The Sorrow of War
Chapter 2
Pony
For the first time in my life I understood the phrase, "it felt like the twilight zone". The street where Mr. and Mrs. Jason lived resembled the Jewish ghettos we had learned about in school. The places no one could get out of. The places no one wanted to get sucked into. And here I was…getting sucked in.
"Chester will show you around. Oh honey, don't be shy, we don't bite," Mrs. Jason said in what she hoped was a friendly voice. It was friendly…too friendly. Not motherly friendly or controlling friendly, just from friend-to-friend friendly. It was oddly uncomforting.
"Thanks ma'am, he's just shy," Soda answered, trying to sound as polite as possible. These people were our only chance of staying together. Whatever together meant.
"Please, call me Sadie," She replied, smiling to show well-abused teeth. She was obviously a smoker and for a moment I had seriously thought about quitting. Soda didn't get a chance to reply because the kid she called Chester grabbed at our bags and grunted for us to follow him. Sadie nodded for us to go ahead, and we walked behind the large boy apprehensively.
"You guys'll be sharin' a room with me," Chester announced, tossing us a crooked smile over his shoulder. At first I thought it might had been malicious, but I reconsidered this notion as his…our… bedroom door opened to reveal brightly painted walls, decorated with peace signs and smudged rainbows.
"You can paint your own walls?" Soda asked excitedly and I had to smile. It was the first time I had heard him excited about anything in a long time. Chester nodded proudly and let our bags bang to the floor.
"Yep. Course we can. I did this myself. You like to paint?" He asked Soda enthusiastically. I studied the room more closely, noting the unmade bunk bed beside the piles of books with Nietzsche written across them.
"I like colors," Soda admitted, enthralled with the half-assed morals. "I aint no artist though. Pony here," He continued, gesturing at me proudly. "He can draw real good." Chester looked at me in with sudden interest.
"Really? Then we'll havta get started on a new design. You read Nietzsche?" He answered, gesturing to the pile of books I was still staring at. I looked away embarrassed.
"What?" I asked back, unsure of the question. I had never heard of Nietzsche before. Chester smiled again and reached for one of the books, tossing it to me.
"Friedrich Nietzsche. He was an existentialist. Read it, it's good stuff," He told me. I looked at the title curiously.
The Birth of Tragedy, Out of the Spirit of Music
I silently wondered if there actually was one moment in time when tragedy was born. I knew for myself, it was the night my parents died. But tragedyin general…
"You guy'll sleep on this bed," He said, breaking me out of my reverie. "Since you're brothers n' all," He added quickly. Soda and I nodded our consent at the anxious-to-please kid in front of us.
"T-Bird and I will take the bunk bed," He continued, trying to make conversation.
"T-Bird?" Soda inquired humorously. Chester grinned and pulled out a bag of weed.
"Yep. His nickname. His real name is Tommy Bird, but no one calls him that. And I'm Chester Cat. You'll meet all the guys later and we'll find a name for the two of you eventually," He stated with pride. Soda and I tossed questioning glances but didn't voice them.
"Grass?" Chester questioned, tossing the bag to Soda. Soda caught it offhandedly and tossed it back to him.
"No thanks," Soda politely declined. "We only smoke cigarettes. Chester laughed loudly and shoved the weed back into its place under our bed.
"Give it some time. You'll try eventually," Chester promised with a wild twinkling in his eyes. Soda and I looked at each other again but don't have the time to say anything. A door shut loudly and Chester shoved past us happily.
"Come on guys! Jay-Man is home!" Chester exclaimed excitedly. Soda and I were all but dragged into the living room where a husky man with long hair stood kissing Sadie.
"Soda….Pony…this is my Husband, Phil, but we all call him Jay-Man," Sadie introduced us. Soda silently marveled at Jay-Man's hair until he noticed.
"Haven't cut it for almost ten years," Jay-Man announced proudly, sticking out his left hand. "Glad to me ya boys, and welcome home." Soda shook his hand politely and I did the same, trying desperately to tear my eyes away from the colorful man. Luckily the front door swung open, offering a distraction, and two girls and three guys came pouring in.
"These are the new guys huh?" A girl asked with red-rimmed eyes. The guys sat large boxes down on the kitchen table that was already cluttered with random items.
"Daisy, this is Soda and Pony," Sadie answered, showing us off. Daisy nodded curtly and started unpacking the boxes.
"Well guys, come along, we have a lot to get in order for that rally tomorrow," Jay-Man ordered patiently. The other guys moved to the boxes, pulling out signs stuck to large sticks.
"You guys can carry these," A boy my age offered as if it were an honor. I stared at the sign emotionlessly, reading the bolded words:
Draft Beer Not Boys! Bring Our Troops Home!
Darry
I inwardly cringed when the site of the basic training camp came into view. The commanding officers gave orders to file off the bus and told us how everything was going to work.
"Tomorrow morning we ship out at 6 o' clock sharp. You men are to have everything packed and ready to leave for Saigon by 5:30. Breakfast is at 5 so I suggest you men cut the lights after drills. After we land in Saigon each of you will be directed to your unit where your new commanding officer will give you the down low from there. Don't do anything stupid," Lieutenant Cane yelled impatiently. By the looks of it he had a lot to do. I couldn't help but wonder if this was what I sounded like to Pony. God I hoped the two of them were okay.
I looked around me at the other men pouring into our tents to change into uniform. Most of the guys were boys only a couple years older than Soda. I subconsciously shuddered at the thought of Soda fighting in a war. He was only sixteen….almost seventeen. He still had another year and hopefully this war wouldn't last that long.
"Curtis?" A man asked, jogging to catch up to me. I fell back and looked at the man I had sat behind on the bus.
"Yes. You are…?" I answered distractively. I was too caught up thinking about my brothers and what they could be doing now to worry about what was going on around me. You can't do that over there, I chastised myself. You'll be blown away so quickly-
"Cut. Andrew Cut," He told me, offering me his hand. I shook it hastily and walked with him to our tent.
"I think we might be in the same unit over there," He told me. "Because of our names," He added when I looked at him skeptically. I nodded in understanding. Yes, if they went alphabetically…
"Those your kids that were with you? At the pick-up I mean?" He asked curiously. I laughed genuinely at his sincerity. Did I really look that old?
"My brothers," I answered to his questioning look. He smiled a little himself as he quickly changed into the drill uniform.
"Who was that guy with them then? Your father?" He continued, trying to hold a conversation. I changed as well and noticed how short Cut was. I would have to guess he was a year younger than me and four inches shorter than average.
"No…social worker," I answered after a pause. He looked as if he wanted to ask something else, but was cut off by the drill sergeant.
"Ladies, get your asses out here!" The man bellowed. Cut gestured towards the door with a tilt of his head.
"After you," He offered smugly. I laughed and made my way to the door, careful to keep all fear and hesitation out of my step.
"What Cut? We're going to hell in roughly 12 hours and you're trying to tell me you're afraid of a tiny, screaming man?" I taunted jokingly. Cut narrowed his eyes at my playfully and shoved passed me.
"Gimme a break Curtis, you aint the only greaser in this joint," He spat over his shoulder. I shook my head amusedly.
"That's for damn sure."
This story is inspired by the book, The Sorrow of War, by Bao Ninh. All references to the book will be explained in the author's notes. Questions/comments/reviews are greatly appreciated.