Luke Faces the Truth

By Mariliz Ischi

After losing everything in a house fire, including his young family, Luke finds it hard to ever live in a structure again. Leaving what little he has behind, he reverts to living out of his car, making his way as best that he can. Haunted by PTSD brought on by both his military experience and the loss of his family, he falls into the clutches of alcoholism. Life on the streets does not make things any easier, but the cadre of people who come into his life at this point are struggling with their own battles. Befriended by a young child in need of a mentor, Luke takes this opportunity to help a boy who would otherwise be pulled into the street life. If he is to help this boy, he'll have to make changes in his own failings. Together, each is enriched by their interaction with each other as they make their way through the hazards of this existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638748977

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Luke Faces the Truth

Mariliz Ischi

Copyright © 2021 by Mariliz Ischi

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

In the Beginning

Civilian Life

The Mission

A New Beginning

The Hungry Boy

A Companion

The Bag Lady

Trouble on the Doorstep

The Crying Mother

Busted

Some Gave All

Homing In on Luke’s Territory

Meeting Mama

Soldier On

Finally Home

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

He suffered from PTSD after having been shot in his right shoulder by an enemy insurgent. He sustained little physical damage from the bullet due to having his flak vest on, but the mental effects wreaked havoc with his mind. Just a few inches to the left, and it would have surely ended his life. He turned to alcohol to numb the pain, but it persisted once he woke from his restless sleep. The nights were fraught with dreams of battle and Luke’s inability to save himself or his fellow Marines from the enemy’s onslaught. Whizzing bullets and blasting artillery were all around brought on by the fusillade, waking him from his restless sleep. He would wake with a start, dropping to the floor and crawling under his bunk if the noise from a storm shook the barracks. Fear gripped him as he lay at night trying to fall asleep, not knowing what nightmare would play on the mental tape that unraveled in his mind.

Medals and battle scars don’t mean a thing to your men if you can’t maintain your sobriety long enough to lead. Luke knew this, but the mental agony associated with his past trauma could only be placated by the liquid relief that he found at the e-club. Sitting belly up to the bar, he did multiple reps of twelve-ounce curls, until finally he was content that he would be able to fall asleep once he staggered back to his barracks room. He had a few more months on his enlistment before he would have to adapt to civilian life. This, coupled with the PTSD, was enough of an excuse for him to justify his actions, barely able to perform the duties of his rank and position.

Luke rose from his restless sleep, alone in the barracks as the other Marines were outside gathering to do physical fitness drills. He rolled out of his rack (military jargon for bed) and slipped into his olive drab shorts and red T-shirt and joined the others in the grassy area behind the barracks. Obviously unsure on his feet, he was content in knowing that the corporal had circled the men up and had begun the warm-up exercises. He slid into the circle, which was to the back of the corporal, as he led the troop in a round of jumping jacks. This activity was definitely not good for his rumbling insides!

The fresh air felt good on his frame as he did his best impersonation of the exercise. A PFC next to him observed his ungainly state and got closer to him should he lose his balance and fall.

Sarge, he quietly said. You better check yourself before you wreck yourself!

Not happy that a junior Marine had taken note of his condition, he tried to liven his conversation with the young man. Dude, you listen to too much rap music! Luke said in reply. He continued following the corporal’s lead in the daily seven as the warm-up exercises were called. Following this, a run of at least three miles would commence, and Luke hoped that the intake of fresh morning air flowing into his lungs would help clear the fog in his mind. Once this physical regimen concluded, he would be able to return to his room, shower, and prepare for the rest of his day standing watch on the back gate to the base.

At the conclusion of the workday, Luke, like most Marines living in the barracks, headed to the mess hall for his evening meal. Later, he would walk to the NCO Club and imbibe in a beer or two, maybe three!

As he sat at the table with his breaded veal, green beans, and mashed potatoes and gravy, he bowed his head and said a quick prayer over his food. Why he continues this practice, he didn’t know, but as a child, his mother always had a different child in the family lead them in this thankful gesture. Upon raising his head and reaching for his fork, the corporal who had led the morning exercise routine took a seat across the table from him.

