Random Acts Of Kindness 1

Random Acts of Kindness

*Author's Note: I've mentioned several times that I work with some retired Marine colonels and lieutenant colonels who flew F-18s. I've learned about various programs from them like the Foreign Area Officer or FAO (FAY-oh) program, Inspector-Instructor (I&I) billets for active duty Marines at reserve units, and most recently the Marine Officer Instructor (MOI) program.

MOIs serve at universities where they teach Naval ROTC students and serve as mentors, role models, etc. It sounds like 'primo' duty, and recently one of these retired Marine officers talked about his time as an MOI at a major college campus in the midwest. A fictional three-year tour as an MOI forms the basis for this story.

As always, I hope you enjoy it. And I also hope nothing happens to the formatting like it did with the last page of Try and Love Again. Unfortunately, once a story is published it can't be changed.

******

"Mom? You want me to turn on the dehumidifier before I head out?"

"No, that's okay. I'll get it before I go to work. Thanks, though."

"Sure thing."

His 55-year old mother stepped out of her bedroom to say goodbye even though her 27-year old son was just going for a bike ride. She'd lost her husband ten years ago and still thought about it quite often.

It was like every other day in the sense that both of them were going to work. There wasn't anything unusual about it at all, and it seemed no different than the thousands that had gone before it. But he'd slipped out while she was in the shower, and neither of them had a chance to say goodbye. He sent her a text from the car before he left the garage telling her he loved her and would see her soon. That was the last thing she ever heard from him.

So even though it felt like nothing special, Marsha Sexton made it a point to say goodbye to her son every time they parted company. It didn't matter that he was a captain in the US Marine Corps and had spent the better part of a year in Afghanistan. He was still her little boy, and she wasn't about to let him leave without saying goodbye face to face.

"So. I noticed quite a bit of trash in the development yesterday on my way home," she said as she dried her hair with a towel.

"I only get out here once a week, Mom. But yeah, I saw it, too, on my way in this morning. No worries. I'll get it while I'm out."

"It just...irks me...that the people who've lived here all there lives walk or drive right by it. Or even worse, throw stuff down or toss it out of their cars—and yet you come home and pick it up every time you ride."

Her son was home, but not living at home with her, and the reason he was back was thanks to his current assignment. Captain Phil Sexton was a Marine Officer Instructor, or MOI for short, at the University of Oklahoma.

Eighteen months ago he'd never even heard of such a thing until a friend of his told him about an MOI slot at his alma mater.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's an MOI?" he asked only half listening.

"Marine Officer Instructor. You work with Naval ROTC cadets. You teach them, serve as a role model, and help shape future officers in the Corps, blah, blah, blah."

His friend handed him a piece of paper called a MARDMIN, short for Marine Administrative message. Its focus was to advertise a list of universities needing MOI's and solicit volunteers to fill them. In the absence of volunteers, the Marine Corps would volunteer someone, but because this was much-sought-after duty, there were always more applicants that positions available.

Phil read through the requirements and realized he was eligible to apply. There was a laundry list of things to do in order to submit a package, but this not only seemed like a fantastic opportunity, it just so happened that his mom lived in Norman, the city where he'd been born, raised, and gone to college himself.

"You interested?" his buddy asked once he noticed the way Phil was studying the message.

"Yeah. I am. I think I'm gonna put in for this."

"Better get your ass in gear then, because you don't have a whole lot of time."

Phil did get it gear, put together a superb package, then submitted it to his battalion commander via the adjutant. His CO enthusiastically endorsed the request for his best former rifle company commander and combat veteran, and when it reached his desk, his regimental commander did the same thing.

Less than three months later, Captain Sexton had orders to report to the senior Naval officer at the university, a Navy captain, which was the equivalent of a Marine colonel, and was on his way a couple of weeks after that.

He was excited about the assignment, but his mother was over-the-moon thrilled to have her son back home. She didn't assume he'd want to live with her but made the offer just in case. Phil thanked her but let her know he'd get an apartment of his own but be over to visit several times a week. And so far, he'd done just that.

As much as he enjoyed spending time with his mom, the development she lived in was a bicyclist's dream. The roads were newly paved and smooth as glass and a sheer joy to ride.

