Chandler closed the ledger book, absently running his hand over the leather binding and looking out his office window.
The sun was beating in through the glass, making his cramped, small office stuffy in the mid-May late afternoon, but he felt a chill run down his spine despite the heat. He stared out onto the shabby structures surrounding the Pipefitters Union building, wondering fleetingly if it would be the last time he'd look out a window at the end of a work day.
He shook his head. He really should know better. Of course it was the last time.
He'd spent this last day at work finishing training the person who would take his job when he left, and taking care of a couple special accounting changes that needed to happen. Abraham had stopped by his office to timidly wish him well, his own son having been drafted right out of high school just three months earlier. His boss had checked in on him a couple times, but mostly everyone kept their heads down or gave him a sad nod.
And that was fine because he didn't want their pity. If they only knew what he knew - that this is the way it was always going to go. This was where the path of his short life was always going to lead. It really was only a matter of time.
Chandler sighed in the quiet room. That feeling of hopelessness that had been such a part of his life for so long had ebbed away in the last few years as he'd started to build a new life for himself, one that for a brief, shining moment felt like it was within his reach. But that hopeless feeling was back now, with a vengeance.
God, he always knew it was too good to be true.
Over the last few days he'd been able to, for the most part, put those feelings of contentment away where they belonged - tucked far back in his mind. They were back there with a few other treasured memories he pulled out to get him through the worst days of the past. He hoped they would be enough to get him through the worst days of the future - however long the future might be as he headed off to war.
The "things" he could easily forget - it was the people he had to stop thinking about who made it hard. In the past it had been a little simpler to leave people. Their…behavior towards him had made leaving them behind easier to accept. He'd play a trick on his mind. He'd picture their faces and picture himself walking away, until their features were hazy and the wall he built inside between him and them was strong. He'd tried the same tactic over the last few days, though not with Ross and Joey. They'd be "with him," so to speak. They'd all be in the same place, even if they never saw one another in the next year or so. And it wasn't so bad with Rachel. She was a friend, but she was Ross's fiancé.
It was harder with Phoebe.
Phoebe meant the world to him, but she'd never forgive him for leaving, especially when she thought he could run away. He hadn't heard from her since Monday night and he honestly never expected to see her again. Over the last couple days he'd started to accept that. She was just one more memory to save in the recesses of his mind, to pull out when he needed to escape his reality in Vietnam. At this point he had his feelings for everyone pretty well contained - his feelings for everyone, except her.
He'd picture Monica's face and couldn't picture himself walking away. He pictured her face and could see only the anger and horror he saw when he finally looked at her Monday night. Her perfect mouth seemed to be shaped in a permanent "O" - the shock never quite leaving her features when he and Joey had shared their news with everyone else.
To him she looked just like she had the night he came to get her from that house party - vulnerable and scared. Right then he wanted to reach out and hold her, but what good would that have done? None. So he decided then and there to start the processes of shutting down. He decided then and there to put back up the walls around his heart he'd lived with for most of his life - telling himself he didn't want or need anyone to care about him.
So he added her to the vault of memories and decided he'd said his goodbye to her on Friday night, no matter how drunk he had been. He knew on some level it was wrong, but after Monday night he had no intention of seeing her again before he left. She'd be mad at him, he knew that, but she would be OK.
He remembered being braced for days of tears and drama after Kip hurt her, but it never happened. She was sad, sure, but she got up every morning, went about her business, and got through it like a champion. She didn't let it stop her or affect her life.
He had no doubt she'd do the same now. She'd get over whatever spark had been between them. They hadn't known each other that long. Their burgeoning relationship hadn't been that serious, even though their attraction to one another was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. Still, he didn't doubt she'd be able to let it go when he left. She'd move on.
He wouldn't, but she would.
She was the most amazing woman he'd ever laid eyes on, and the fact that she'd felt something for him, too, was just the world's cruel way of toying with him. She was strong, determined, beautiful, passionate, steady - everything he'd never dreamed one woman could be. Everything he never dreamed one woman he would somehow cross paths with would be.
