A Pigeon in the Pen: Marshall Morris is at it Again, #1

Chapter 1

AS THE SUN SANK IN the west, a gentle breeze swept across her face, providing a welcome relief to the young girl perched on the bleachers at Justice High's football stadium. The place was nearly empty, save for a few walkers and joggers on the track around the field, and her boyfriend, who was running up and down the stadium steps a few sections away as part of his conditioning. He was drenched in sweat but seemed tireless, moving repeatedly from the bottom row to the top and back down.

At least she knew where he was, which was unusual for Marshall Morris, whose trademark was unpredictability. You never knew what to expect from him. He had a knack for getting entangled in the most bizarre situations, almost as if they sought him out. Yet, he was a wonderful person—considerate and selflessly helpful to others, sometimes to a fault. Perhaps that was why a reserved, petite African American girl had fallen for an outgoing, gangly white boy who seemed like a walking ground zero for turmoil and controversy.

Maintaining a relationship with someone like Marshall wasn’t easy. He often acted impulsively, tackling problems without fully thinking them through. He’d shimmy up a tall oak tree, risking life and limb to save a stranded cat, only to discover that all the cat’s owner had to do was shake a food dish, and the feline would willingly come down. Though their relationship was less than a year old, they’d already endured two major breakups. The worldwide COVID-19 pandemic, now finally waning, hadn’t helped matters.

If anyone embodied the phrase never met a stranger, it was Marshall. During his senior year at Justice High, he delivered pizzas. One of his regular stops was an old folks' home, where a group of military veterans lived. Marshall soon became a welcome visitor, listening intently to their endless stream of war stories. Among this group, a hot-button issue was the nationwide vandalism of statues honoring war heroes, including a prominent one in Justice. Marshall immediately supported their outrage, oblivious to the complexities until Mallory abruptly broke up with him. Only then did he realize that many of these heroes had been slave owners who fought to uphold that horrendous institution. Mallory couldn’t tolerate a boyfriend who overlooked this reality. Fortunately, once he understood, Marshall made a sincere effort to see her perspective, ultimately winning her back.

She wasn’t sure where things between them would end up. She was approaching the end of her senior year, while he’d already left for college in Austin to play football—only to have his plans interrupted by COVID-19. He returned home, thinking he’d be back in a few weeks, but ended up staying through his entire freshman year when his mother was struck down by the virus. She remembered sitting with him in these same stands just a few months earlier, after weeks of thinking about their future. Fearing the typical fate of high school romances, she’d tried to break up with him yet again. With her in high school and him about to become a big man on campus, she thought their romance was doomed. Breaking up then would make it easier for them both. Telling him, though, was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Marshall was blindsided; he hadn’t considered that option for a second. Planning ahead wasn’t his style. Just like on the football field, his approach was to read and react. He’d been thrilled about Central Texas University and Austin and probably talked about it too much with Mallory, but the idea of losing her had never crossed his mind. He’d even started thinking about when she could visit—it was only a three-hour drive, even in his clunker. No. No way, Mal. I’m not going there. We’re great together, he insisted, before blurting out for the first time, You know, I love you.

There, he’d said it. She looked at him, wanting to be sure she’d heard right. Any thought of ending things dissolved as she fell into his arms, crying with relief. Of course, Marshall couldn’t leave it there. He felt compelled to add, We already broke up once, and it didn’t work. We’re not doing it again. They both shared a laugh at his insight.

Unlike him, Mallory had learned the importance of planning, especially about her future. In her brief life, she’d endured a difficult home situation in New Orleans, worsened by an abusive, alcoholic father. Ironically, her family—her mother and three siblings—had only left for Houston after Hurricane Katrina, thinking it would be a temporary move. But after relocating to Justice, they liked it enough to stay. Mallory was old enough to remember her life in New Orleans and wasn’t eager to repeat it. Her grades and board scores were strong, giving her many college options, and a decision loomed for the fall.

