Chapter Two
Tulsa, Oklahoma
Darry's alarm clock when off loudly, jerking him very suddenly from a restless sleep. He quickly reached over and hit the clock a little harder than necessary. He rolled over so his back was to the clock, considering for the briefest of moments to just going back to sleep. He knew that wasn't an option though. As much as he had wanted to lay around the house and mope for the past month he knew that it was better to drag himself to work every day. At least it kept him occupied. Plus he had to get Pony up for school. And if he started skipping work he wouldn't have much of an argument for Pony to be going to school every day. They had to keep going; despite everything they still had lives to live.
Slowly and with an effort he dragged himself out of bed. He shuffled out of his room and began heading for Pony's bedroom as usual, but stopped short. Pony's bedroom door was open a crack. That was odd. He usually closed it at night. Darry felt a little more awake and alert as he walked forward and pushed the door the rest of the way open. He took in the empty bed before he surveyed the rest of the room, finding no sign of his youngest brother. His stomach twisted up, not quite understanding what was going on. Where would Pony go this early in the morning?
Darry held his panic at bay – Pony was the only family he had left and the thought that something had happened to him in the night was just too much to bear –as he turned and moved through the rest of the house. There really wasn't any reason to believe that Pony hadn't gotten up already and was somewhere else in the house. His heart sank though as he checked the bathroom, the kitchen and the living room, finding each room as empty as the last.
Finally as a last ditch effort he went to the front door and opened it. He felt relief wash over him as he saw the familiar figure sitting on the steps of the porch, still in his pajamas with a half-smoked cigarette held loosely in his hand as he stared vacantly straight ahead.
"Jesus, Pony, you scared the hell out of me," Darry said with a sigh as he moved out onto the porch, letting the door slam behind him.
Pony glanced back behind him briefly before turning back toward the street. The sunlight was just beginning to peak over the rooftops. "Sorry Darry," he said flatly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Pony had been pretty subdued for the past month ever since they had received that letter. Darry certainly couldn't blame the poor kid. He knew how much Soda meant to him. Darry moved forward, intending to sit next to him when he saw the pile of cigarette butts lying beside him. He carefully swept the pile to the side, though not before counting four butts. Apparently Pony was on his fifth cigarette at six in the morning. Darry sat down on the step next to him, looking at Pony with concern.
"How long you been up, kiddo?" he asked slowly.
Pony shrugged. "Couple hours I guess," he said.
"Couldn't sleep?" Darry asked. Pony simply shook his head, taking a drag off his cigarette. Darry found this behavior especially odd. Sure, they had both been pretty torn up for the past month, but all of a sudden Pony seemed so much worse off and he couldn't understand what had changed since just yesterday. "What's wrong, Pony?" he asked carefully.
"Everythin'," Pony said dully, almost to himself. "Ain't nothin' been right in a month."
"I know," Darry said sympathetically. "Just seems like you're especially bothered by somethin' this morning."
Pony finally turned and looked at him, and as he did Darry could see that Pony's eyes were red and there were damp streaks running down his cheeks. He had been crying. "It's October, Darry," Pony said softly. Darry just looked at him, not quite understanding. Or maybe deep down he just didn't want to understand. "It's October 8th."
Then it clicked. Darry felt his heart give a twist. "Oh," he said quietly.
Pony studied his face, a hint of disbelief in his features. "You didn't know?" he asked, surprise in his tone.
"I guess I just tried not to think about it," Darry admitted, running a hand through his hair.
Today was Sodapop's nineteenth birthday. Darry would never forget his younger brother's birthday, but given the circumstances whenever the thought had crossed his mind over the past month he had stubbornly pushed it away. They had all known when Soda had gotten his draft letter that he wouldn't be home for his birthday. He wasn't due back from service until March. Before about a month ago Darry had figured they could send Soda a card for his birthday, maybe even have a small celebration for him at home just with the three Greasers that were left. That was before though. Before they knew that he was missing in action. Now there wasn't a place to mail a birthday card. Now they weren't even sure if there was a reason to celebrate or if they should be mourning instead.
