Get a grip girl!

When the formal envelope arrived in the mailbox, his name was written in a neat scrawl. Sodapop P. Curtis. His address was written perfectly. Inside lay his future. Sodapop’s ears rang, and his heart skipped every other beat. He unfolded the paper, his hands trembling as it crinkled in his grip. ‘Order to report for armed forces’. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The feeling drained from his fingers and toes. This couldn’t be happening. Tulsa’s golden boy was being drafted to Vietnam. Across the sea, in foreign lands, to fight a battle he hadn’t started.

When his brothers heard, Ponyboy bawled, begging his brother not to leave. Darry had cried, his fists balled tightly. Darry had done everything to keep his family together, in one piece. Now there was no choice, his little brother was going to war. The little brother who dyed his eggs green, who got locked up for doing handstands on the sidewalk. The one who charmed everyone and never meant any harm. Now his brothers were in shambles. Steve was a mess, his usual anger bubbling over. No one had ever seen Steve so mad, trying to hide the tears and hold back the sadness that dampened his masculinity. You were the last to know.

His girlfriend from freshman year—like a doll—loved Soda more than anybody. Sodapop was the only person you had. He would whisper of marriage and the future with such confidence you’d be crazy to say he was lying. He was completely wrapped up in you. It was always you and Soda. Never just one of you, as you always traveled in pairs, glued at the hip. As annoying as Steve found it, Soda’s absence would bring him to realize that he liked seeing his best friend happy. Always happiest tucked into your side or with your fingers in his hair.

Sodapop sat on his bed, flipping the dog tags in his hands over and over, his thumb brushing over the carving. The longer he sat with it, the more real it felt. He was going to ‘nam, and he couldn’t promise he would return. That part hurt him most. Who would listen to Pony? Who would rub Darry’s shoulders after a hard day? Who would understand Steve like Soda did? Most importantly, who would love you like you deserved?

A knock on his door and his head perked up, shoving the tags deep in his pockets. Despite being out of sight, it weighed a million pounds in his pocket. Like it might burn a hole through his jeans any minute. He let out a slow breath as you peeked in. “Hi, Soda…” you say quietly, moving in to sit next to him. His carpet absorbs the sound of your small heels on the wood. “What’re you doing? Your brothers are out playing football,” you mumbled, putting both hands on his right arm, kissing his shoulder and stroking his arm. For once, he was serious. His face wiped clean of its usual dimpled smile, and you could feel the weight on his shoulders clouding up the room. “Can’t think about football when I’m about to be running around a battlefield like I’m nothing,” Soda admits, resting his head on yours, a hand moving to your leg. You knew he’d elaborate. “I’m scared. Scared of what I’ll see. What I’ll have to do,” his breath started to shake, and you slowly laid him back in his bed. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. Fighting a war that grown men started, making a boy finish it for them. It’s not fair. None of this. Don’t let it ruin what you have with your family now. We don’t know when they’ll send you back home,” you say, letting him lean like you. Soda just needed someone to listen most of the time, someone to help him figure out the difficult stuff. After all, he was just a kid. 

“I know. It just shook me up, y’know? I can’t imagine it happening, I thought maybe I'd be under the weight limit or something. You just never think it will happen to you until it’s in your mailbox. I’ve never even seen my name written so formal before, for Christ’s sake!” he exclaimed, running a hand over his face. You stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing his back. “You’ll be okay… you always are. People are gonna need someone like you out there,” you mumble, brushing your nose over his cheek, asking without words for a kiss. A secret language between you both. He gives you a kiss before pulling away. His eyes are sad, and at the brims of them were a hint of tears he was trying to push down. “Oh, baby..” he whispered, letting out a sob. You held him as his forehead crashed into your shoulder. “I can’t imagine… If I don’t come home. I’d have kissed you for the last time, played football with my brothers for the last time… and fixed my last car ever. Then I’d never touch a wrench again,” he said, his voice breaking. It had hit you then, if he died, he’d never do any of those again. He’d never go on to have a family. He would just be another body in a field, and Tulsa would feel the aching absence of Sodapop Curtis. The movie-star handsome boy who could charm your socks off, even if you were cold-hearted and bitter. No one would ever hear him bark out in laughter again, or give you a love-sick smile. Your heart ached as you let him cry. He had been full of tears lately. His brothers had no idea, and you had promised not to tell that for the past 3 weeks he had ended up at your house, holding onto you tight as you both worried together.

