COLD
By: shinbi
Note: A time-relevant piece
The phone was in his hand, the voice on the other end distant and unfamiliar, reaching his ear from some other place, speaking words he understood but couldn't comprehend.
"In tonight's Big Ten clash, Minnesota's sophomore star forward, Adam Banks, scored a hat trick in the Golden Gopher's 4-1 victory over Michigan. The Edina native now sits atop the scoring standings with 25 goals in 12 games. NHL scouts—"
Adam Banks reached over and flicked off the car radio, shaking his head. Next to him, Charlie Conway made a noise of protest.
"Dude, I was listening to that!" He reached for the radio dial, but Adam swatted his hand away.
"I don't want to hear about NHL scouts and all that," he told his friend. Charlie drummed his fingers across the steering wheel, waiting for the light in front of him to change.
"Why?" Adam shifted in his seat, staring out at the snow-covered landscape around them.
"I'm not just some dumb jock who wants to make money and stuff," he said after a moment, "I don't want them to perceive me like just another dumb kid after millions." Charlie stepped gently on the gas as the light turned green, feeling the wheels spin a little on the icy road.
"Just do your thing, Adam. Your actions'll speak for you."
He was holding onto the counter for support, his hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles hurt. The world seemed to be spinning around him, a blur of color and light, words and memories making him dizzy.
"Today, December 1st, the President of the United States has just given the order to reinstate the draft. All men ages 18 to 24 are eligible and expected to serve. Those who are 20 years old this year or will turn 20 this year will be the first selected. A random birth date lottery will decide the order. After 20 year olds, the order is as follows: 21 year olds, 22 year olds, 23 year olds, 24 year olds, 18 year olds, 19 year olds."
As the TV camera panned away from the official looking figure on the screen, Adam's bag fell from his shoulder and Charlie had to grab the back of one of the sofas to keep his balance. Around them, people were shouting, swearing, crying, but all Charlie was aware of was Adam's hand on his shoulder, gripping it so hard he almost winced.
"Charlie, I turn 20 in two weeks."
"Mr. Conway?"
"Yes?"
"December 15th."
"Jesus Christ." Adam reeled back from where he was standing, watching the TV, his hands balling into fists. Charlie reached for him helplessly, knowing there was nothing he could do.
"Adam." He grabbed his friend's shoulder, pulling him back. Adam wrenched free, but Charlie was quicker.
"Adam." And then Charlie's arms were around him as he collapsed in on himself, his face crumpling into a grimace. Charlie held him tightly, holding him up, his own tears burning his eyes. Around them, their dormmates offered words of encouragement and support, but Charlie was sure Adam couldn't hear them.
"I'm going to fucking war," Adam muttered, pulling away from his friend, "I'm going to fucking war."
"Mr. Conway, I'm Dean Larson from the Administration Department here at the university."
"Yes?"
"Charlie?"
"Adam? Jesus Christ...it's been forever."
"I know, man."
"How are you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, dude. I'm okay. I'm surviving as best I can."
"God...you know all we hear about here is how many kids are dying over there every day."
"I know, Charlie. And they don't even report how many people are hurt, do they?"
"No."
"Christ, Charlie, it's awful. The shit I see here, every day...I can't believe it's all happening. I can't believe I'm here."
"Adam..."
"What's up, dude?"
"Adam, you gotta come back, alright?"
"I...Charlie, you know what it's like over here?"
"Yeah, I know. I know people are dying every day, but damn it, Adam, you're my best friend. Can't I be selfish when it comes to my best friend? I don't want you to fucking die."
"I don't either, Charlie."
"Look, Adam...please, take care of yourself. I can't watch my best friend come home in a box."
"Okay. I'll do what I can."
"Adam..."
"Charlie, it's all I got. We're in a fucking war...people die every day."
"I know...just please, please...be careful."
"I will."
"Mr. Conway, I'm calling you with some very sad news."
The sun was warm on Adam's face as the humvee he was in trundled slowly through the streets. It was early morning, so there weren't many people out. Less threats, less things to keep an eye on. A few little kids waved from the side of the road, and Adam, in as good a mood as one can be in a war, waved back.
Then the world seemed to explode around him, stars and light flashing in his vision. Darkness interspersed with color, and his mind registered a blinding, crushing pain in his torso. And then there was nothing.
The phone was in his hand, the voice on the other end distant and unfamiliar, reaching his ear from some other place, speaking words he understood but couldn't comprehend.
"I'm sorry Mr. Conway, but yesterday, your roommate, Adam Banks, was killed by an enemy mortar attack."