His meal was similar, but he had dispensed with the mashed potatoes and gravy and opted for a nice leafy green salad instead. He picked up his fork as if to begin his dinner but instead held it above his plate of salad pointing in Luke’s direction. I saw you come into formation a little late this morning, and I know what the problem is, he stated as he stabbed a pile of lettuce and put it in his mouth. By doing this, he left the door open for Luke to respond.

I’m sorry, Corporal Powell. Luke started trying to garner a defense of his actions. But I’m just not getting a good night’s sleep with all of the extra duties placed on me since my promotion.

Keep going this way, and you may find yourself with less rank, and less responsibility to go with it, he said. He didn’t want to sound threatening, but every Marine knows that it is his responsibility to be prompt for formations, and to be sober. Like most others in the platoon, the corporal had taken notice of his tardiness and sluggish demeanor in the early morning.

Although perturbed at the corporal’s meddling in his affairs, Luke knew that he had to make changes in his lifestyle and face the truth of his own addiction. As a young man, he had little respect for his own father who had spent many nights staggering in late at night, raising a ruckus in the home, and going to bed with nary a kind word. Now he was becoming what he detested as a boy! It’s these dreams that I keep having, he confided in his tablemate. I don’t want to go to sleep, because they just keep coming back dogging my nights, waking me in a sweat, and affecting my days.

I hate to break it to you, but you may need to see somebody about this, or it will be your undoing, Corporal Powell responded. You can’t drown your pain in beer. It won’t make it go away, rather it will make things worse on your body and your mind. Once again, he loaded up his fork and continued chewing.

We all know that seeing the shrink looks bad on your record, Luke stated in response to the corporal’s remark. All he’s going to do is talk this mumbo jumbo and tell me that I need some pill instead of alcohol to help with my trouble. Why should I put some chemical in my system when a few beers would suffice?

A few beers too many! he stated as he once again pointed his fork across the table. It may help to at least talk to somebody. I saw you praying when I came to the table, so you must believe in some higher power.

It’s more of a formality, anyway. It doesn’t make the food taste any better! he mused in an effort to lighten the mood and redirect the conversation.

Apparently somebody in your family cared enough to ask for the Lord’s blessing and pass that on to you. he added. You know, they have AA meetings in the chapel on Thursday nights. I can go with you if you want me to, he offered.

Luke didn’t come to the chow hall to be preached at or have somebody intrude on his life; he was already embarrassed enough by being confronted with one of his faults. He took a few more bites of his food, bid his table guest farewell, and retreated to his barracks room to gather his thoughts.

Once back at his room, he went to the bathroom to get washed up and once again walk to the other side of the base for a few drinks. He looked at the sober reflection staring back at him from the mirror. He could see his father’s eyes staring back at him. Having a few beers before bed didn’t make him an alcoholic. Having his sleep wreaked with nightmares didn’t make him a nut case! Who did Corporal Powell think he was trying to analyze—him! he thought as his reflection stared back at him. He washed his face and headed for the door, out into the night in search of his next fix, but would it fix anything?

As he walked down the passageway outside of the barracks, he passed Corporal Powell’s room. The curtains were closed most of the way, but he could see him sitting by his desk watching a baseball game on his TV. Who watches baseball anymore? he mused to himself. He lingered near for a few seconds and continued on his way. The earlier conversation with this man came to mind. For some unknown reason, Luke stopped and felt led back to his room. He turned and approached the room; he paused, staring blankly at the door wondering what he was doing there. This is the same guy whom he felt had denigrated him just an hour earlier. What is he thinking, to be at this place? He lifted his hand and quietly rapped on the door. Maybe he wouldn’t be heard from inside over the television’s drone.

The door cracked open enough for the corporal to see who was knocking. Oh, it’s you, he remarked from the inside; he opened the door and invited his unexpected guest to come in.

I don’t know why I’m here, really, Luke began. I guess it’s just because I was on my way to the club and thought that maybe you would like to join me, he sheepishly responded. He knew that it was only a ruse and was sure that this man would not choose to join him in his revelry.

The St. Louis Cardinals are playing, the corporal answered motioning toward the blaring television. If they win tonight, they go to the playoffs!

Really, you’d rather watch a dumb old ball game than have a few brews with a fellow Marine? Luke intoned. Maybe they’re watching the game at the NCO Club.

