When Steve broke his news the next morning, the last thing I expected was for Soda to smile. But there he stood, in the Curtis' living room, smiling that huge smile of his. He pulled out a letter, which read the same as Steve's. He too, had been drafted for the war.
No one said a word. No one dared to move. I took a step back, my stomach churning. A moment later, I was hugging the toilet, silently losing my breakfast, as well as any hope of breaking news of my own. There was no way I'd say anything now. No way in hell.
"Open the door, Jo-Anna!" Soda cried, pounding on the bathroom door. I sat against it, my feet wedged between the tub and the sink, pushing hard against it. "Please Jo, c'mon, talk to me!" Soda pleaded.
I gave in. I moved away from the door, allowing him to shove it open. He took one look at my face, before sitting down next to me, pulling me close.
"Hey, don't cry," he said softly. "It's only for one year. One year and me and Steve will be back, raising hell like always."
"Soda, you don't understand," I sobbed, hugging him tight.
"What don't I understand?" he asked gently. "Babe, c'mon, talk to me."
"I'm pregnant, Soda, I'm fucking pregnant," I cried.
I wasn't aware that Steve had been standing in the doorway, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I heard him swear something fierce.
"Glory, Soda, you can't go," Steve said, his voice breaking.
"He has to," I sighed, shaking my head. "We ain't married, and even if we were, it wouldn't make a difference. They ship dad's off all the time," I brushed the tears from my eyes. I stood up and grabbed Steve's arm, dragging him out of the back door, across the yards and into my living room so fast, it made his head spin.
"You gotta promise me something," I said, trying my best to keep my voice steady.
"What?" he asked, "Anything, Jo, you just gotta ask."
"Don't let him die," I whispered, sinking to my knees, tears flowing freely now. "You can't let 'im die over there, this baby…this baby needs it's dad, and glory, god help me, I need Soda."
"Shh, Jo, easy," Steve was on the floor next to me, hugging me tight, rocking me like I was Mickey's age instead of almost 21. "I ain't gon' let him die, I promise you that. You got my word, Jo, I promise ya."
"If he dies…damnit, the gang can't lose Soda, an' neither can I!" I felt so stupid. But so scared. So fucking scared.
Soda,
It's been exactly two months, three weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes since you boarded that bus. It's been five weeks since I last heard from you or Steve. God help me, you two had best be out keepin' each other alive, otherwise, I'll fly my happy ass right smack in the middle of the war to drag y'all home.
We all miss you two so much. I can't even explain it. Mickey…well she sure ain't the same bubbly, happy go lucky kid she was before you left. Mary and Pony are keepin' eachother sane, and Darry…well Darry's worried something awful.
We all just sorta sit at my house, praying so damn hard that you come home.
I love you, you goofy ol' goat. Get your ass home to us. Your son or daughter is gonna be waitin' for you when you get off that bus.
I thought of a few more names. I'm thinking Shaynne Patrick, or Shaynne Michael for a boy. Or maybe something more original like Rayne Patrick…
Pepsi Star for a girl. I like that name a lot, and Pony kinda picked it, so I'm stuck on it. Or Pepsi Nikole, in honor of my mother. She woulda loved it, ya know? But Pepsi for sure.
Maybe Johnny for a boy even. Or Dallas. I dunno. I don't like pickin' names just yet…Not with…well not with you gone.
Soda, we need ya to come home, ya hear me? Bring you and Steve home, so we can raise this baby together as a family.
Forever yours,
Jo-Anna Beth.
I folded the paper and handed it to Darry, who stuck it in the envelope for me. I was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling when Ponyboy came walking in, pale as a ghost.
"What's wrong?" I asked instantly, my stomach turning to ice.
"There was…there was a letter…from…from…" Pony couldn't say it, instead, he handed the letter to me. It was from Steve. I tore it open instantly, not even thinking twice.
Jo,
Don't want you to worry, so don't you worry, okay?
Things aren't good here right now. There's been a lot of…well a lot of losses this week. This month, actually. I'm stuck in the infirmary until my leg heals up. Managed to almost get the damn thing blown off trying to save Soda's ass.
Soda…they can't find him, Jo. They can't. But they aren't givin' up, I promise you, I raised enough hell to make 'em keep looking.
By now, there's a letter to the guys with the details. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.
Shit, I ain't givin' up on him and neither should you. Soon as they lemme outta here, I'm goin' to find him. I know it.
You hang in there, you hear me? Keep the guys in line. Make sure Pony does his homework, make sure Darry gets enough sleep. Tell Mickey to smile some. Soda misses her smile.
