t made a lot of contacts with people my age because all the people I worked with were teenagers whose conversation level was caught between learning to drive and Lady Gaga. They’d look at me and think of me as the grandfather of the crew and wonder why I’m working such a kid-oriented job when I should be out there in the real world making the big money. They are all so naive and I don’t comment because I too was in their position; we all go through the numbness of being a teenager and not having a care in the world as we live home with our parents and have dinner served to us every night.

I’d just about given up the thought of finding some other line of work so I spent the last few days just hanging out in coffee shops trying to make contact with someone who could possibly steer me in the right direction towards making some real money, but that too becomes hopeless as I sit and mull over my bills trying to decide what is the next item I can eliminate from my monthly luxuries.

I’m in month three now and things are getting pretty bad for me. The rent is due in one week, plus my car payment and insurance, all due by the fifth of the month. I’ve managed to save a little bit out of each paycheck, putting it aside in hopes that it will magically become more money than I thought I had once I count it, but there is no surprise. I will definitely come up short this month and it won’t look good to the landlord who is a stickler for on-time payments, a point he made very clear from the start. So do I embarrass myself by asking for a little more time of do I just get out before I’m forced out on the street so he can get someone in there who is capable of meeting their obligations.

I choose to save myself the embarrassment and just get out before being thrown out. I take what money I have left and pay off my household monthly bills and cancel all my services. I’ve found a kid at work who will buy my bed and television and the rest of my belongings are stuffed in my trunk and backseat which is now my new home.

It’s humiliating to me to be in this situation at twenty-five years old. I spent my life going to school and learning the required things in life and then I gave three years of my life to Uncle Sam who shipped me to Vietnam for a year to learn how to be a killer. Now here I am back home and living in my car and working making seven dollars an hour before taxes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; they didn’t tell me that when I went away to fight the war that I would return and be put out on the streets to live with nothing.

But I go on because life has to get better.

Living and sleeping in your car is the pits. It takes some getting used to, either sleeping in the front by putting your seat all