I’m not the drinking kind anymore, he replied. You know what, why don’t you have a seat and watch the game with me for a change? At least here, I can hear what’s going on. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning if you clear your head and go one night away from the bar.

At first Luke resented the remark, but he stared at the television in an attempt to avoid the tension building up within. The batter swung his bat sending the ball flying into the outfield, out, out it went hitting the top of the wall and bouncing back into the outfield away from the opposing team member’s glove. The corporal jumped from his seat, spun around as if he was playing some sort of kid’s game, and hooted his approval. I guess that’s your team, he stated despite already knowing the answer.

He barely missed a home run that would win the game, the corporal answered. It’s tied, and he made it to third base. All he has to do now is get a chance to get home, and they go to the playoffs.

Luke hadn’t watched a ball game since he was a boy, when his father would spend most weekends in the summer, parked in front of the boob tube staring at whatever game he could find. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that his father’s favorite team was the Pittsburgh Pirates. It didn’t really matter; it was just a diversion to keep him from spending time with his family and gave him another excuse to drink.

Don’t keep standing there. Corporal Powell offered, Sit in the other chair, and cheer on the Cardinals.

Luke took his seat as offered and stared blankly at the screen. He still couldn’t imagine himself watching baseball instead of getting plastered. He could be at the bar on base holding a cold one, staring at the game on the television there; they always had some sort of game playing.

Corporal Powell could see that he was starting to get through to Luke when he conceded to take the seat. You know, Luke, he began, I was in your spot before I joined the Marines.

What do you mean? he blurted out.

Before I joined, I was a street urchin of a sort, he replied. I hung with the wrong crowd, got drunk all the time, and even smoked some weed.

Not you! Luke intoned. All you do is run for miles before and after work, and at the end of the day, you keep to yourself in your room. You’re what most would call a square! He turned in the chair and faced the corporal to see the expression on his face at the remark.

It wasn’t always like that, Corporal Powell replied. I used to skip school all day and hang out with my friends. I barely graduated. I was at the bottom of my class. My dad told me that I had better get some direction in my life, or I’d end up in prison. He noted Luke’s demeanor change as he leaned forward in his chair and seemed to be interested in what he had to say. Most of my buddies had already been to jail, and when they got back out, the other guys seemed to look up to them as if they’d hit the big time. We’d celebrate their release from ‘the joint’ by sharing a joint. Kind of a fitting gesture!

Luke seemed surprised by what the corporal was saying. He sat upright in the chair and stared at the corporal. So, what brought you here if you were having such a good time with your friends? he asked.

Knowing that he had Luke hooked on his conversation, he continued, Well, one night, we were all hanging out on the corner, and the cops came looking for one of the guys. He was the one whom we bought our weed from, and he sold other stuff too! He was with us, and when the police saw him, they came toward us, and we all scattered in different directions. I had a small baggie of marijuana in my pocket, and after spending $10 on it, I wasn’t about to have it taken by the cops. I could have pitched it into the bushes, but still I would no longer have it!

So, you risked going to jail over a little baggie of weed? Luke asked. Why didn’t you just stick around like you weren’t part of the group?

No way, man. I had been busted before with these guys, and they already knew that I was part of the group, he remarked. My dad was a deacon at our church, and he knew the chief of police, so he was able to get me out of trouble then, and I figured that if I got into trouble again, he’d be there to catch me when I fell. Still, he would give me the lecture of my life if I was caught with that group. So, to avoid the lecture, I figured that I could outrun the cops. Instead, I tripped over a rock on the ground and flew forward like some sort of dodo bird and landed on the grass next to a stump.

So, you were nabbed? Luke said as he was beginning to be captivated by the story.

Man, they locked me up so fast, I didn’t have a chance, he remarked.

So, your dad came to the rescue again? Luke queried.

He couldn’t help this time. I had that dime bag in my pocket, he answered. They got me for simple possession, and I was looking at some real time.

So how did you end up here? Luke asked him.

Well since this was my first time going to court, the judge had mercy on me, he added. He told me that he could send me to prison for two years, but if I would join the military for four years, it would be expunged. One of my friends did four years upstate, and he said that he never wanted to go back.

