Front Lines | Sodapop Curtis

03

September 17th, 1970

    I grabbed my wallet from my pocket and flipped through the inside, pulling out the pictures I had stored in there.

    My fingers were slick with a nervous sweat, and I was struggling to pull them out. They'd been in there for a long time, I noticed, since some of them were pretty much glued to the sides of the plastic covering.

     One picture was of me and my brothers from a long time ago. It was the one mom had taken before church one Sunday.

    The next one was of mom and dad. It had been of their wedding pictures.

    And the last one I pulled out was of Sandy.

    I'd forgotten that I still had that picture in there. I took a deep breath as my stomach turned knots. I hadn't seen her in forever, and I'd somewhat forgotten how pretty she'd looked.

    I felt tears spring up in my eyes. As if only to make this day worse, I remembered the letter she'd sent me about leaving for Florida. I suddenly remembered it all, then took the picture and threw it in trash.

    "Soda!" I heard Darry call. "Come on, buddy!"

    "I'm coming!"

    I snatched open my nightstand's drawer and rummaged through it, searching for the picture I'd taken of Mickey Mouse, the old horse I'd loved when I was younger.

    After a few more minutes, Darry was calling after me again and I still hadn't found the picture.  

    So, taking a shallow, shaky breath, I put the other pictures of my brothers and parents into my back pocket and grabbed my bag, taking one final look at the room I'd grown up in.

    I closed the door behind me, still unable to grasp that this may be the last time I would ever see my home again. The last time I may even see my brothers.

   This was it.

    I was going to Vietnam.

   "Alright, you got everything?" Darry's voice was quiet, the kind of tone he got when he was trying to make everything seem okay.

   I nodded, and as we headed out the door, I wrapped my arm around Ponyboy's shoulder and giving him a quick grin to reassure him that I was gonna be alright.

   But I knew he knew better than to believe me.

    "You can sit up front if you'd like, since we've got to go pick up Steve." Darry half-smiled at me. I hated it when he was like this.

    I got into the front and looked out the window, fighting the urge to cry.

    The draftees in Tulsa were instructed to meet at the school to be bussed to a boot camp location. They didn't tell us where, in fact, they barely told us much of anything.

    Steve was talking about running away, or joining one of the protests where the guys burned  their draft cards in the streets. But him and I both knew that neither of us had too much of a choice in the matter.

    We were both going to war.

    When we got to Steve's house, he was standing in the yard dressed in a white t-shirt and cargo shorts. A small suitcase was in his hand, which probably held everything he'd ever owned.

    His dad came out and tried to say goodbye, but Steve acted like he wasn't even there, getting into the car and slamming the door without a word.

    "Good mornin', Steve." Darry mumbled.