Guest: I see myself on CNN with my neighbors saying "He seemed like such a nice guy..."

Lyrics to We Can Work It Out by The Beatles (1965)

Monday, Monday, can´t trust that day
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way
Oh Monday mornin´ you gave me no warnin´ of what was to be –

- The Mamas and the Papas

Monday, May 2nd, was cool and rainy. Ronnie Anne had classes from eight to four, which meant that Lincoln could slip away without her knowing. He got to work at seven, just before open, and went in: Flip was busy taking inventory in the kitchen, the freezer door open and his hands on his hips. When Lincoln spoke, he jumped.

"Goddamn it, Loud, you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry," Lincoln, "I, uh, I need to talk to you."

Flip closed the freezer and leaned against the prep table. "Alright. Talk."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "I need to leave at noon. Well, eleven forty-five. I'll be back, but I...I got a letter from the draft board. I need to report for a physical."

Flip blinked. "Really? Well...that's fine, I guess. I can cover. You know what that means, don't you?"

Yeah, Lincoln knew: His official draft letter wasn't too far behind. Maybe.

"Don't worry about it," Flip said, "the army isn't that bad. They pay more than I do." He rasped laughter.

All that morning dread filled Lincoln's stomach. The idea of the army wasn't what bothered him...it wasn't even the prospect of going to Vietnam...it was being away from Ronnie Anne; that really bothered him. She was his life, his air, his everything, and him being away from her was like a fish being away from water.

He hoped to hell he wasn't drafted.

At eleven forty-five, he took his apron off, hung it up, and handed the grill off to Flip. In the car, he lit a cigarette and turned the radio up, even though he wasn't in the mood for music.

Life is very short, and there's no time

For fussing and fighting, my friend

I have always thought that it's a crime

Yeah, life is short.

When he parked in front of the county courthouse five minutes later, he was a pit of nerves. The draft board was housed in the basement, which was accessible by a side door at the bottom of a stone staircase. A sign reading ARMED FORCES INDUCTION STATION hung over the door. Inside, he signed in with a man in a drab army uniform, who gave him a paper to fill out, and then sat in a makeshift waiting room with a dozen other men, he recognized some of them from school: All of them looked as anxious as he felt. He tried not to look at them too closely; instead, he focused on the form: It asked for his family medical history, mental health status, whether he took drugs or drank regularly, if he smoked, if he was married, if he had children, if he was a college student, if he was a conscientious objector, what his religion was, and on and on and on; it even asked if he was a homosexual.

Done, he handed it back to the receptionist, who in turn handed him a black cloth bag. "What's this for?" Lincoln asked.

"To put your money in and hang around your neck."

Lincoln didn't understand, but he took his seat and put his money in the bag anyway, then hung it around his neck.

As he waited, he stole glances at the others around him. He did in fact know some of them, but not well enough to know their names. The guy with the red hair was Patrick, he thought, and the one with the black hair was...

Someone dropped into the seat next to him, and he couldn't help turning.

"Daggy?"

Daggy looked up from the clipboard in his hand and grinned. "Hey, Linc; they got you too?"

Lincoln had seen very little of Daggy since Luna left...not that he saw much of him when she was still around, though. His hair was shorter, less curly, which told Lincoln he'd gotten a cut within the past couple months.

"Yeah," Lincoln said and spread his hands, "they got me."

"Guess we're gonna be kicking some VC ass together," Daggy smiled.

Lincoln gulped. "Y-Yeah, maybe."

"Right on," Daggy said. He crossed his legs and rested the clipboard on his knee. "How is everyone?" he asked as he began to write.

Lincoln nodded. "Good. Luan went to Berkeley."

"Yeah, Lori was talking about that," Daggy replied without looking. "Where is Berkeley?"

"California."

"Ah."

For a while neither of them spoke. "How about you? How you doing?"

"Alright."

"You nervous?"

"A little," Lincoln admitted. "You?"

Daggy shook his head. "Nah. I'm actually kinda...you know...not excited, but I think the army might be okay. I was looking into it, and you can learn a trade, go to college on the G.I. Bill when you get out...all kinds of stuff."

"Yeah?" Lincoln asked, intrigued. He didn't know any of that.

