Tag: short-story

Resilience

June 25th, 2025

I asked the young woman to help me find the building. We were on the northside of Milwaukee and the local area was forbidding. The street had been dug up recently and almost all of the structures bordering the road looked abandoned. Actually, it wasn’t hard for us to locate the recovery center. It was the only property that looked well-maintained. The building was like a welcoming home set among some ruins.

I parked in the lot next to the building. The young woman went into the rehab facility to take a drug screen. I waited for her to come back. If she passed the test, then she would come back, grab her bags, and start residential treatment. If she failed, well, I had no idea what we would do. I would probably have to take her back to some shitty motel until she could get into another recovery program. I didn’t even want to consider that possibility. I would just wait to see what happens.

Years ago, when I was a boy, this part of town was a bustling economic hub. All of these vacant buildings were factories. They made things for A.O. Smith and for Masterlock. Teams of workers filled these places and made money, for themselves and for their employers. These businesses were humming with activity. That was a long time ago.

Now, it’s desolate. The neighborhood has a post-apocalyptic vibe to it. I bet at night it looks very Blade Runner. The car parked next to me had a yellow club on the steering wheel. The owner had placed an open copy of the Bible on top of the dashboard. The pages of the book were water-damaged and stained. I’m not sure what would deter thieves: the Bible or the club. Maybe neither or maybe both.

We drove through the local area in order to get here. On the main drag were many shuttered businesses. Even the liquor stores and the Baptist churches couldn’t make it around here. That’s rough.

I sat in the car and waited. There were trees lining the street, at least part of it. Milwaukee may have severe poverty, but the city keeps things green. I think that makes a difference. No place is truly a wasteland if there are trees growing there.

It’s been hard for the young woman. She has struggled for so long. I have lost count of how many rehab programs she has attended over the years. It is both depressing and inspiring to me. She often relapses, but she never, ever gives up. She wants to get clean and stay clean. She is the most resilient person I have ever met, and I admire her courage.

She came back out of the building with one of the counselors. The counselor was smiling and friendly. They picked up the young woman’s belongings from the car. Then they went back inside.

I sat in the car and sighed deeply. I could relax at least a little bit. She was in the program.

She was safe.

Comrades

June 8th, 2025

My son, Hans, called me a couple days ago. He lives down in Texas close to Madisonville, which means he doesn’t live near much of anything. Anyway, he started telling me about how he went into Brookshire Brothers to buy some groceries, and a couple old boys from the VFW were sitting at the front entrance of the store, taking donations and handing out little American flags.

Hans told me, “Dad, I wasn’t wearing anything that said ‘Army’ on it, but this old vet, probably from WWII, hands me a flag and says, ‘Thank you for your service.’ How did this old boy know I was a vet?”

I replied, “You just look like a vet. A person can tell.”

Hans went on, “The old guy asked me where I was sent. I told him, ‘Iraq’.”

(Note: Hans always pronounces “Iraq” as “Eye-rak”).

Hans continued, “The old guy nodded, and said, ‘I figured that’. “

Hans kept talking. He’s been thinking about maybe joining the American Legion someday. He said that the local post has a bar. That does not surprise me at all. I think that in a place like that a bar would be the very first thing to get set up.

Hans said, “I don’t need to talk with the other vets. I don’t really want to. It would be nice just to sit around with them, listen to music, and have a couple beers.”

That makes to total sense to me. Hans doesn’t want group therapy. He wants to be with his tribe. The point of joining a group like the American Legion or the VFW is to be with other people who “get it”. Hans, or any other vet, could mingle with the other members of the post and not need to explain their military experiences. In fact, it might be less painful for Hans if he didn’t talk about what happened to him in Iraq. He could trust that the other veterans would understand his history without him saying a word. If Hans did want to talk, he could trust that somebody at the post would be willing to listen and not judge him. He would be with his comrades.

Hans was in Iraq back in 2011. He’s had some time for the wounds to heal. He’s had some time for the trauma to fade. Maybe now is the time for him to reengage with other vets. I don’t know. I think it might help.