"Son, help your mother clear the table," Mr. Cooper spoke, a sternness in his voice. The way he spoke to David was like that of a boss or employer. There was no friendliness, no gratefulness. He didn't want to be his son's friend; he knew that wasn't how a father-son relationship was meant to be.
David put up no argument, rising almost instantly. He didn't want to comply, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. He knew better than that, especially when his father sounded the way that he did.
Mr. Cooper focused on his son's work for but a moment before walking out. He had no interest to be in the kitchen for longer than he had to. It was no place for a man to be. If he had it his way, he'd be out fighting the damn Nazis himself.
To him, that was where a man belonged. The battle field was calling for all of their young, and his son would be next. The closer David got to graduation, the more he heard about the war effort. I want YOU for the U.S. Army! Propaganda was around every corner.
"Thank you for your assistance, son," Mrs. Cooper mumbled as she rinsed off her family's dinner dishes. She wanted to get through the task at hand quickly, allowing her more time for her following deeds.
"You're welcome," David answered, giving a small nod. He brought all of the plates to the counter, but left them there. It was all that he needed to do.
With that, he left, jogging up to his room and secluding himself from everything else. He cherished his time alone, especially knowing it would diminish soon. The war left no time for leisure.
David flopped down on his bed, lying there without moving a muscle. He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, trying to draw patterns with his mind. There wasn't much he could do to entertain himself at this point. A lot of his things had been sold for money, most of his clothes had been given for soldiers, and the only thing he was left with was school supplies.
As his mind looped over itself, David found himself getting bored again. His mind was racing, but there wasn't a single idea that could be transferred into something tangible. Nothing seemed to be really there anymore.
Dear Future Self, David thought to himself. Make your life better than this. Give yourself something to do. Allow yourself to have a good time. Don't die too soon.
Suddenly, he bolted up from his bed and straight to the desk in the corner of his room. As he rummaged around for paper and a pencil, his thoughts repeated over and over. He didn't want to lose them before they were written down.
He was able to look at his words, tangible in his hand, and that didn't settle well. What kind of guy writes his feelings down? This was what girls did. With that thought, he crumpled the paper up and threw it in his trash bin. Fuck that.
Rather than returning to his bed, moping and looking at the ceiling, David stood in front of the mirror over his dresser. It was something he did often, examining himself and just seeing what he was really like. At school, he was all that. On the streets, he was all that. But was he really all that?
He ruffled his fingers through his hair, thinking aloud for a moment. "They'll chop it all off," he mumbled to himself. He couldn't lose his hair. What was the point of cutting it off? Was their goal to solely assert dominance? Aerodynamics? Would it boost his intelligence? What was the point?
"What's the point of going to war? Someone dies anyway, ain't that right? Huh? Do you want to die, David? Would you die for your country?" he spoke to himself, his voice getting louder and louder as he mimicked many of the people he had spoke to. The war consumed every one, or so it seemed. It was all they ever talked about.
The night passed on slowly, leading into another dark night and a very lonely morning. As time ticked on, David found himself losing the meaning of life. He was just going through the motions. Chances were he'd be dead in a month anyway.
When it neared seven in the morning, David was in the same position he was in around seven at night. He was flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was sleep deprived with burning eyes. School would be a hellhole if he ever knew one.
"You better be awake, dear!" his mother called from the bottom of the stairs, hoping that her voice would carry. She hated when her son slept in on accident. It always led to rushed mornings that were no good. "I made breakfast!" she added.
As expected, the call of food brought the seventeen year old down to the kitchen. He was a growing man, always hungry and never ready to turn down food. The rations hit him especially hard, though he could never admit that. He had no choice but to suck it up like everyone else.
"Are you ready for school today?" Mrs. Cooper asked as David settled down at the table. It was a Friday, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Even with the age difference between David and his parents, there was one thing they had in common. To them, Fridays were golden. They wouldn't have school or work the next day, paychecks usually came in, there was always something good on the radio, and so on.
"Of course I am; it's Friday," he answered finally, his dad giving him some sort of look for taking so long. It wasn't his fault that he was just thinking.
"That it is, son, that it is," she agreed, a smile coming across her face as she spoke.
Mrs. Cooper couldn't help but smile whenever she talked to her son. She had a grin on her face just knowing that she brought such a wonder into the world. He was her pride and joy, and he always would be. Even when he was off fighting for their country.
Oh, why does he have to go fight...there are enough young men fighting already, she would always tell herself. I can't lose my David.