"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," Pony said quietly, looking down at the ground. "He's nineteen today… and we don't even know where he is or if he's okay."
"Yeah," Darry said sadly. Soda had been his responsibility for so long he couldn't help but feel that somehow he was still responsible for him even though he was half way around the world. Like somehow if Soda didn't come home it would be his fault. And he hated feeling so helpless. He hadn't slept through the night since they had received that letter. He lay awake many nights tossing and turning as he wondered if his little brother was still alive somewhere somehow.
"I really hoped that we'd hear somethin' by now," Pony went on, despair in his voice. "Anythin'. One way or another, you know? I hate wonderin'…"
"I do too kiddo," Darry told him gently.
They lapsed into silence for a while. Darry only realized that time was still passing when he saw Two-Bit's old junker rumbling up the street. Neither of them moved as Two-Bit parked on the curb and climbed out. His usual carefree and goofy expression was dulled as he made his way up the walk. He had taken the news of Soda's disappearance as hard as Darry and Pony had. And by the look on his face it was clear he knew what day this was.
Two-Bit eyed the two of them before leaning up against the porch and pulling out his pack of Kools. "No school today?" he asked, obviously noticing how Pony and Darry were both still in their pajamas. He lit up a cigarette.
Darry sighed. He felt like it would be cruel to make Pony go to school today. But at the same time would it be any better to have him sit at home all day and mope?
"What do you think, Pony?" Darry asked, looking at him.
"It's not like I'll be focused enough to learn anythin' today," Pony pointed out.
Darry nodded. "Just today though, alright kiddo?"
"Yeah, okay," Pony agreed. He paused. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Darry asked.
Pony hesitated. "Will you stay home too?"
Darry thought it over for a minute. Then he gave Pony a strained smile. "Yeah, I'll stay home too," he agreed. He turned to look at Two-Bit. "Two-Bit? How about a ditch day?"
Two-Bit cracked a grin. "I guess school can get along without me for a day."
It felt right that they be together for Soda's birthday. Even if they weren't completely sure that Soda was still out there, his birthday still meant something. It meant that he had been here; he was born and was with them for eighteen years. Just because he was missing didn't mean that he ceased to exist. Now they could only hope that by some miracle he would find a way to make it home again.
XxXxX
Vietnam
It was hard to keep track of the days anymore, but Soda was pretty sure it had been around four weeks since he had been captured. Which meant he had been in this bamboo cage for three weeks. The prisoners were usually let out once a day to use the bathroom, though the term "bathroom" was used very loosely. It wasn't an actual room, but simply a far corner of the fenced in area where everyone relieved themselves. Just another way the guards made the prisoners feel like less than human. And the smell was awful to say the least.
Soda was pretty weakened when he had arrived at the prison camp from malnourishment combined with the amount of traveling he had done just to get there. But he quickly found out that he was in very good shape compared to many of the other prisoners. Many men couldn't even make it all the way to the specified corner to relieve themselves.
The man in the cage next to him was named Bao. None of the guards appeared to speak any English though a few of the other prisoners spoke some broken English, but Bao seemed the only one that spoke relatively fluently. He quickly fell into the role of Soda's interpreter, telling him what the guards wanted from him. Soda would be eternally grateful to this man. He wasn't sure if he would have survived the camp without knowing what anyone was saying to him. The guards didn't have much patience and Soda quickly found out within the first couple days that anyone who couldn't move quickly enough was likely to get a severe beating.
Bao was among those who couldn't move very quickly, which explained all his fresh cuts and bruises. Soda found out that he had been shot in the leg right before he had been captured and the wound was now severely infected and clearly there was no medical treatment for any of the prisoners. Soda would let Boa lean on him when they were let out of their cages and it seemed that that was the only reason that he was able to make the trip.