But that was all it was - a momentary crossing of paths. It wasn't ever meant to be more than that. Monica was a dream - and, oh God, did he ever dream about her - but she wasn't going to be his future. War was his future and he had accepted that.
He just couldn't look into her eyes any more. If he didn't see her again he knew he'd be fine. Eventually.
Luckily circumstances had kept him from seeing her. She, Ross and Rachel were gone all weekend, giving Joey and Chandler a chance to pack without raising suspicions in the group. Then, when they had to face the inevitable a couple days later, Ross unwittingly had helped keep them from each other again on Monday night. Pretty quickly after Phoebe stormed out he suggested that the three men take a walk, and Chandler was grateful for it.
He didn't want to look at the sadness and pity in her eyes, yearning to tell her everything would be OK, giving her false hope. Because in his mind that was absolutely the cruelest emotional manipulation one person could knowingly do to someone else - give them false hope.
So he, Ross and Joey walked around the Village for a while before ending up at an all-night diner for coffee. When they sat down Ross did his best to answer what questions he could about entering the Army and about Vietnam…
"I've been told most of the fighting is there," Ross continued, mapping out for them what little he knew about what was happening "In Country," as most people called the jungle of Vietnam. Chandler leaned back in their booth and took a sip of his coffee as next to him Joey leaned forward on the table, keeping his voice low despite the fact that barely anyone was at the diner at 2 a.m.
"There's no way to know exactly where we're going to be, is there?" Joey asked quietly. Ross shook his head and Joey shrugged.
"I guess we'll find out tomorrow," he said. "Not that I would have a clue if they told me, I guess."
Ross hesitated before answering.
"No," he said. "You won't know until after basic and even then…"
The three looked at each other, then down into their coffee, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in even further.
"After tomorrow I guess it won't really matter anyway," Joey said.
Ross cleared his throat.
"You might not leave right away," he warned. "Some guys have been but most have a day or two, some up to a week. It's all over the place."
Chandler's head shot up. A week?! No, it had to happen now. He was prepared…now. Another week and…and who knows what would happen.
"That'll give you a little time, Joe," Ross said pointedly to his friend.
Joe looked at him, confused.
"Time for what?"
Ross sat up a little straighter and leaned in.
"Time to apply for a deferment," Ross said, voice quiet again. "You're the only son of a man who…who died serving his country. You know there's a good chance you'd be granted a deferment, right? As the sole provider for your mother…"
Chandler and Joey looked at each other. Chandler had already made that argument to Joey over the weekend, when the news was fresh and new, and Joey had already shot it down.
"What?" Ross said, looking between the two.
"He knows," Chandler said when Joey was quiet. "I already tried."
"Why wouldn't you?" Ross said, looking at Joey. "Your Mom's already lost her husband."
Joey studied Ross a minute.
"Why did you enlist when you could have stayed in med school?" he countered. Ross looked away, then down at his mug once again. "My…Dad…my father would roll over in his grave if he knew I didn't serve when I was called upon, you know? I can't do that to…to him, to his memory. I can't do that to our country."
Ross just nodded his head.
"Yeah," he whispered.
"My Mom understands it," Joey continued, then cast a meaningful glance at Chandler. "And she's…she'll be fine."
Chandler nodded back to him.
They were all silent a moment before Ross cocked his head and nodded at Chandler.
"What about your folks?" Ross said, for the first time genuinely curious about Chandler's parents. He'd never asked about them before and Chandler had never offered.
Chandler's heart raced at the direct question, but he kept his cool and shrugged.
"They're dead," he said quickly. "So they don't have much to say."
Joey shot him a look while Ross winced and mumbled an apology. Then he stood up.
"I'm gonna hit the john," he said, turning and heading to the bathroom.
Chandler tried to ignore Joey's questioning eyes.
"Why'd you say that?" Joey asked.
"Because…they are," Chandler said, motioning to the waitress behind the counter for their check.
"No, they're not," Joey said quietly.
Chandler looked at him sharply and Joey sighed.
"They are to me, you dig?" Chandler hissed quietly. "Drop it, Joey…"
A loud train whistle interrupted his thoughts and Chandler looked at his watch. It was time to go, so he stood up and ran his eyes over his little office. He picked up his bag, which carried his sparse personal items, and threw the keys on his desk. He flipped the lock on the door knob and closed up the room behind him, descending the concrete steps to the sidewalk and making his way slowly to the nearest subway station, which was only two blocks away.
