I remembered clutching onto the sheet of white paper from the Selective Service System as everything else around me dissolved into darkness. "Ordered to report for armed forces physical examination" was splashed across the top of the page in bold print. I kept reading it over in my mind. Sure, an examination. I knew the deal. It was just like that Arlo Guthrie had said in that song. "You get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected."

I'd ended up shoving the notice in my pocket at the slamming of the screen door. Ponyboy came in, probably from school, and went straight to the ice box for the makings of a sandwich.

I felt the color drain out of my face when I realized that this slip of paper was going to take me away from my little brother. Sure, we'd all seen them announce my birthday on the television, but somehow it hadn't seemed real. I squeezed the paper in my pocket until it made a tight ball, as if that would somehow negate the order inside.

Pony grinned at me as he slathered mustard on a slice of bread. God, it had taken so long for him to get back to this point. After what happened with Johnny and Dallas, Darry and I were about sure he'd never be the same. It had taken a long time, but he'd finally gotten his head back together. He'd be graduating in the spring and was actually looking at colleges. I wondered if he could handle me taking off for the war.

I knew Darry would be fine. Nothing ever ruffled his feathers--I doubt even Chairman Mao would. Besides, he and Pony had been getting along real well for a while. And with his new job as a construction foreman, he really didn't even need my help with money anymore.

"Jeez, Soda," Pony said stopping in his tracks. "What's eating you?"

I blinked, realizing that I'd probably been dazing off for a while. Pony suddenly looked so young to me standing there with mustard on his face. How could anyone expect me to just leave him? I wasn't stupid. I knew that there was a pretty good chance that if I left, I wouldn't be coming back.

I forced a smile for his benefit and headed for the door. "Nothing, Pone," I assured him. "I gotta go find Steve though. Tell Darry I probably won't be back 'till dinner, okay?"

He nodded between bites of his sandwich. "Catch you later," he called flipping through a notebook.

That was the last time I'd seen my little brother. When I'd met up with Steve he'd been staring at a letter identical to the one in my pocket. He'd gotten his a week earlier.

"You can't go over there, Soda," he'd screamed desperately, shaking me by my shoulders. "Christ, how can I go over there? Does anyone even know what we're fighting for anymore?"

"Hell if I know," I sighed, then looked up at him, remembering something Two-Bit had told me once about burning his draft card, if he ever got one. "Let's ditch."

Steve's mouth dropped open. "Ditch?" he practically yelped. "This ain't like English class, Sodapop! You can't just ditch out on the draft."

"Why not?" I asked calmly.

"They'll come looking for you," Steve growled waving his draft notice in my face. "This isn't an invitation, Soda, it's a death sentence."

I stood up and paced the floor a few times.

"So we'll take off," I suggested with a grin. "We'll go somewhere far away from here. Somewhere no one would think to look for us. How much money do you have?"

Steve didn't speak for a minute, then started shaking his head, and I grinned even wider at the idea of what I was proposing.

"You better stop smiling like that, Curtis," He said stubbornly. "I don't know what you're thinking but it ain't gonna work."

My mind was racing. There were millions of people just in the United States. Finding me and Steve would be next to impossible, right?

Steve fell into the armchair across from me. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

I nodded slowly. "What's our other option?" I asked. "March off to our deaths willingly?"

Steve shuddered when I said that. I knew he was thinking about me dying, because I was thinking about it happening to him too.

He suddenly jumped up from the chair and headed down the hall to his room. I could hear him rummaging around and followed to see what he was doing.

"What are you doing?" I asked amusedly as I watched him dump one of his dresser drawers out on the floor.

He stopped for a split second, only to look at me like I was crazy, then kept digging through piles of his belongings.

"I'm packing before my father gets home and beats my head in," he answered with a spark in his eye. "You know, I hear California is nice this time of year."