Drew Morrison was an under privileged teenager from South Los Angeles. He attended the average under funded district public school. He was far from the stereotype that his schoolmates upheld to society, but he was not on the receiving end of the typical high school xenophobia. He was respected by his fellow young men he shared the halls with. He was not athletic but he knew how to talk. Whether it was the one girl with the hot friend or the suspecting cashier at the liquor store, Drew was always able to get what he wanted. He wore ripped jeans and a polo buttoned all the way up to the top. His attire would be generalized as 70s or 80s by his peers. He was a decent looking guy, not ugly, but not attractive enough to stand out. He was not an amazing student but made sure he passed all of his classes. Drew didn't think about his past, and didn't plan for his future. Drew thrived in the present.
One late, warm July night, Drew pulled up to a quiet house. Street lights illuminated his figured as he walked up to the door. Inside Drew joined his friends and two 6-packs of beer, one already emptied. A small radio was playing in the background, music that would be associated with Drew's attire and image. Over the next hour, the remaining 6-pack emptied, leading to Drew's close friends to the nearest bedrooms making decisions that would complicate the friendships they had. Once alone, he relaxed with a sigh. He was proud that his boys had an enjoyable night and he even had his one plans for the following night in a similar manner. His hiatus of peace was interrupted by a sudden change in the radio. The announcement rung in his ears and head. He got up without saying anything a word, letting his friends enjoy their last night of happiness. Ignorance is bliss.
The fake season known as fall came to California. The first day of school no longer marked the reunion of teenagers. Military trucks lined the front of the school, on the other side of the line of school buses. Men in uniform equipped with megaphones and lists of names patrolled the crowds of young men. A long line of students over the age of 18 was formed. They were piled into trucks after their names were found on the list the soldiers possessed. Drew was one of these boys. He sat with his friends from the football team. Friends he had made in their early forages for alcohol in freshman year. They were more prepared for the endeavors they were to face than the smaller figure that Drew possessed.
The trucks returned to the school many months later. There were not as many people in the lines that filed out of the trucks. Names were checked off again. One by one the names were checked off, leaving only the ones who had perished. The sun began to set as the last few trucks appeared. A small group of parents waited hopelessly that their son was on one of those finals trucks. One women yelled in joy. She was reunited with her son. The final name was crossed off, leaving many spaces behind. The rest were declared missing in action, the bodies of the dead were not recognizable.
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