He boarded the train bound for the Village and glanced around the filthy confines of the New York City public transit system, its walls covered in all manner of graffiti. In large letters someone had scrawled "Hell is Real!" in big, bold red letters. Chandler sighed wearily.
"No shit," he mumbled to himself, then closed his eyes and laid his head against the glass as the train car rocked him side to side on his way home.
###
"You're all set, Mrs. Tribbiani," Chandler said after arriving back at his apartment just after 6 p.m. He found Joey and his good-hearted, old-world Italian Mom, Gloria, at the front of the building. Joey had already loaded the last of the belongings they were keeping at her home into her car. Ironically Joey hadn't even unpacked half the boxes he'd brought when he moved in with Chandler just a couple weeks earlier.
"I appreciate it, Chandler," Gloria nodded, running her hand down Chandler's stubble cheek. He hadn't shaved since Friday. She gave him a little smack. "You're a good friend to my boy - and his old mama."
"Ma!" Joey said, hugging his mother. "You're an Italian queen!"
"Ha," she mocked, looking lovingly at her only son. "Maybe 30 years ago, honey."
Chandler chuckled.
"Thanks for taking some of my stuff," he said. Gloria shrugged.
"I got a big house and no people in it," she'd said, with that harsh Queens accent mixed with a hint Italian. "Fill it up."
It wasn't entirely true. She had a parade of grandkids in and out every day, but the gesture was a nice one.
"I'll be in the car in a minute, Ma," Joey said. "I'm just gonna grab the last box."
Gloria nodded and with a wistful look at her son and his friend she began walking back to her vehicle.
"So," Joey said, as they walked up the steps to their apartment. "She's really all set?"
"Yeah," Chandler nodded. "The union is going to send 80-percent of your paycheck to her every month. They'll take care of her."
Joey patted him on the back as he made the turn on the landing and opened their door. Chandler glanced at Apartment 20 and all was quiet. He knew Monica was at the Gellers family dinner. He let out a sigh of relief. He planned to be at a bar about the time they got home and not come back until it was late enough everyone would be asleep.
They walked into their apartment and Joey closed the box on the kitchen counter.
"A couple of my brothers-in-law will stop by and pick the rest up before Treeger lists it," Joey said, shaking his head and looking around. "It's a great place. Hard to give up."
Chandler nodded once.
"Can't be helped," he said, convinced that even if he tried to find a way to keep the apartment he would never see it again anyway. It was best that it belong to someone else.
Joey stepped over to him.
"Listen, thanks for everything," he said, his voice catching. "Thanks for making sure my Mom was taken care of."
Chandler shook his head, fighting off the sadness that enveloped him.
"Don't sweat it, man," he said, trying to sound unaffected, stoic. "I'll see you in the morning."
Joey shook his head before his watery eyes got the best of him, then he pulled a surprised Chandler in for a hug. Chandler briefly hugged him back.
Joey glanced at the telephone on the counter when their embrace broke and looked Chandler right in the eye.
"Call your Mom, Chandler," he said sternly.
"Joey…no…" Chandler started.
"It might be the last time you talk to her," he said. "Maybe…maybe it'll be…different if she knows, if she knows you've been drafted."
No, it wouldn't, Chandler almost said. But Joey, everything- was-black-or-white Joey, would never understand that.
"Just do it, man," Joey said, scooting the phone closer to Chandler.
"See you tomorrow, Joe," Chandler said quietly, not even looking in the direction of the phone.
Joey sighed and picked up the box on the counter. Chandler followed him to the door.
"Bye, man," Chandler said, his voice shaking just a touch.
"Goodbye," Joey said, quietly, and with one more glance in the apartment he turned and started toward the steps.
Chandler closed the door behind him and leaned up against it. The silence in the room magnifying the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
He took a deep breath, breaking out in a cold sweat as he stared at the telephone.
NOTE: The Sound of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel, 1965. I really, really appreciate your reviews…