She could attend Central Texas with Marshall, or she could pursue a music career at one of several other colleges—some on the East Coast and even as far as New England. Choosing wouldn’t be easy, especially if it meant not being near Marshall. Despite her deep affection for him, she was determined to make the right choice for her future. After all, hadn’t it been Marshall who once explained that their relationship would thrive while he was in Austin and she was still in Justice? He had a habit of conveniently forgetting his own arguments when they no longer suited him.

Her reverie was cut short when she noticed that Marshall was no longer running the stairs. She looked around and finally spotted him; he had jumped the low wall at the bottom of the bleachers and was now jogging along the track toward a young woman with a baby stroller. What in the world was he up to now?

Chapter 2

MARSHALL HAD JUST FINISHED a grueling lap and was doubled over, hands on his shorts, gasping for air. The south Texas humidity felt suffocating. He debated doing one last dash up the fifty rows of seats or heading over to Mallory when alarm bells went off in his mind. Across the track, he noticed a young woman abandoning her baby stroller to chase after her runaway toddler, who was already thirty yards ahead. The child couldn’t have been more than three, but he was sprinting quickly. It would take his mom a few moments to catch up.

Ordinarily, a runaway child wouldn’t have concerned him—until Marshall noticed a large, scruffy pit bull heading directly for the toddler from the opposite direction. The dog, panting heavily, was clearly pursuing the child and would reach him before his mother could. Marshall didn’t hesitate; he knew the dog could seriously harm the boy in seconds. If he didn’t act, the two would meet on the track just yards from where he stood.

He vaulted over the wall and sprinted toward the boy, arriving just in time to scoop him up before the dog reached them. The little boy giggled in delight at his rescuer, while the dog looked confused, as if unsure where its prey had gone.

Marshall knew they couldn’t stay there. He might save the boy but end up offering himself as a target instead. Though a dog lover himself, he could see that this one was different—its deep growl and bared, razor-sharp teeth left no doubt. Marshall’s oversized T-shirt proved fortunate; as the dog lunged, it caught only the back of his shirt, which shredded instantly and left the animal on the ground. Even a usually docile dog can become dangerous when provoked, and this one was no exception.

Realizing the danger wasn’t over, Marshall ran to a corner where a low wall separated the stands from the field. The child in his arms still laughed and yelled, Bu, bu, or something like that. The dog was close behind but paused when Marshall turned, pointed, and shouted a loud Arrgh!

The dog had them cornered now, its teeth bared and drool dripping from its mouth. Its fur bristled as it prepared to lunge. Marshall recalled reading about grizzly bear encounters and how you should never look a bear directly in the eyes. But as the enraged dog inched closer, Marshall couldn’t help but meet its gaze, seeing only pure, seething hatred. So much for that advice. Meanwhile, the child kept giggled and calling, Bu, bu.

Marshall braced himself, knowing he was about to feel pain. He only hoped he could protect the boy long enough for him to escape. Placing the child behind him, he prepared to wrestle with the furious dog, praying the little boy would have time to run to his mother—wherever she was.

Marshall carefully set the boy down and turned to confront the oncoming attack head-on. But before he could react, the little kid scrambled between his legs and ran straight toward the dog. Oh, no! He’s going to get hurt! But something strange happened. The boy ran up to the panting animal, bopped him on the head, and called out, Bu! Bu! For a moment, the furious dog relaxed, even wagging his tail, before the child scampered off again. Marshall was baffled but relieved—at least the boy was safe.

However, his own troubles weren’t over. The dog returned to its aggressive stance, preparing to lunge at Marshall’s throat. Just then, a shrill voice echoed through the stadium: Bunny! Come here, boy! Over here, Bunny! We’ve got to get home. Sorry, sir—our Bunny is very protective of little Stevie.

Marshall watched in disbelief as the dog, visibly disappointed, stood down. Although it seemed keen on a piece of Marshall, it obediently trotted off without a backward glance. Already drenched from his workout, Marshall now felt sweat pouring down his face. He slumped to the ground, leaning back against the wall with his feet stretched out on the track. Just then, Mallory came running up, looking concerned. He offered her a tired smile.