So here you are! Luke said. It seems like you turned yourself around. No wonder you don’t party with the rest of us.

There’s been times when I’ve been down in the dumps over some situation, and I think about picking up a drink, but I know that one could lead to another, and that could draw me back to a habit, which I hope that I’ve finally beaten, he admitted.

Considering his own problems with drinking, Luke is genuinely interested in what keeps his new friend from going back to the bottle. What keeps you from having one anyway?

I’m an alcoholic. It took a lot for me to admit it at first, but once you face your enemy, it’s easier to do battle, he admitted. On Thursday nights, they have AA meetings in the chapel, and I’m always there. They help me deal with issues that otherwise would make me want to pick up a drink. They helped me to realize that once sobering up, the problems are still there. Getting drunk may make me forget them for a while, but eventually I have to sober up and figure out how to deal with them.

So, going to these AA meetings is all that it took? Luke inquired. He still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. He didn’t understand how just listening to others express their thoughts and feelings could encourage somebody to just put down a long-held habit such as his.

You have to have some intestinal fortitude to be able to fight the urge to pick up that first drink, but each time that you resist, the easier it becomes the next time, Corporal Powell answered. I still get urges to have a beer when I’m with friends, but now I have this little voice inside to remind me where it could lead. He wanted to give Luke time to consider the information that he provided and turned his attention toward the baseball game nearing its conclusion. By doing this, he hoped Luke would not feel pressured to make a decision to join with him in the next meeting, but rather, be comfortable with making his mind up to attend in his own good time.

Luke mulled over the whole conversation in his mind, thinking to himself how he could join his fellow Marine in the next meeting. When he began to speak, he noticed that the corporal had turned his attention to the game still playing on the television. Like many times before in the game, the pitcher steadied himself on the mound as the batter stood in his position waiting for the delivery. The pitcher had a determined expression on his face as he pondered the sort of throw to deliver, and the batter nervously held the bat above his left shoulder moving it in a circular motion in anticipation of the pending arrival of the ball. With swiftness, the ball flew from the pitcher’s hand and arrived at the batter’s position to be met by the head of the bat; it exploded toward the right field wall. All in attendance stood to their feet and watched as the ball barely made its way over the barrier and into the waiting glove of a young girl in the third row. His companion was standing engrossed in the activity on the screen. You pitched the ball in my direction, and now it’s my decision to swing on it, or just let it zip past.

The corporal had finally talked him into going to AA meetings; he agreed to walk with him through the process and be a shoulder to lean on should he falter. There comes a time in your life when you have to grow up. Going to court that day aged me ten years, and I watched as my youthful indiscretions flew out the barred window of my troubled past and into the outfield of life as it should be.

Luke returned to his room, dismissing his plan to imbibe at the e-club. Although his sleep was dogged by nightmares and his inabilities to escape them, he woke the next morning ready to embark on a new mission to clear his mind and clean up his act. It would be rough at first, but Marines are tough and able to take on any enemy foreign or domestic; this mental battle was one which he had to win.

Luke became a regular at the meetings, and by learning how to resist his urge to imbibe, he acknowledged that the pain that he was drowning with alcohol was wrought by his inward emotions, fueled by the injury inflicted in war. Not wanting his ever-present nightmares of the incident to call him to drink, he finally asked for the help of the base psychiatrist. Corporal Powell was there when Luke needed help in the times where his self-control lagged as far as his alcoholism. He didn’t have the training necessary to assist Luke with the struggles with the mental anguish associated with his PTSD.

It would have been more of a struggle for him to approach the doctor had he not seen him at one of the AA meetings that he attended. The doctor spoke of his own fight with alcohol when he was in college. His fraternity brothers made it their mission to party on almost a nightly basis. To fit in, he too spent many a night drinking until it interfered with his studies. A professor told him that if he didn’t straighten up and concentrate on his classes, he would flunk out and be a nobody. He moved out of the fraternity house to an apartment on the far end of town where it would be too far for him to walk and where driving would not be an option, as getting a DUI would surely result in his being asked to leave campus. With all the money that he had invested in his education thus far, with no income to pay off his extensive loans, he would be in debt for the rest of his life. But more than this, he didn’t want to bring