Today was Saturday, and he came over early to have breakfast with his mom before heading out on a 20-mile ride around their development as well as another one across the major road that separated them.

He always picked up trash no matter where he went, in uniform or out, and his bike rides were no exception. He'd been back home for nearly a year now, and had already lost track of the number of times people had thanked him for picking up the trash.

There were many times he'd wanted to say, "May I ask why you won't stop to pick it up yourself?" as someone walked right by the litter, but that wasn't in his nature.

He always smiled and told them, "My pleasure!"

There was a gas station at the road which separated the subdivisions, and he invariably had a full bag to dump there before picking up another sackful in the other housing area and dumping it on the way back. Today was the same as he pulled in and wheeled up to the trash can to dump out the plastic bag that was stuffed to the breaking point.

As he did he noticed a car nosing in and didn't think anything about it because there was an air hose there along with a vacuum cleaner next to the trash can. Both were coin operated, and it made sense to pull in parallel to them. But as the car pulled up, it nosed in rather than pull in parallel.

The reason why became obvious when he noticed how the left front tire was completely flat. The driver had nosed in order to get the front of the car closer to the air compressor.

He had just enough room to dump the trash, and as he started emptying the bag, he heard the driver, a woman who got out and grab the air hose say, "Oh, no. This one's not working!"

"That's okay, Mom. There's another one next to it," a young boy said as he got out to take a look.

Phil knew that was true. There were indeed two air hoses, and it seemed very unlikely that both of them would be out of order at the same time.

"Oh, okay. Will it reach?" the woman asked as she looked at the boy.

"Um...Mom?" the boy said as he held up the other hose.

"Yes?"

"This one's been cut."

"Cut? What do you mean—cut?" the woman asked as Phil shook the last of the trash out of the flimsy bag.

The boy was still holding it up, and even from 15 feet away, he could see there was no female end on it. Someone had vandalized the hose by cutting off the end with the metal part that latched onto a tire's valve stem. He watched the woman walk around the front of her car to look at it herself then heard her ask out loud what were they going to do now.

"Ma'am?" Phil called out to get the woman's attention.

She turned around to see who it was then said, "Yes?"

"You can't drive your car on the rim like that. Can I possibly put on your spare for you?"

She walked his way and began thanking him as she explained why that wasn't possible.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm afraid it's not ready for prime time, either. It's flat, too."

He could tell she frustrated and a little upset but still smiled, and when she did he also noticed she was a very attractive woman.

"I suppose I'm going to have to call a tow truck," she said before asking, "You wouldn't have any idea how much that costs, would you?"

"It's anywhere from $75-$150," Phil told her.

"Mom? Is there anything I can do?" the boy asked as he walked up, too.

"No, honey. I'll just have to pay to have it towed."

"But that's a lot of money," her son said.

"I know, but we can't drive on it like this. I shouldn't have driven it at all, but I didn't know it was flat until we were a mile away from the motel. I'm afraid I may have already damaged the wheel."

"Ma'am?" Phil said again, waiting for her to look his way.

When she did, he asked if he she'd let him try something else.

She smiled again then laughed.

"My son might be able to ride on the handlebars, but I'm afraid I'm a little too big for that."

Phil laughed, too, but only out of politeness. The woman was about 5'7" and looked like she was maybe a size 6 and weighed about 115 pounds. Still, the point was well taken, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

Phil pointed across the road to the houses across the street and said, "My mom lives in the development to your right. In fact, she'll be leaving for work soon. Let me call her. She has an inflator in her car that plugs into the cigarette lighter. It's small and slow, but unless you have a large hole in your tire, it'll be good enough to get you to Tire King."

"Oh, right. That's down this road a half mile or so, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. They'll take good care of you."

"But I don't want to interrupt your bike ride."

Phil laughed and assured her she wasn't.

"No problem. I'll give her a call right now."

The woman heard him explain the situation, say, "Uh-huh. Yes. By the vacuum cleaner."

He hung up then let the woman know she'd be there in about five minutes.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. We just moved here, we don't really know anyone, and I've been trying to keep air in this tire for the last three days, but well, I guess it's time to get it fixed."