Daggy nodded. "Yeah. When you get down to it..." he looked at Lincoln, his face more serious than he had ever seen it before, "...I'm twenty-six and I stock shelves like a fucking teenager. I live in a one bedroom apartment over a bowling alley and I drive a piece of shit car that was falling apart long before I bought it. It's time to grow up, and what's gonna grow you up more than the army, huh?" He flashed a wan smile then went back to filling out his form.

For some reason Lincoln was suddenly very uncomfortable.

When Daggy was done, he gave his questionnaire to the guy in the uniform and sat back down, slouching with his knees far apart. "I hope they put in the auto pool or whatever. I like working on cars. What spot do you want?"

None, Lincoln thought, but out loud: "I don't know. I'm not sure what they have."

"Lots of stuff." He backhanded Lincoln's chest. "You've been working at Flip's forever, so maybe they'll put you in the mess hall. You can be a chef for the generals and shit."

You know...that didn't sound so bad. He'd rather be a short order cook at Flip's for Royal Woods's teenagers and sleep next to Ronnie Anne every night, but if he had to go, being a cook...way, way away from the front...might just be his speed.

Before he could reply, a man in a uniform came out and had everyone line up. In another room, they were instructed to take their clothes off...as in get entirely naked.

He understood why he needed that bag now.

After folding his clothes, Lincoln stood in line with fourteen other naked men; he kept his eyes straight ahead, a blush spreading across his face. In yet another room, a man in a white lab coat handed Lincoln a glass bottle for a urine sample then pointed him to a half wall where three other men stood...filling their bottles. Lincoln took a deep breath, went over, and held the jar to his tip. Peeing with other people on both sides of you is not the easiest thing to do, but he did it...after five minutes of trying.

Next, he was given a chest X-ray; then his teeth were checked, his eyes, his ears, his nose; they took a blood sample. At one station, he sat nervously in front of a man in a black suit. The man read from a sheet of paper, his lips moving silently, then looked up. "Are you married, Loud?"

"N-No."

"Do you have a girl you're sweet on?"

Lincoln nodded. "Yes."

"How do you think you'll take the army?"

Lincoln thought. He didn't know much about the army, and he said as much. "I could handle it," he said truthfully, "I'd rather be home, though."

The man nodded. "Alright, that's all."

After that, it was over. He got dressed, took his money out of the bag, and handed it back in. It was pushing four 'o'clock when he got back to Flip's. Thankfully Ronnie Anne hadn't come in yet, so he wouldn't have to explain where he was. Inside, the first thing he did was track down Flip. "Four hours, eh?" Flip asked. "It took twice as long when I enlisted."

"When was that?"

"1918. I told 'em I was eighteen, but I was really fifteen."

Lincoln blinked. "Why'd you join so young?"

Flip shrugged. "I got sick of my old man belting me, that's why."

Oh. "Uh...could you not mention this to Ronnie Anne?" He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't standing directly behind him – she wasn't. "I don't want her to know...if she doesn't have to."

Flip pretended to zip his lips closed.

"Thanks." Something occurred to him. "Ernie said you were on your way to the front when the war ended. In the middle of the ocean. Is that true?"

"Nope," Flip said, "I wasn't in the middle of the ocean, I was two goddamn miles from France. You could see it from the poop deck. We stopped, refueled, then turned around. I'm kind of glad now, because I'd probably have wound up dead in a trench, but back then I didn't care, and I was sore."

"Were you seasick?"

Flip nodded. "The whole way. My sergeant got so sick of me puking he beat me harder than my dad ever did." He laughed richly.

Lincoln gulped. "Are-Are they rough in the army?"

"They were fifty years ago. They're probably soft as kittens these days. Now are you gonna yak my ear off or are you gonna get your ass back in that kitchen? I got hungry customers..."

Leni Loud walked into the living room and looked around, her hands going to her hips. Hmmm...she was looking for something, but she could not remember what it was. She knew when she started, but somewhere along the way it kind of slipped her mind. Stupid Rentschler's.

She touched her finger to her chin and looked around again. Was it her knitting stuff? No, she didn't think it was. Her earrings? No, she was wearing those. Her shoe? She lifted one foot, then the other; nope. It was really starting to bother her. Okay, Leni, think – what's missing?

Well...Lincy was missing, but he was, like, at work or something. Luna was missing, but she was in California being a musician. Luan was missing, but she was in college. Lynn too. Lori was missing, but she was –

It came to her, and she grinned. She crept over to the couch, laid her hands on the back, and leaned over. Nope, not here. Next, she checked behind the TV, a space just big enough to fit a four-year-old monkey. Nope, he wasn't there, either. She started to turn away, but stopped when she noticed something strange about the drapes covering the front window: They were wearing shoes. A sly smile crossed her face. "Oh, Bobby-bear., where are you?"

