Touched By A Marine (Book 1)

Chapter One: Leaving Home

Three Years Earlier...

I can’t take it anymore. All the arguing and yelling that my foster parents do day in and day out is finally starting to get to me. I want nothing more than to pack what clothes I have and flee into the night, never to return again. Granted, the state prohibits that all foster children under the age of twenty-one are hereby charged to stay with their foster family until the day when they officially become a young-adult. But all of that will soon change tonight.

I sit in my room next to the bay window looking out into the darkened empty suburban street. Across the way, I see a flickering street lamp as the light bulb goes on and off before finally going dead. Rain lightly taps outside my bedroom window while lightning flashes overhead, making me shudder. God I hate thunderstorms, I thought to myself. I always have ever since I was a little boy.

There is a knock at my door. I call out to it, to come in.

My foster dad, Brian, stands directly in the doorway wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. He is a small man, about 5’9 with hazel eyes and receding black hair. I can see that his eyes are bloodshot from the lack of sleep and long work hours at the office. He can be a nice guy when he wants to be, but at times he’ll come home from hanging out at the bars with the guys, smelling of scotch and bourbon, in all fairness he’s really a mean drunk. Tonight however, was no exception. All the signs were there from the slurring of his words, to the way his body had braced itself against the doorframe for support.

“Hey. Nikki says it’s time for dinner. So get your ass downstairs right this second.”

I swung my legs over the side and walked around him, instantly smelling the strong aftertaste of scotch and coke. After I had washed my hands in the bathroom sink I headed down stairs into the dining room were the table had already been set up. The door leading into the kitchen opened and a middle-aged woman appeared with a white bowl in her hands that seemed to contain some kind of Italian pasta. Nikki was a great foster mom. She was always there when I needed her. Whenever I had a problem, I would go to her for advice and she knew just what to say to make everything right again.

Her blonde hair was cut at shoulder length and her eyes were the color of teal blue that seem to sparkle whenever she smiled. Her clothes that evening were modest, comfortable for a nice quiet dinner at home. Wearing an X-large black t-shirt and white pajama pants I always wondered how she made it look so easy. I mean, coming home every night from working as a newspaper editor to cooking dinner for her family all the while not once showing any signs that she was overworked or tired. She truly was a hero in my eyes.

As she set the bowl down on the table, she looked up at me flashed a warm smile and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing into the kitchen again and bringing out the main course, pot roast with mixed greens. I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a bedroom door slamming shut followed by heavy footfalls as they came down the stairs making me cringe. Turning the corner with such force, I grunted as my foster brother Duane, shoved me out of his way and sat down at the table. Duane and I were the same age spiritually but born a month apart from each other.

“Geez, walk much Duane?” I asked.

“Out of my way twerp.” He replied, already starting to help himself to some food.

Duane, a senior in high school, was the captain for the boys’ varsity basketball team. I went to his games a few times over the years, and to be honest he was actually pretty good. Nikki was so proud of him the day he learned that a scout from Duke University offered him a spot on the team. He of coursed accepted and would be leaving for North Carolina in the fall. I, on the other hand, was just your typical normal classmate who sat in the back of the classroom and scribbled in their notebook.