Stronger with You

Off to War

Peyton
November 25, 1967

"Soda, I don't want you to leave."

We laid in my room on my bed, Soda and Steve had just been drafted a few days ago.

Soda drew shapes on my bare back, my head was resting on his chest.

"I know baby, but I have to. I have to go."

We sat in silence for at least an hour, just staying in each other's presence, wishing we had more time.

"We leave at 5. What time is it?" Soda asked, he lifted up his arm to check his watch, "11:30. Do you want to go get lunch?"

"Yeah, let's get up and around then." I forced myself to get up from the warmth of my bed and Soda, although I did wrap my blanket around myself to shield my body from the cold. I threw on whatever clothes I first found in my dresser, which ended up being one of Soda's sweatshirts and a pair of old jeans.

Soda was getting his own clothes from my closet where he kept them hung up. He slid on some jeans with a t-shirt. A jacket over top since it was freezing outside.

"The Dingo?" Soda asked, I could only nod. My mind was running faster than I ever could. Thinking about every possibility Soda and Steve could face at Vietnam.

First, they would go through processing, hair cut, medicines, the whole shabang, then they would have to go through basic training, eight weeks, after that, Advanced Individual Training, for another eight weeks, sometimes three weeks was cut short of AIT.

As much as it terrified me, losing them to the war, I knew that they had to go. Steve and Soda had talked about going to war long before they were drafted.

We all feared falling into communism, that's why America entered this war. I didn't know how I felt about it, all I knew is I would pray every single night our boys would come back home.

Sitting in front of my house was my old beat up Jeep. The story of my car was simple, Buck had won it in a game of poker, decided he didn't want it. Soda scored it, then brought it to me after fixing it up a little, with help Steve.

Now, it was mine. I had always thought of Jeep's as America's car. Darry would argue and say Ford's were America's car, and yes I knew the history, but I didn't car.

"What's going through your head?" Soda asked after starting up the car.

"Lots of things," I said not giving Soda too much to go on.

"We'll make it back, Peyton. We ain't gonna die over there."

I nodded in response, the rest of the car ride was silent.

When we got to the Dingo, Soda sat on the same side of the booth as me, his arm was wrapped around me tightly as if I was the one leaving.

We ordered them sat in silence, I don't think either of us knew what to say.

"Hey Soda, I heard you and Steve got drafted."

I looked up, it was Curly Sheppard. I hadn't heard from him in awhile. We saw Tim all the time, but when Curly got out of the reformatory he stayed out of sight for awhile.

"Yeah we did, we're leaving for basic this evening." Soda smiled, how could he smile?

Curly nodded then reached out for a handshake, "Good luck over there. I'll be thinking of y'all."

"Thanks Curly." Soda shook his hand, still with a smile.

"See y'all. Bye, Peyton."

I nodded, but Curly was already turning around walking to the door.