"You're very welcome, and...welcome to Norman."

"Oh, my gosh. Thank you, and I'm so sorry. I'm Jessica. Logan. And this is my son, Timmy."

The boy looked up at her, and his mom's eyes opened wide.

"Sorry. Tim. This is my son, Tim."

"Nice to meet you both. My name's Phil. Sexton."

"So do you by any chance live with your mom?" the woman asked in a way that told him she wasn't assuming or accusing.

It just made sense that he might based on where he was and where she lived. And as much as Phil hated to admit it, there were plenty of adults his age still living with their mom and dad.

"Oh. No. I have my own place. I've been back in Norman for about a year or so, and I try and get by to see my mom as often as I can. We had breakfast together this morning, and I left while she finished getting ready for work."

Phil paused then said, "My uh, my dad passed some time ago, and we...."

The woman was only a couple of feet away and when she heard him say that she told him how sorry she was before he could finish speaking. Phil started to let her know it had been several years when Tim unexpectedly said that his dad had died, too.

Phil got off the bike, moved closer, knelt down, then put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, buddy. I know what that's like."

"It's okay. He's in heaven now," Tim told him, a brave look on his young face.

"Timmy was...."

She got another look and corrected herself.

"Tim...was six when his father passed, and that was three years ago. But thank you for your kind words."

Phil stood up, and at an even six feet, was quite a bit taller than the very attractive, older woman standing right in front of him. She had what very blonde hair, a fair complexion, smooth, clear skin, soft, full lips, a gorgeous smile, and a pair of beautiful, bright, blue eyes. And while he didn't stare, he'd already noticed her rather shapely-but-trim body and the lean, tan legs attached to it.

He was getting ready to say something about how difficult losing a parent was when he heard a car pulling up.

"Where do you need me, honey?" his mom called out, causing him and the woman to look her way.

"Pull in alongside her and plug the inflator in, okay?"

"Will do!" his mom said as she backed up to make the maneuver.

Phil saw Tim watching with great interest as he set the inflator down and asked, "Would you like to do this?"

The boy's face lit up as he nodded.

"Okay. Come over here and I'll show you how to use this thing."

Phil set the little Husky inflator on the ground then explained the very simple process.

"Just push this on, close this valve with your thumb, and hit this switch. Got it?"

"Got it!" Tim said before doing exactly what he was told.

The small, $25 air compressor came to life and began buzzing loudly as it slowly filled the tire with air. It could fill his bike tire in a few seconds, but took almost three minutes to get 15 pounds of air in the large, fat automobile tire. When it got there, Phil had Tim turn it off. There was no audible hiss and the tire seemed to be holding its own, so he let Mrs. Logan she should be able to make it to Tire King.

"I can't thank you enough," she told him as he put the inflator back in his mom's car.

"Before you go, let me give you my number. Just in case you get there and they tell it's going to be several hours."

"No, I...I've already put you out enough. That's very kind of you, but...."

"He won't take no for an answer," Phil's mom called out from her seat on the driver's side. "And I'm going to follow you to Tire King to make sure you get there safe and sound."

Jessica started to protest when Marsha said, "That air won't last long. Better get my son's number and hop in before it goes flat again!"

"Okay. Thank you. Again," she said before rattling off her number.

Phil, who was near her door, opened it for her and could tell it surprised her.

"Now I know where you get your manners from," she said very sweetly before getting in.

He closed it, wished her luck, then asked his mom to call him either way so he'd know they were okay. She assured him she would, and once they were on their way down the road, he got back on the bike to finish the second half of his ride.

Marsha rolled her window down once Jessica pulled up to the front door of the Tire King and asked if she'd be okay.

"Yes. Thank you SO much! And please thank your son for me. He was truly a lifesaver!"

"Oh, that's just Phil. He's always doing some random act of kindness or another for someone!"

Jessica thanked her again then waved as Marsha backed out and headed to work.

Back on the road, Phil was clipping along covering a mile in just under 4 minutes and had gone maybe five when his phone rang. He had it mounted on the handlebars so he could listen to music or a podcast and only had to touch 'accept call'. His Trekz Air AfterShokz wrap-around, bone-conduction headphones switched to the phone and he could hear quite well while still able to listen for traffic since nothing was stuck inside his ear canal.