The curtains rustled.

Yep, there he is.

Leni didn't like just going in for the kill, though; she preferred to toy with her prey, like a cat with a mouse. She took a step forward. "Are you...under the couch cushions?" She lifted one and leaned over. "Nope, no Bobby-bear

A stifled giggle sounded from behind the curtain. "Are you...in the fireplace?" She went over and squatted in front it, absently brushing her hair behind her ear. "Bobby-bear," she called into the chimney, "are you up there?"

"No!" Bobby Jr. piped, unable to contain himself any longer.

Leni turned to the curtain. "What was that, Mr. Curtain? Bobby-bear. isn't up there?"

"No!" Mr. Curtain giggled.

Leni propped her elbow on her knee and rested her chin in her hand. "Well where is he? I really wanna see my Bobby-bear but I can't find him."

Suddenly the curtain was thrown aside and Bobby Jr. jumped out. "Here I am!"

"Bobby-bear!" Leni cried happily.

"Leni!"

Leni put her arms out, and he ran to her, almost knocking her down. "You're really good at this game," Leni said and hugged him. "I thought you were gone forever. It made my heart sad." She held him at arm's length and pouted.

"I wasn't gone, I was here," Bobby Jr. said and smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. "You couldn't finded me."

"No, I couldn't," Leni said, and poked him in the stomach. "You're a way good hider. You know what time it is now?"

Bobby Jr. shook his head.

"It's time for auntie Leni to hide," she said, her eyes widening. He giggled and she nodded. "I know, you get to be 'it.' Cool, huh?"

He nodded. "Cool!"

"Now go stand against the wall and cover your eyes so auntie Leni can hide, okay? No peeking."

Bobby Jr. nodded, covered his eyes, and turned, stumbling toward the wall; he bumped into it and bounced back. Awww, Leni thought, he takes after me.

"One...six...three..."

Leni got up and tossed a harried glance around. Where could a full grown Leni hide that wasn't obvious, but wasn't, like, really not obvious? The hall closet! It was perfect. She tiptoped over, opened it as quietly as she could, and slipped in, pulling the door silently closed behind her. He would look in here, but it would probably be the last place he looked. Hehehe.

As she waited for him to find her, she thought of her siblings: When she was thinking that each was missing, she started to feel sad. She barely ever saw Lynn, she hadn't seen Luna in forever, she saw Luan before she left, but that was, like, months ago, and Lincoln and Lori...she saw both of them almost every day, but never for very long: Lori dropped Bobby Jr. off and then picked him up, and Lincoln and Ronnie Anne came by for dinner sometimes or just to hang out, but she still missed him. She really wished all her siblings still lived at home like they used to: It got really lonely here without them.

She drew a sad breath and looked around. Why was she in the closet? Gee, Leni, you do some dumb stuff, but this, like, takes the cake. She opened the door and went into the living room. Bobby Jr. came in from the kitchen, saw her, and giggled. "I got you!"

Darn it. That's why she was in the closet.

All she could do was grin sheepishly and lift her arms, palms facing up. "You got me."

He ran over and threw his arms around her leg. She ruffled his black hair and he looked up. "Find me! Find me!"

"How about lunch instead? Is grandma in the kitchen?"

Bobby Jr. nodded. "She makin' sanddigits."

Leni laughed. "What?"

"Sanddigits."

Leni cocked her head. "I don't know that that is."

"Sanddigits!"

"What's that?"

"Food!"

He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the archway into the kitchen. Mom stood at the counter, assembling sandwiches and putting them onto a plate. "See? Sanddigits!"

"Oh," Leni said, "sandwiches."

"Sanddigits."

"No, sandwiches."

Bobby Jr. tilted his head cutely. "Samwishes?"

Leni opened her mouth to correct him, then shrugged. "Close enough. Does Bobby-bear want a sandwich?"

Bobby Jr. nodded.

"So does auntie Leni. Let's go get some sandwiches." She took his hand and they went into the kitchen.

