Ooopsie! Yes everyone-Tom did die…my names just got switched around in that one paragraph.
Thanks for the great reviews, please leave more! I am having such a hard time debating if I should end it soon or keep going. But whatever happens, please keep reading!
Superdope: No, Steve won't be sent over, sorry. But keep reading! Thanks for the reviews.
IamOnlyMe: Thanks for the long review! No, I don't watch Third Watch, the idea just happened upon me…although I know it's not a new one. Keep reading and reviewing puh-lease.
Everyone else, thanks a lot!
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"I wanna have you
Cause you're all I've got
Don't wanna lose you
'Cause it means a lot
All the joy this world can bring
Doesn't give me anything
When you're not here"
--Annie Lennox
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Darry POV
Being the first one home was just fine with me. It meant I wouldn't have to worry about dinner for a while or putting up with Two-bit's inane banter. Or anything else for that matter.
All I wanted to do was sleep. Working double shifts was really taking its toll on me. I suppose it was my fault really; with the money Ponyboy sent back home and Soda's managerial paycheck, I didn't really need to work double shifts. I did so only to keep my mind off of Ponyboy's absence in the house. It had been six months since he had been gone and although we had gotten used to it, it hadn't gotten any easier.
I sighed as I made my way up the porch steps. My heart jumped and the sigh caught in my throat as I noticed a letter from Ponyboy in the mailbox. Darrel Shayne Curtis, he had written in his loopy handwriting. I tried not to think about how kid-like it still was. I tore it open as I walked inside. Plopping into my armchair, I began to read:
Darry,
How are things back in Tulsa? I can't say much about them over here. People are dying and I'm right in the middle of it. Then again, I guess it's not much different from Tulsa (sorry-small joke). Me and the guys have to go on a relief mission tomorrow night. I guess I just wanted to write before I go...in case anything happens.
P.S. If you get a chance could you send me "Gone with the Wind"? Since I know what war is like, I think I better give it a second read.
Thanks,
PonyboyFrowning, I folded the letter up and stuck it back in the envelope. I rubbed my temples with closed eyes. Pony was detached and honest, a little too honest for me. It wasn't like him and that worried me.
I knew what he was going through, I just didn't want to hear it. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. Disgusted that I couldn't stop Pony from experiencing the things he was experiencing.
Pushing myself up from the chair, I was determined to take a nap for as long as I could, when Sodapop, Two-bit and Steve walked in. "Hey Darry," Soda grinned as the guys tailed him. His eyes lit up as he noticed the letter from Ponyboy in my hand. "Pony wrote huh?" he asked happily. These letters were his world.
His mechanic hands grabbed it and he began to read as he walked into the kitchen. Steve flipped the TV on and Two-Bit perched himself on the edge of the couch. "Grab me a beer, willya Soda?" he yelled into the kitchen. Then to me he said, "What'd Pony have to say?"
"War's shit," I said bluntly. I knew we all got our individual letters from Ponyboy but we were all curious about what he wrote each of us. Two-bit blanched. "He okay?" he asked. I could see Steve straighten up, trying not to listen, but still listening.
"Yeah, he's fine. Just scared, I think."
"Shit, who wouldn't be," Two-bit guffawed, covering up his nervousness.
"What the hell's this?" Soda asked coming out of the kitchen with a scowl on his face, the letter raised in his right hand. With his left, he tossed Two-bit the beer he had asked for.
I had been afraid of this. Pony's letters weren't usually that blunt. Soda knew it and I knew it: something bad must have freaked him out over there. I didn't say anything, just stared into Soda's stormy face. Steve reached up, pulling the letter out of his hand and read it.
"It's not so bad Soda," he said reassuringly. "Just letting you know he's ok."
"Bullshit." Sodapop glared at him.
Steve's eyes flicked to mine. Nowadays, we both worked together to keep Sodapop at ease. As bad as it had sounded, we had never really acknowledged the war until one of our own went over. Until then, we had worse things to worry about: money and the state.
Now, it was on the forefront of all of our minds.
We didn't watch the news anymore. One night it had been on, broadcasting the latest casualties in Vietnam. Soda had gone white and I had struggled hard not to throw that damn TV into the street. We didn't speak for the rest of the night.
The worst reminder had happened about a month ago. All of us had been outside, trying to play a game of football with the measly teams we had left. We had noticed a dark car pull up in front of Mrs. Marshall's house beside us. She was a single mother with two sons. Both I knew, were in Vietnam, although, I hadn't told Sodapop that.
Two Army officers had rung her doorbell, waiting patiently with a bundle cradled in their arms. She answered the door, her blonde hair pulled underneath a handkerchief, a cigarette in her hand. I was then aware that everyone had frozen; the football lay dead on the ground.
"Hello Ma'am," they had said when she opened the door. She stiffened, her eyes darting to the parcel that was the American flag. The cigarette drooped in her hand.
"We're very sorry to tell you this," the younger officer began, "but your son Private Matthew Marshall was killed in action last week. We're very sorry Ma'am," he repeated.
It took a few seconds, but then Mrs. Marshall had let out a wail of agony that was not lost on any of us. She crumpled to her knees and began to sob. The officers stood around uncomfortably, as if this show of emotion was not supposed to come with the job.
Two-bit had sunk onto the porch steps, staring blankly across the street. Steve's eyes had been on Sodapop who had turned ashen. "Let's go in the house," I had suggested sternly. If I couldn't bare this, then I didn't want to know if they could.
I had felt so young and helpless. Here I was trying to protect three kids from reality; I had wondered how my father would have done it.
Then Mrs. Marshall had exploded. "Get out of here! Just go! My son is dead thanks to you! Both of them! Gone." She had slammed the door with a deafening crash. Silently, the officers had turned to leave. Both dead? I had thought with sickening fear. What kind of chance did Pony have if…?
My thoughts had been stopped short as I saw Soda make a determined move toward the officers. I had then hurried him inside as he had been looking to give them a piece of his mind. Knowing him, it would have been more than that.
And now, this letter was the "third tries a charm" for Sodapop. "Soda, he's fine." I repeated to him. As if disbelieving me, Soda snatched the letter back from Steve and reread it. Also doubting me was Two-bit, who frowned at my reassurances.
"He better be." Soda said in a stricken voice.
I spoke up, breaking up the thick air of the house. "Let's go to a movie."
"Sure," said Soda, nodding thoughtfully. "That'd be swell."
Steve swallowed heavily and glanced at the letter in Soda's hand. We weren't big movie watchers but we felt we owed it to Ponyboy to see as many movies as possible. After all, it was the least we could do.
The nap would have to wait.
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Hopefully, the ending wasn't too crappy. Hoped you enjoyed nonetheless.
Also: for future reference….does anyone know what happens if someone gets wounded/dies? Do they go home immediately, or recuperate over in Nam and then go back to fighting?
