Page 20 of Painting Her Fate

With the Hard Rock station playing in my earbuds, I connect the leash, ready for a run around the quiet streets of Niagara Falls.

The drumbeats and guitar riffs push me further, lending me a distraction from the pain and abundance of other things weighing on my mind. Marines are beaten down and taught how to push through pain.What’s a few more miles?That’s nothing for us, even on our worst day. Hank enjoys it, he could run a Marine into the ground with how much energy he sports, and still have enough left over to play fetch. Just- do not mention the word,‘cat’in front of him and life will be good.

When my lungs burn and legs beg for rest, we slow to a jog, catch our breath, then wave to Ms. Crimmell as she shuffles her way across her driveway. Her routine every morning is to meet with a retired crew at the local coffee shop down the road to gossip. No doubt I’ve been the topic of discussion a time or two, but as a man coming from the military, I know how to tune that shit out. Let them say whatever the fuck they have to say. Doesn’t hurt my feeling none.

We walked the last quarter mile back to the house, the adrenaline teaming through me, or what’s left of it lends me a ghostly view of a better day ahead.

Once inside I showered, fed Hank, downed half a pot of coffee, then found my pain meds I keep hidden. Three pills left. Three pills?I could’ve sworn it was close to half a bottle the other day. These were hidden far too well for anyone to find them.Did I really take that many and not know it?

Going months in constant agony and discovering my body was becoming resistant to painkillers, I wanted to know what alternative methods were out there and what I could do to lessen the daily burden. My doctor refused to look into it and kept offering higher scripts each month. I found a different doctor.

No way was I getting myself into a situation Ford found himself in. His story is a long one and unfortunately is all too common in the military world. Most are turning to black market items and overdosing on heroin and fentanyl. Our veterans need help.

I downed two pills, gave my pup a good dose of belly scratches, then told him to be a good boy before making my way out the door. With the sun not yet cresting the horizon, I start the truck and head out to my bar on the waterfront. Time to get shit done.

‘Harbor’s Edge Bar and Grill’hasn’t changed what-so-ever since venturing there in my teen years. We’d watch our friend’s band play and crack a few games of pool until his drinking crowd settled in.

I bought it from the Irishman, who, like me, played a part serving in some war or another and needed an escape. He and his wife planned to become snowbirds and head south for the winter, then visit their home here in the summer months. Every now and again the old man pops in to check on the place and to pester me about being too stubborn at updating the building. I can hear him now.

‘Ah- lad, at least get new sports shite up there, otherwise ye’ keep bringin’ the lint pockets and vagabonds.’The lint pocket customers were commonplace, but he allowed it. That’s not the case much anymore. This is a tourist area now.

Business overall is good, my employees are happy and dependable for the most part, and things are steadily growing in the black. For now, that is all a business owner can ask for. Remodeling and renovating will come eventually, for now gotta keep the old mechanics running and pray something doesn’t end up breaking.Shhh. I better not say that too loud.

With all positives come negatives. There are a few downsides of being a small business owner. You tend to learn quickly how to fix shit because money isn’t in the budget to call in an expert. I’m proud to say I am an uncertified plumber, electrician, and contractor all rolled into one.

Call me Mr. Fix-it.

The first glimpse of dawn peek through a few clouds over Lake Erie as I park my truck at the back and head inside. My plan was to get started on the weeks’ worth of paperwork, but instead I fought with a vendor for an hour for sending me the wrong damn chicken wings-again.

What is he thinking? My customers will not like these tiny things they call‘wings’. We’re in Buffalo, home of jumbo wings, good blue cheese, and the loyalist football fans a team could ask for. No one does it better. I’m a proud Mafia member and know the power of the wing.A riotwould be had if I tried serving these pathetic things. I stated as much to my vendor rep- he apologized and said prices were up due to a current shortage. It’s always something, isn’t it? *Sigh* I better tack on price changes for the menu to my neverending to-do list.

Tossing my phone none too gently on the desk, I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan, feeling an instant headache beginning. Yet another one of these fucking days. I grab the bottle of Aspirin from the drawer and down a couple pills.

As I snap the cap back on, Ford strides in the office whistling an upbeat tune. He flops his six-and-a-half-foot lug of a body on the worn leather loveseat, crossing his feet at the ankle with his hands behind his head. The couch creaks from his weight and I’m waiting for the day it falls apart on him. I’ll be too busy laughing to help the fucker up.

This guy is why my place is on Buffalo’s ‘best places to eat’ map;

we’re best known for our Tex-Mex cuisine and unique take on standard bar food.

Straight from Houston, Texas, Ford grew up wanting to learn everything from hisMadre, his dream of becoming a chef was put on the backburner and instead he went into the Marines to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Just- don’t call the man by his first full name; you will thank me later when you’re alive to see tomorrow.

*Laughs* When his mom explained to me her true reasoning behind his name, I couldn’t help but crack up. Then the tiny woman, all four foot nine of her, proceeded to smack the shit out of me all while cursing in her native tongue. From what words and phrases Ford taught me back on base, his momma was pissed. I had quite a bit of groveling to do to make it up to her, now she calls me herhijo favorito (favorite son). Lesson learned- never piss off a Mexican mom.

Ford and I came together after boot camp, assigned to the same four-man patrol team in our infantry, sent scouring the cities of Afghanistan, searching for leads and land mines, training fellow Afghani soldiers, and foiling potential terrorist attacks in the area. Car bombings were aplenty in our parts. We’ve seen shit many cannot comprehend.

Nor could they stomach.

The children trapped in the crossfire were always the hardest to scrape from your mind. The screams- the pleading- the cursing of our nation. It’s all there, right fucking now. It’s never going away.

Welcome to the Marine life, you think it’s pushing up daisies, all laughs and good times. Might want to think again.

Marines do what no one else is willing to do or die for. You go weeks to months without amenities if necessary. Everything hurts but you are told to‘brush it the fuck off soldier’and continue on, even if you’re on the brink of death. You Keep. Fucking. Going.

You have your brother’s and sister’s backs until your last breath, and they have yours. Always.

United States Marine Corps. OORAH.

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