We'll be home to ya in no time.
SR
I couldn't believe it. Darry was reading the other letter, his face pale, his eyes wide. He handed it to Pony, before looking at me.
"What…what did Steve say?" he asked, his voice hitching in his throat.
"The same thing that letter says," I sighed, tears in my eyes. For the first time since Soda and Steve boarded that bus, I wasn't so sure they'd be coming home. I couldn't bring myself to say it, but deep in my heart, I knew. I knew something awful was gonna happen…
The months passed in a blur after that. Steve didn't write anymore, but we didn't hear any bad news, so we kept the saying 'No News in Good News' going as long as we could. On October 8th, 1967, at 3 in the morning, I gave birth to two beautiful children. Right on Soda's 19th birthday.
Pepsi Nikole Curtis and Cola Shaynne Curtis were brought into the world and named in honor of their father, who was still missing in action. When the birth notice made the paper, we had friends from all corners of Tulsa coming to congratulate us, only to realize that Soda may never come home to see his beautiful son and daughter.
The birth was difficult, but what got me through, was knowing that I had to be there for my children, like I had been for my sisters and almost brothers. Darry held his nephew for the first time a day after he and his sister were born, tears running down his cheeks when the newborn gripped tightly onto his finger, wailing loudly.
"Soda, we need you," I whispered as I rocked Pepsi in my arms. "Pepsi and Cola need their father. They need the man they were named after, to come home and be the man we all know he was born to be."
The birth of my children was bitter sweet, and I only prayed, that god was on our side for once. On the side of the Greasers for one moment. Because if he wasn't, then these two innocent children would grow up to the same fate so many others had before them. They'd never know what a wonderful man their father had been.
Pony took me aside a week after their birth, a sad smile on his face when he handed me a photograph. It was a picture of the gang, from all those years ago, when we were all together, our parents standing behind us, smiling proudly at their gang of children, whether biological or adopted.
"Till the end," I whispered, kissing the photograph. Greaser laid down on the shag rug that had long since been stained. His tail thumped on the floor as he watched the door, just as he had since the day Soda left. Waiting, for his buddy to come home.
We all waited. We were all waiting for a call or letter that never came. Deep in our hearts, we felt at a loss of words, unable to comprehend that our friends…our brothers…my would have been husband, may never return to us.
It was something no one talked about. Not even after the news gave report after report of the death toll in Vietnam. Not when the babies smiled for the first time. Not when I fell into a deep, unshakeable depression only weeks after their birth.
No one talked about it. Because it was too hard. None of us wanted to think about it. So we didn't. We kept ourselves busy, doing what we had to to keep ourselves alive. We fought hard, for what little hope we had left.
But Pepsi and Cola were constant reminders, that there was hope, love and courage in the world. Every time one of us help those babies, we were filled with joy. Even when we were sad, we found joy. We had to. We just had to.
Soda,
It's been 347 days, 18 hours, 25 minutes, since you left. So much has changed since then. You're a father now, Sodapop. You're a dad.
Please, come home to us. We need you.
Jo-Anna.
Steve,
You better be alive. Because if you're not, I swear on all I love, you'll never get to rest easy, you hear? Bring my man home, would you, please? You have to be alive…you have to!
He was huddled, cramped in a small, horrible room with several other men. The smell was unbearable. He'd been counting the days by scratching small marks into the wall. Each mark meant another day that passed. He knew he was a father. But he was also a prisoner. A Prisoner of War. But also a prisoner of his own mind.
He had to find a way out. He had to.
Every night, I watched the news, praying for some good news. But it never came. Deep in my heart, I lost all hope that my best friend, my lover, the father of my children, would ever come home. As the hard truth finally sank in, I did the only thing I could think to do. I walked over to the phone and called Darry, begging him to come over. A minute later, we sat on the couch, silently thinking the same thing. Even when the babies began to cry, neither of us made to move. We just sat there, silent, waiting for it all to end.
Because for us, there was no tomorrow. There was no hope, no laughter, no love. All of that vanished the day the letters came in the mail. The day we realized, we had truly lost two more of our own, only this time, it wasn't to a war that was waged in our own neighborhood, one we proudly fought in. Instead, it was in a war that neither of those young men…boys really, had any business fighting.
Silence soon became the new norm, as none of us had the strength to move on. They say time mends a broken heart, but when your heart is torn straight from your chest, all hope truly for irreplaceably lost, that's when you really realize, it ain't so easy after all.
To Be Continued…