The Transplant
Copyright© 2026 by A Bad Attitude
Chapter 1
I shut the door and walked out of the office. I am mad, madder now than when I went in. This “doctor” just told me it is my fault and I need to get control of my emotions. Who the fuck is he? He never spent years living in a combat zone. I bet he never watched one of his friends die thousands of miles away from home screaming in pain.
I need to calm down. I go to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee. I am doing my combat breathing exercises, in through the nose out through the mouth, slowing my heart rate down when I saw her walk in.
What got my attention was the way she was acting. She was nervous, constantly looking around. Then one of the workers dropped some spoons in their holder and she about jumped out of her skin. She had trouble deciding what food to take and when it was time to pay, she had trouble remembering where she kept her money. All classic signs of PTSD. I know because that is one of my problems. Now she is looking around trying to find a place to sit in an almost empty restaurant. She walks over and asks if I mind if she sits with me. I motion for her to sit. I can tell by the neck tattoo that she has never been in the service. Besides she is too young. I am guessing 17 maybe 18. It takes some time in-country to get it as bad as she has it. She does not say a word and starts to eat.
Her face goes blank when she sees two black guys come in and walk towards her. I act like I am just interested in my coffee and nothing more. One wants her to go to his car with him. She refuses and says she does not do that anymore. He says something about her belonging to someone, and he reaches for her arm. I stand and tower over him. I have not said a word. He starts to get mouthy with me but then his partner tells him that I am that crazy Marine that everyone is talking about. This ‘Junior’ turns a little white and I think I am not going to have to kick him and his buddy’s asses. Then for fun I touch his hair and say it looks nice and grin. They run out of the café.
I sit back down and she looks relieved. She tells me her name and comments on mine when I tell her mine. I like her. She is smart and pretty. Blonde hair blue eyes and tall. I like tall women, like my Aunt JJ. Now she wants to know my story. Tell you mine if you tell me yours kind of thing ensues.
Me first. Marines for eight years, four combat tours in Helmand Providence, Afghanistan. Had a problem and blacked out for a few minutes. Some guys who saw me said I had scalped a few people. No big deal. But the Marines didn’t see it that way and here I am. Living with Grandpa on the farm so as not to embarrass my dad and his business. She thinks I am homeless and offers to buy me breakfast. She has not noticed my boots and she has not seen my truck. But I play along. I lean back and listen to her story.
She does not try to make herself a victim even though she was. She takes responsibility for it all. I like that. I ask her about why she is at the hospital. She tells me about her dad and him needing a liver and his rare blood type. I think this is something I can do and it may help her and she needs help. No big deal for me really. They take a piece and put it in her dad and mine grows back in a couple of months.
She wants to go smoke. I say we should go talk to her dad. She agrees and we get up. Hey this girl is fine! A little young but definitely fine.
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