CHAPTER 17: RUSSELL

NOTE: Getting ourselves kicked out of the house at fifteen and really getting an early dose of street life. If I didn’t know better, I would say all children should have to do this. It was a real wake up call. Problem is I was living in a dream world of the worst kind and was just about to turn 16 again. So here it comes, the unedited version of Bonded a Brother’s Love.    

CHAPTER 17: RUSSELL

I picked the right day to cause a problem with our stepmother; it was easy to do. She never really liked us anyway and was always willing to give us a good whack. Well, this time I whacked her back. I know you should not hit a lady, but this woman was far from being a lady and quite often would hit Joe or even hit dad.

She would also get into hair pulling, closed fist flying, physical fights with her own teenage daughter.

She didn’t realize when she hit Joe this time that I was also there and not going to take it. The end result was that I busted her lip open and after an hour had passed, she met my father at the front door with a bloody lip when he walked in from work.

After talking with her for a few minutes my dad came outside where I had been staying, and he let me know that it was time for me to leave their house. Leaving that evening was probably the first time that I was forced into living on the streets, not by my choice to hide what was going on in my life, but really no place to sleep.

Joe was fifteen, but we knew how to make it, this was not going to kill us. It only made it easier to help me turn Joe away from God and his attempt at normal life again. It also reinforced the fact that I was the only person he could depend on. I wish I remembered what happened during most of that next year. It

is all a blur to me now.

I was literally living on the streets to begin with. I know I tried restaurant work, construction labor and most everything else that would make enough money for food and pot. At sixteen Joe was feeling pretty much as worthless as I had at that age. This was working out great for the plan the devil and I had for Joe.

Heading into the summer of 1972, Joe and I no longer think of any dates that are not related to my suicide. The only time that matters are the four years that have gone by. The months around the anniversary have not gotten any easier. The reliving of that night has gotten more realistic with crisper details. Joe is sixteen now, the same age I was when I pulled the trigger.

My father and stepmother have moved back to Southern California for some reason, and we actually only live a few blocks from them now in the old Santa Ana neighborhood. Joe and I have found an old family friend, Russell, to live with. Russell is eighteen and is someone both Joe and I knew in grade school. We used to steal bikes together as children and have peeing contests in our driveway. His family was almost as dysfunctional as ours was. They were also a product of divorced parents and early drug use. But for now, we have gone from living on the streets to renting our own house.

None of us are working regular jobs. But we make enough to pay the rent, and we were lucky enough to meet up with a couple of Marines from a local Marine Base that were heavy into marijuana dealing. They like hanging out at our house for the steady supply of young people that we have and the nightly poker games. The Marines keep us supplied with samples and our atmosphere kept them supplied with customers.

There are three of us living here in a small, one-bedroom house. I would have been twenty-one years old this year, Russell is eighteen and Joe being sixteen is the youngest. Russell has a younger sister that likes to visit the house and in a couple of years will become Joe’s first wife.

My family had kind of a strange relationship with Russell’s family as we were growing up. Our parents knew of each other and had met a few times in the neighborhood but really did not communicate. While at the same time the children from each family would use the other family as a place to say we were spending the night. Then we did whatever we wanted to for that night.

As I said the relationship between our two families was very strange. Joe eventually married Russell’s younger sister, our oldest sister married Russell’s younger brother. Our youngest sister was engaged to Russell, but he died before they were able to be married. Russell died from congenital heart problems at age nineteen while I was away at Fort Ord, California for basic training.

Just prior to joining the Army Joe and I were finally starting to live in harmony with each other. Nightmares and tremors were still pretty common, but we rarely have any conflicts between ourselves. We are sure we will soon be able to die an honorable death in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Without a doubt Joe knows I’m here now, and I know I’m stuck here.

The house we share with Russell is a party house. But at least it’s a routine. People in and out all of the time. Lots of poker played, pot smoked and alcohol consumed. Somehow, we now seem to be the house on the block that the police know about and tolerate. They stop by from time to time just like they did when I was alive, but just like then, they never make an arrest. At least I’m sleeping in the same place every night. It’s a mattress on the floor, but I don’t have to worry about where I’m going to sleep from night to night, it beats the hell out of a park restroom floor or bench.

---

**Reach out to me at any time. 

I am not only willing, but I also look forward to taking a share of your pain. Email: David@bondedabrotherslove.com. You will get a caring same day response.

Nothing scripted. 

You are not alone, and you matter.

---

If You’re Struggling

If you or someone you love or know is in a dark place, please know you’re not alone and there is help available. Reaching out is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people ready to listen, ready to walk with you, and ready to help.

Immediate assistance is available:

National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline  

📞 988

Veterans Crisis Line  

📞 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1) | 📱 Text 838255

Survivor Support / Crisis Group  

🌐 https://www.crisishotline.org  📞 832-416-1177

---

💡 If you know someone who needs to hear that they are not alone, share this story. Together, we can create echoes of hope that outlast the pain.

For more than five decades, I carried this story in silence. Silence nearly broke me, but telling it is what keeps hope alive.

Bonded: A Brother’s Love : One Bullet. A Thousand Echoes my hope is that it offers understanding, connection, and even a reason to hold on when life feels unbearable.

📖 Order your copy today and join me in breaking the silence. Together we can spread hope, honor the lost, and change the future.