"Hey," he said as he pulled over.

"Phil? Hi. It's Jessica. From the gas station?"

He laughed then assured her he remembered.

"Sorry. I...I feel so...bad...for calling, but...."

"Don't. What's going on?"

"Well, they said they can fix it, but someone called in sick and they only have one person working, and it's going to be at least three hours. I don't mean to bother you, but we...."

"You're not. Give me ten minutes to get home and I'll jump in my car and come get you. You guys can hang out with me while I shower, and if it's not too early for lunch, I make a pretty mean sandwich."

"Oh, my heavens. No, we...we couldn't do that. I just thought maybe...."

"Jessica? I am coming to get you both, and you are staying at my mom's place until your car's ready. End of story. You don't have to eat my sandwiches, but I am coming to pick you up."

Between her frustrations and the gratitude she was feeling, Jessica was on the verge of crying but managed to hold it together.

"Okay. Thank you," she told him as she choked back the growing lump in her throat.

Phil had already turned around and was in high gear burning up the pavement.

"My pleasure," he told her. "I'll see you soon."

He pulled into the driveway, entered the code for the garage opener, ducked under it as it slowly rose, and went inside to grab his wallet, keys, and a towel.

It was warm and humid in the mid-August Oklahoma sun, and he needed the towel to protect the leather seat in his car. Within 45 seconds, he had the bike in the garage, the towel in place, and the car in reverse.

It took him another five minutes to pull into the Tire King's parking lot, and when he did, he saw Jessica and Tim sitting on a brick ledge outside the office waiting.

"Did you call for a taxi?" he asked as he got out.

Jessica laughed and told him that was her.

She went to open her door but Phil said, "Hold on there!" and reached in front of her.

She stepped back, let him open it, then thanked him yet again for being so nice. It was a two-door Camaro, so Tim had to slip into the very cramped back seat first. But before he did, he noticed the way his mom was smiling and knew something was going on. He wasn't old enough to be sure what it was, but he was old enough to know it made him happy to his mom smiling again.

"You have a very nice car," Jessica said as she got in and put her seatbelt on just as Phil closed his door.

"Oh, thanks. This was my gift to myself for making it back to the states in one piece," he told her with a little laugh that drew a confused look.

"Sorry. I'm a Marine. I was in Afghanistan for nine months a couple of years ago, and I used a lot of the money I saved to buy a car I wanted but didn't need."

"You're a Marine?" Tim asked, now very interested.

"I am. Just over five years now."

"Awesome!" the boy said before his mother told Phil 'thank you for your service.'

"My pleasure," he replied before putting the muscle car in gear and turning around.

"Can you peel out?" Tim asked, causing Phil to laugh and his mom to immediately tell him that wasn't okay to ask.

"I can but I won't," Phil told him with a smile.

"Okay," Tim said, clearly feeling bad for having been chastised even though his mom wasn't being mean.

"Fast is fun but being safe if more important," he told his young passenger while looking at his mother who was smiling approvingly at the driver.

"It really is very nice," she said again as she looked at the dashboard.

"Thanks. It sometimes feels a little like driving a tank, though."

"How so?"

"The rear window is small. Very small. As in...pillbox small."

Jessica turned to look then realized what he meant.

"The side windows aren't much better," Phil said, causing her to look at them, too.

"But I bet it's a lot of fun to drive," she said, another smile on her pretty face.

"You wanna drive it?" he asked before pulling back onto the main road.

"Me? No. I...I...no."

"Mom! Come on!" Tim called out.

"Yeah, Mom. Come around and drive it."

Phil saw her look at the gearshift then said much more quietly, "You can't drive a stick, can't you?"

Jessica crinkled up her face then shook her head.

"No. Sorry. I'm...such a girl."

Phil laughed, pulled out onto the road, then said, "Yes, you are. And a very pretty one at that."

He didn't look over as Jessica looked his way. He could tell she was giving him something close to a 'how dare you' look but also knew she wasn't upset in the least by the flattery.