Soda's POV

I'm lying in bed and I cannot sleep.

In my own bed, in my own room- pony hasn't needed for for a year or so. After what happened with Johnny and Soda he struggled a lot and school offered him time with a guidance counsellor.Darry was worried about it but It helped him something awesome in the end. I think he still sees them every now and then, but it's helped him with his nightmares- well, that and the extra track practice.

Tonight I wish I was anywhere but here. Somewhere loud and distracting preferably. But I'm lying here staring at the nicotine stains and damp patches on the ceiling.

It's gone 2am. I have to be up for work in not too many hours.

I repeat the conversation with the woman in my head and it makes me uneasy.

She gave her name as Mrs J. Andrews and a phone number for her car to be repaired.

She'd put it on the dashboard for me.

I asked her where she lived and said I'd drop her home safe. She smiled a tight, fake smile and thanked me for my care. She gave me a downtown address. Middling sort I'd supposed but a nice enough neighbourhood.

As I drove I asked her if anything had happened with the car. Did the brakes fail? Were the tyres old? Was the weather too bad and the car slid?

She stared at her lap shook her head.

"No. Nothing like that. I had the letter and I just wanted to get away. I just got in the car and drove and drove until it stopped..crashed".

I was not following. "The letter?" I'd queried, a frown on my face.

" From the war. About my Son. He would be your age perhaps? 19?"

Soda responded that he was sorry her son had been called up. That was rough. It was one of Darrys unsaid fears. It's why he wouldn't watch the news.

She looked at him and smiled sadly. "He was called up last year, but today they wrote to say that he'd died. It's a telegram really, not a letter.." she garbled, before trying to pull back her composure "..but all the same, you don't expect to bury your own children. They don't even have his body. We will Bury an empty casket". She stifled a sob and soda offered her his oily handkerchief.

I had asked if she wanted to be dropped at a friend's or neighbours. I couldn't imagine being alone at a time like that.

She looked at me and smiled sadly "I wouldn't like to upset them. There are so many people who are afraid of this for their families. My James, he hadn't decided what to study. He took a year out to decide before college. We didn't want him to take English. We wanted a better subject- Economics or Engineering. We pushed him to take the time. A year. To reconsider. And now he can't..." she stifled a sob.

"My friends won't know what to say to me.." she trailed off.

never the one to take a hint and drop it, I asked about her husband- would he be home to help her?

"No sweetheart, he passed not long after James was deployed. It ate at him. The guilt.. we did this to him. To our beautiful boy."

I had then recognised that I was out of his depth. I'd driven the next few miles in awkward silence. I'd helped her down from the cab and to her door. I'd wished her a good night.

I felt that he should have done more, said more, known who to call. But i didn't. And because if that I'm lying here feeling lousy.

I got back into the truck and drove it back towards the DX. Brain cogs turning overtime. That imagination of mine making it all very real and sensational. Panic wrapped it's way into my thoughts.

Darry. My brain kept telling me. That could be Darry.

It could be Steve.

It could be Two bit.

It could be Ponyboy. Ponyboy wanted to study English. Although Darry would whole heartedly encourage that, it all depended on the scholarship.

For the next few miles my brain cycled this thought over and over.

In the end I had to pull over. The idea of that woman being Mrs Matthews was too real. Of Darry receiving that telegram. Or of Steve being called up. Of pony being indecisive.

I got out and stood in the rain. I lit a drenched cigarette. Smoked it. Then another. I smoked until my throat hurt and his eyes watered and stood out until my shoes were soaked through.

Cold, Wet, feet brought me back to reality. I wondered how long I'd been stood there and willed myself to pull it together. Steve would be furious that I'd been gone so long.

I felt and still feel helpless and desperate all at once.

Steve had been furious but more relieved to me ok. I was glad he hadn't called Dar.

Seeing Steve there in his DX shirt had reignited the flames of panic in my brain.

I felt stupid for blurting out the college question.

I'd been grateful to stand in the rain again. A physical and mental cooling off.

Soda had eventually drifted into a fitful and unrefreshing sleep. Bizarre dreams of wars and jungles and deaths that looked like Dally's under streetlights danced behind his eyes.

Over breakfast, Darry commented that soda looked awful and made him take two aspirin and come home if he got a temperature, chiding him for getting so wet in the rain.

Soda wished, ruefully that this was a side effect of the rain.