What happened? I saw you save that kid from the dog! Did he bite you? she asked.

The dog or the kid?

Marshall!

No, I don’t think so. But remind me, next time I’m about to rescue a kid from his own dog, to clue the dog in on the plan first. Clearly, that beast thought I was the threat! I went from hero to villain in one snap of his jaws.

Where have I heard that before?

After a few minutes, once they were sure Bunny had left the stadium, Marshall stood up and followed Mallory back to her seat. He immediately downed two bottles of water and poured a third over his head. Only then did he realize the back of his T-shirt was shredded.

Oh no, my favorite Grateful Dead T-shirt! That stupid dog ruined it, Marshall lamented, holding up the torn fabric. Do you think my mom could sew it back together?

I’m afraid not, Mallory replied. Dog or no dog, that shirt was ready for the rag bag years ago. It was faded, stretched, and full of holes. Somehow, you’ll survive. I bet you don’t even know who the Grateful Dead were.

Of course I do! I’ve read about them. I’ll still miss it, though. It’s not like I wore it to church or anything.

Mallory rolled her eyes. No. Well, maybe once or twice.

Twilight was falling, and the setting sun cast a warm amber glow across the sky. They sat together in silence for a moment, lost in thought. A big part of their lives was about to change. High school had been fun, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed heavily, as it often did for teenagers.

Marshall’s journey had been especially difficult. He’d just settled into his dorm at Central Texas University when COVID hit, forcing him back to Justice. He’d planned to return to Austin until his mom fell seriously ill with the virus. After taking a year off, he would finally go back in the fall; his coaches had promised to hold his scholarship for him.

Mallory had learned to tread carefully when discussing her future plans with him. While this was a pivotal time for them both, she knew Marshall preferred to live in the present. He took life as it came, without dwelling too much on what lay ahead. She mused that, despite what had just happened on the track with the aggressive dog, he would charge down there again if he saw another child in danger. In some ways, Marshall was entirely predictable; in others, he was a mystery.

With high school ending, Mallory was excited but also apprehensive about the future. Her relationship with Marshall was important, but there were many things to consider. She and her mom had always been close and had evacuated together to Houston, not knowing what to expect. Her older brother, Marcus, came along too, but their mom had always relied on her more. Her younger sister, Paula, had come too, but at her age, she wasn’t part of the big decisions. It had always been her and her mom, a team. Heading off to college would be hard. And beneath it all, there was a lingering worry: the fear of her estranged father reappearing.

Music was her passion, and she excelled in it, but she knew sacrifices would be needed to pursue that path. She was a natural worrier and doubted that would ever change.

As they watched the incredible sunset, Marshall finally cooled off, helped by his extra air conditioning. When he turned to her, she braced herself for another silly dog joke—but was caught completely off guard.

Chapter 3

DURING HIS DELIVERY days for Cow Paddy Pizza before the pandemic, Marshall became friendly with a group of elderly war veterans living in Falling Oaks, a senior citizen facility in the town of Justice. As he got to know these veterans who had actually fought in combat, he came to admire them immensely. He enjoyed hearing their war stories, which they were more than eager to share, embellishments notwithstanding. The spokesperson for the group was ex-Marine Major Robert Lindsay, a highly decorated Vietnam combat veteran. Additionally, there was an Army Special Forces Master Sergeant, an Air Force B-52 bombardier, and a Navy Lieutenant Colonel who had captained patrol boats along the Mekong River south of Saigon.

The group was approaching their 80s but remained in reasonably good health. With few relatives, they enjoyed each other's company while maintaining their service rivalries. Unfortunately, when COVID hit, senior citizen homes like Falling Oaks were devastated. The virus preyed on older individuals. Marshall was distraught to learn that three of the four veterans had succumbed to the disease. What enemy bullets and bombs could not accomplish, microscopic organisms had. Only Major Lindsay had eluded the bug. At the height of the pandemic, isolation rules were so strict that none of the lost veterans could be buried with the full military honors they deserved. They died and were buried alone. That just wasn’t right.