Every Monday evening, come hell or high water, Bobby Santiago stopped at The Hidey Hole for a drink with Blades and Daggy before heading home. It was a small, dimly-lit nook with booths along one wall, metal road signs hanging over the bar, and a jukebox crammed with Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Tex Ritter, and Gene Autry. Ten years ago, Bobby gagged when a country and western song came on the radio, but now he sort of enjoyed it.

When he came in at half past five on the afternoon of May 2, Blades and Daggy were already sitting at the end of the bar, Blades in a white T shirt and Daggy in a green bowling shirt with wide tan stripes up the front. Blades saw him first; he held up his bottle. "There he is!"

Daggy glanced over, nodded, and went back to staring into his beer. Poor guy hadn't been the same since Luna left: Just getting him to come out was a chore, but Bobby persisted because you know what? Daggy was his friend, and while Bobby wasn't emotional or anything, he knew Daggy was hurting, and he wanted to help him out.

"Here I am," Bobby confirmed as he took the stool next to Daggy. "Ten minutes early, too."

He typically left work at six, but on Mondays he left a quarter after five. He got out earlier than usual today because the boss was on vacation and they were officially closed: Bobby headed a skeleton crew charged with shipping and receiving urgent, absolutely-cannot-wait loads, and being in charge, Bobby got to decide when the day ended, which he really dug.

"Bout time you got here on time," Blades said and took a drink, "you're always fucking late. It's like you got a job and a family or something."

Bobby snickered. "Didn't you get married last year, asshole?"

"Sure fucking did," Blades said, and tapped the bottle with his wedding band to punctuate that statement. Her name was Connie and she was what Bobby would have called a 'nerd' in his youth: Glasses, black hair that barely passed her earlobes, really smart. Nice girl, though, and she and Blades seemed real sweet on each other, so who gave a shit what Bobby thought? "You know what I like best about being married? When I want some all I gotta do is roll over."

"On your stomach, huh?" Bobby asked, "cuz she's got the dick."

"Keeps my nuts in her purse," Blades grinned.

The bartender, a fat man in a plaid shirt, came over, and Bobby ordered a Pabst. "I'm kind surprised she lets you outta the kitchen."

Blades shrugged. "I told her 'listen here, bitch; if you want me to bear your kids, you gotta give me some time with the boys.'"

The bartender returned with Bobby's beer; he nodded and took a long swallow. Next to him, Daggy looked thoughtful. "What's up with you, Dags?" Bobby asked and nudged Daggy's arm with his elbow. "You're like a silent movie over there."

"Just got a lot on my mind."

"Yeah? Like what?"

For a moment Daggy didn't reply. "I got an order from the draft board to get a physical. I'm probably gonna get drafted."

Blades and Bobby both looked at him with furrowed brows. "Oh, shit, really?" Blades asked gravely. Over the past two years, things had gotten hot in Vietnam: Johnson was throwing thousands of American troops at the Vietcong and the VC were throwing them back dead. Every night they showed footage from the front on the evening news: Boys pinned down in dense brush by fire from enemies they couldn't see; helicopters crashing in rice paddies; street-to-street firefights in cities and villages where anyone can be Cong and you wouldn't know until they stuck you in the back. Bobby was confident that if they called him up he'd get a deferment...he had a kid and his family needed him at home, after all...but that didn't mean it didn't make him nervous.

"Yeah," Daggy said, "and you know...I'm okay with that."

"Okay with it?" Blades asked quizzically. "Shit, I wouldn't be. I'd go but I wouldn't be okay with it."

Daggy shrugged. "I don't wanna go straight to the frontline, but, hey, I think the army might be good for me. You know...straighten me out a little." For the first time that since Bobby came in, Daggy cracked a grin.

Blades sighed and shook his head.

"I think you're nuts," Bobby said. "You go over there, Dags, you'll be the first one to get shot."

"He'll shoot himself," Blades said, "right in the foot."

Daggy smirked. "Come on, guys, give me some credit."

"He'll wind up burning his tongue on dinner and get shipped home with a purple heart," Bobby said, and he and Blades laughed deeply. Daggy shook his head, but he was smiling. "That or he's gonna go out in the jungle looking for a pot plant and get taken prisoner."

Blades slapped the bar. "Or break his foot getting out of bed in the morning."

"The sergeant's gonna yell get down, and Daggy's gonna jump up and start dancing."

All three of them laughed until tears ran down their cheeks. As a wise little boy once said on his first day in a desegregated school, you either laugh or your cry, and none of them were in the mood for crying.