Summary: Every true story ends in death. But not this one. I won't let it. One-shot; Steve's POV.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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"Ernest Hemingway said that every true story ends in death. This is a true story." – Brian's Song by William Blinn
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Have you ever heard that a true story always ends in death? You know, like Ernest Hemingway said. Admittedly, in my experience that has been true. I discovered this when I was five and my dog Fido died. Did I cry? Of course I did, I was five.
And then my grandma when I was seven, and my grandpa when I was twelve.
And when I was sixteen, my best friend's parents. I was pretty much done losing loved ones. But the hits kept coming. Eight months after my best friend Soda lost his parents, we all lost our friends Johnny and Dally. Two friends in one night.
But I don't want to think of that. Not that I want to think of what's happening now.
Now I sit here in Vietnam, thinking of home, and wishing like hell I was in the Curtis' house with Two-Bit on the floor watching Mickey and Darry shouting at Pony to do his homework and Soda and me arm wrestling. I want to go there, where nothing's too bad, worries disappear, and there aren't gunshots echoing in the background.
Some guys sitting around me are reading letters from home, crying. I got no letters today, but Soda got one from Ponyboy.
"Well, Pony and Darry haven't killed each other; that's good," Soda says optimistically from where he sits next to me.
"Give them time," I reply dryly, rubbing my foot in the dirt. Leave it up to Sodapop to be optimistic at a time like this. At a time when we're in another country- hell another continent- in a war, seeing our friends die, and waking from nightmares every night. Yeah, everyone else is crying, but I know I can look over and see Soda wearing a big, goofy grin.
"Aw, shut up, Steve," Soda replies.
"Glory Soda, I don't see how you can be so happy right now," I mutter.
"It makes me happy to hear from Pony," he explains.
"Well, at least one of us is hearing from home," I say grudgingly, sitting cross-legged next to him on the ground.
"Pony says to tell you hi from him and Darry and Two-Bit," Soda says happily.
"Gee, I fell better," I murmur, sarcasm evident in my voice.
"I'm sure someone'll write to you," he says. "I'll bet someone did, but it got lost in the mail, or it's just going to come later. Maybe somebody else got it by mistake."
"I doubt it, Soda."
"I don't. I'll bet the mail guy accidentally gave your letter to that other Steve- Steve Jenkins."
"How would they get Steve Randall mixed up with Steve Jenkins?" I ask skeptically.
"The Steve part- duh," he says like it's obvious. "Hey Steve-o!"
Just as Steve Jenkins looks up from one of his three letters, the sergeant comes over. We all stand up straight. He salutes us and we simultaneously salute back.
"Boys!" he bellows. "Now this war has been hell, I know…which is why I'm pleased to announce that…we're all going home!"
None of us can keep together the usual calm, respectful manners we hold around higher ranked soldiers, and we all begin cheering and clapping, going wild.
"I can finally marry my girl!" a couple boys yell.
Soda and I hug each other, both of us grinning wildly.
"Now we can go home and give the gang hell for not writing to you," he smiles. I burst into laughter, partially because it was funny and partially because I'm so happy we're going.
Unfortunately for me, Hemingway was right. And this is a true story. I'm not really about to go home and Soda and I aren't hugging and cheering. Really I'm sitting in the jungle in the middle of a war, and I'm the only one crying. Because in my arms is my best friend Sodapop Curtis, and he's dead.
A/N: Hey, this kind of just came to me. I'm reading Brian's Song right now, so that quote sort of inspired me. Thanks to anyone who reads this story, and please review! :)