One day Soda noticed the guards moving around the camp, looking into cages and only taking certain prisoners out. As Soda watched wearily from where he lay in his cage, he got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never seen anyone leave a cage except for the daily bathroom trip. And this definitely wasn't a bathroom trip. The prisoners were taken in the opposite direction in which they usually went, and only certain prisoners were taken.
As the guards came closer and closer to where he lay he found himself praying that they would pass right by him. No such luck though. As they approached one of the guards pointed right at him while yelling something in Vietnamese. As they began untying the door of his cage Soda desperately looked over to Bao, hoping for some indication as to what was going on. Bao was silent, though his expression was one of despair.
"What's happening?" Soda hissed, a hint of panic in his voice.
"You be okay," Boa said quietly, but his voice shook.
This did nothing to comfort him. As the guards began dragging him out of the cage he began to panic, his heart pounding in his chest. "What's happening?" he asked again, this time the panic was clear is his voice.
Bao was silent as he watched the guards drag Soda away, a grim look on his face. Soda struggled, afraid of what was coming. For just a second it felt like he might actually break free. Then one of the guards hit him between his shoulders with the butt of his rifle. Soda yelped as he fell to his knees before roughly being pulled back up to his feet. He felt a little stunned as they marched him along.
Soda was placed up against the fence in a line along with about a dozen other South Vietnamese prisoners, all looking terrified and a few even outwardly crying. As Soda's hands were tied tightly behind his back he found that he was gasping for breath, on the verge of a panic attack. The guards were lined up directly across from the prisoners. An order was shouted and all at once the guards raised their rifles and pointed them at the line of prisoners.
Soda swallowed hard as he felt his whole body go cold. This was it. He was about to die. He had made it to almost nineteen years old only to be killed in a foreign country for a cause he didn't even believe in. Pony and Darry would probably never even know what happened to him. He would simply be gone. Forever.
I'm so sorry, Ponyboy. I'm so sorry, Darry. Soda thought to himself, holding his tears at bay as he hoped to leave this world with some semblance of at least a little dignity. I never wanted to leave you guys. Least of all like this. I love you.
Soda held his breath and every muscle in his body was tense as he tried in vain to prepare himself for the unknown and prayed that it would at least be quick. A sharp order was shouted and Soda tensed even more and instinctively flinched. But all he heard were clicking noises. A minute later there was laughter. The guards were laughing at the prisoners. As he realized what had happened Soda sharply let out the breath he had been holding as his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, vaguely aware of other prisoners in the line doing the same. It was a trick. A cruel trick. They weren't going to kill them. They were simply playing a game. The guns hadn't even been loaded.
Soda was hardly aware as two guards grabbed him by the upper arms and dragged him back to his feet. Soda did his best to stumble along. He used any willpower he had left to hold himself together, not wanting to give the guards any more satisfaction that they had gotten to him.
Back in the confines of his cage Soda found that he was still shaking. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball for some sense of security, but he couldn't even do that because of how his ankles were restrained in the wooden contraption at one end of the cage. It took several hours for him to feel like he was finally beginning to calm down from the ordeal. Boa and he never dared to speak until after dark when the guards would lose interest in patrolling between the cages. After nightfall Soda looked over at Bao.
"What were they sayin'?" he asked softly. "When they took me out of the cage. What did they say?"
"Execute," Boa said quietly. "They said they would execute." He paused, looking at him sympathetically. "I glad they did not."
Soda sighed. "Yeah… me too." He still felt shaken when he thought about it. He couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. And he couldn't help but feel like this would only get worse. Only a month had passed so far. How long could he really endure this kind of torture?
Soda was drifting in and out of consciousness that night, too shaken to sleep soundly. Not that he really ever slept soundly anyway. But unbeknownst to him, he had hit a milestone. Today he was nineteen years old. It would be several more weeks before he would realize that he was a year older. Days blended together and keeping track what day it was just didn't seem very important anymore. The only important thing anymore was just trying to survive this hell.