Major Lindsay, however, pledged to correct the situation. As soon as restrictions eased, he arranged a group memorial service for his fallen comrades. Marshall would not have missed it for the world.

Marshall and his mom had moved to Justice, Texas, several years earlier when he was about to enter junior high school. They came from Brooklyn, New York, where she had been a nurse. She took a wild chance on an open nursing position at Justice High in Texas. Somehow the connection clicked, and they moved out of the crowded confines of New York to what they expected to be cows and cacti of south Texas. They never looked back and quickly blended into their new environment. Sally Morris had never married Marshall’s dad, whom he had not met or knew much about. His curiosity about his dad increased as he got older, and he planned to sit down with his mom to find out more. He wanted to wait for the right moment, which never seemed to come. That said, he and Sally were extremely close. There was nothing he would not discuss with her. He was a naturally bright, cheerful, and upbeat guy until his mom was hooked up to a respirator, gravely ill with COVID.

When she was critically ill and the prospects of her recovery looked grim, he had no one to turn to other than Mallory and her mom, who did their best to comfort him. They were terrific in his time of need, but it would have been nice to have a dad to talk to during those miserable days. Of course, that wasn’t to be, but he discovered that he increasingly looked up to Major Lindsay for reassurance and guidance. The career Marine outwardly treated Marshall like a recruit on the parade ground, but both understood their relationship was much deeper—perhaps tough love. There was irony in that when Sally was so sick, the major encouraged Marshall to be strong, only for Marshall to stream back words of encouragement as his three friends were struck down by COVID. Major Lindsay was hardly a surrogate dad, but he commanded Marshall’s deep respect. Marshall did not hesitate to approach the old Marine for advice.

It was a bright winter morning, calm and crisp, with temperatures in the fifties. Around thirty people gathered, all wearing masks and seated on folding chairs spaced six feet apart in the parking area facing the flagpole at Falling Oaks. A multi-service honor guard, drawn from local reserve units, stood at attention. Pictures of the three fallen veterans in full dress uniform were displayed on easels near the flagpole. A local minister, who had served as an Army chaplain, opened the ceremony and addressed the gathering.

Marshall listened as the pastor quoted scripture and mentioned each of the veterans by name. He read short biographies for each of them, though he had not known them personally. Marshall wished his best friend, Graham Brown—who had known the vets—could have been there, but he was in school in Austin. Unlike Marshall, Graham had returned when classes resumed after the initial COVID scare. Marshall also thought about Mallory, who wasn’t there next to him. Well, Mallory was a different story altogether. Most of the crowd were other residents of the home, and a few townspeople, including several police officers who had come to pay their respects.

After the pastor finished his remarks, Major Lindsay rose from his seat in the front row and, with some difficulty, made his way to the podium. The old soldier hesitated briefly, but even after all those years, he commanded an undeniable presence that held the crowd’s attention. Everyone fell silent.

"Folks, I have no illusions about living forever. In fact, after the scrapes I’ve been in while wearing a uniform, I don’t know why I’m still here today. Over the past several months, a horrible virus swept over our land and did what enemy bombs, bullets, and sharp metal could not. It struck down three genuine heroes who put their lives on the line many times in defense of this great country. Lieutenant Commander Sarah Moran, U.S. Navy, captained PT boats in the Mekong River south of Saigon—she lost four of them shot out from under her. Master Sergeant Warren Cook, U.S. Army Special Forces, spent over six months in a North Vietnamese prison. He was back with his unit, leading patrols just a week after escaping. And Rodney Lexford—you’d think a strong wind would blow him over just looking at him. Not a chance. This man was one of the toughest I’ve ever met. He flew over 200 missions as a bombardier in a B-52 over North Vietnam. He fought the virus to the bitter end, and at one point, it looked like he might beat it. We’re gathered here today to make