Soo this is my first story on this site. I am considering making this a two or three shot, if people actually read it.
Warning: Swearing and a few f-bombs.
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July 31st, 1969
They sent my brother to Vietnam one week after his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't fair.
Nobody expected him to go. But he did, because that is the world. The drafts wouldn't halt to kepe my brother safe at home.
It had happened just when we thought we were out of the woods, just when we got our hopes up that maybe the drafts had passed us by, just when we thought that we might be the lucky ones...they send my brother that goddamned letter.
The youngest of us. Still innocent and pure. He could pass as my twin, minus the hair and the color of his eyes.
And believe me, I had taken that into deep consideration. Me instead of him. No one would ever notice.
But Ponyboy had known me too well. Always has. He'd been standing in the center of the kitchen, all of our eyes on him while he stared at the letter in his shaking hands with a certain disbelief. My heart had been pounding - not us not us not us.
Then he looked at me. His eyes had been hard but I could tell he was scared as hell.
"Don't you fucking dare." his voice shook just a little.
No one had known what he'd meant by that but me. And then we'd just both started crying, right there in front of everyone, tears slipping from our eyes in perfect unison.
Not him. Lord, not him.
Darry, always the strong one, had stepped up and slung his arm around my brother's shoulders and pulled him in close.
"It's ok," he had said. "It's ok."
But it couldn't be. Not this time.
I think he was more convincing himself instead of reassuring Ponyboy. Because right then, Darry had been anything but brave. Our walls had finally crashed, like we knew they would someday.
We were just never sure how.
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August 5th, 1969
He's leaving.
He hugs me goodbye and I cough on a sob. This could be our last hug. The last time I ever see him, alive. I can't stand the thought.
So I will myself to just stop thinking.
Ponyboy doesn't look like himself with his hair cut short like that and his uniform that makes him look like every other recruit there. But there's something else that's different about him too. He looks weak. Scared. But hell, he has a right to be scared.
I don't know if he could possibly be as scared as I am. It's fucking hard to imagine.
I can't think of anything to say. God, I can't just say goodbye. Goodbye is too final. And this? This can
only be temporary. It has to be.
Instead I just smile. It's a fake smile but I hope it looks convincing for Pony's sake. I've learned that if you make something that's a big whoop seem like no big deal, you are more likely to be successful. And lord, Ponyboy had to be successful.
"I'll see you soon." I say. Hopefully alive.
He smiles too, strained. "You know I will."
Before he boards the plane he hugs Darry, too. I see him whisper something into his ear. Darry's still trying to keep up that strong façade he's always had, but it's useless. His face is a mess of worry lines.
And then he just leaves. Running away like the track team star he's always been. He stops only once, to turn around and wave like a kid saying goodbye to their mom when they get dropped off at school.
To me, he still is that kid.
I can't bring myself to wave back. I can only watch as he runs, farther and farther away from me.
;;;
September 7th, 1969
He's been gone for a month but it feels like years.
Everytime the TV blurts out the latest news and casualties on the war, I click it off with reflexes I never knew I had. I like the blissfulness of being perfectly oblivious, pretending none of this is really happening.
I really do sympathize with Ponyboy on his night terrors, now. Because lately I've been getting them too. Except mine always happen when I'm awake.
I just lay there in the dark, in Pony's room like we used to when we were kids. I promise myself that if he gets back - no when he gets back - I will sleep in the same bed as him again. Because I know he'll be afraid. And I want to help him.
And then they start. My mind floods with what-ifs.
The biggest of the what if's, what if he dies?
Then I try to imagine life without him waking up too late in the morning on the weekends, just as I'm about to head off to work. His cranky teenaged banter about being sore from track or a particularly despicable teacher.
Then the most terrifying part of it all.
My mind forms a blank.
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Please review :)