Soda’s days were only getting closer and closer. Each day hurt more than the last. The gang knew it but they were good at ignoring it. Joking and playing as if the dark cloud wasn’t hanging over everybody. He filled his days with work, playing cards, football, even listening to Ponyboy read to memorize his voice. It was hard to watch, the gang found themselves avoiding the news about the war, tossing the paper aside or changing the channel. 

Despite the cloud, everybody tried to make memories. Intense poker matches, falling out of chairs laughing, chaos at lakes and on sidewalks. 

Last night came and when he knew Darry and Ponyboy were both sound asleep, he crept out to your house, climbing in your window. You didn’t protest as he slid in beside you, his shoes kicked off. He kissed your cheek, holding you close. “I’m gonna miss you…” Soda whispers, slowly rolling so he was over you, pressing a kiss to your soft lips. “I’ll miss you more,” you reply, accepting the kiss. The smooch is the only sound in your dark, quiet room, aside from the fan in another room and the crickets outside. The kiss deepened, slower this time—-like they were trying to memorize it. He held her close after, neither of them speaking, just breathing each other in like it might be the last time. After, they lay tangled in the blankets, quiet, like saying anything might break the moment. “Darry okay with you being out here?” you ask quietly, running your hand down his arm, you lay on top of him, his chest pressed to your own. “What my big brother doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt him. He’d kill me if I knocked you up or something before going to war…” Soda said, smiling, kissing the top of your head. The cold silver of the necklace on your neck pressed against him—something he knew he’d remember. You had worn it every single day since he met you. You moved your hands, unclasping it. He looked at you confused. “I want you to take it… So you have something to keep you going,” you whisper, pressing it into his hand. “Are you crazy? It’s your favorite. Besides, I have a picture of you in my helmet already.” He stroked your bare back, pulling the covers up to keep you warm. “Just humor me,” you say, his heartbeat in your ear making your eyes droop. He noticed, and agreed. With a kiss on the head he whispered, “Go to sleep.” You shook your head sleepily, “This is the last of you I get to myself,” you insisted, but your consciousness was fading slowly. He just chuckled. “I’ll be here in the morning,” he said, mumbling small words of affection before letting his heavy eyelids close. Morning coming in a flash.

After many goodbyes, bag checks, tears and stress, the bus pulled up to take Soda away. Everyone took turns hugging him, his duffel bag at his ankles. He looked so different in camo. So handsome and confident despite his crumbling interior. He smiled as everyone cried, just like he always did. “I’ll be okay, guys. I’ll try to write.” Everyone laughed at that, Steve commenting, “If you can spell well enough for us to read.” Soda nuzzled Steve’s hair, grinning, tears pricking his eyes. He kissed you goodbye, whispering an ‘I love you’, stroking your hair one last time. Then he was boarding the bus, packed with other soldiers. He watched Darry hold you tight as you cried into his strong chest. 

Dally and Soda had never been particularly close. Friends? Sure. A good friend in a rumble? Absolutely. But beyond that, they just co-existed. At least until you.

You had all grown up together, playing in the dirt and getting up to trouble. Now that you were teenagers, hormones were hard to ignore. Sure, Sodapop and Dally had plenty of girlfriends, but you were hard to shake. You were one-of-a-kind in their eyes—the girl best friend. 

The boys both found themselves competing for your attention. If Dally made you laugh, Soda just had to swoop in and make a joke that made you laugh harder. Then the foundation of their friendship began to crumble, the tension between them left their shoulders tight, and their teeth gritted at the sound of each other’s voices. If you were around, that meant both of them were near.

After months of this war, it finally snapped. Soda was talking to Steve about his night plans with you, and Dally overheard. “It’ll be like a date…” The idea alone made Dally scoff. “You ever think that maybe she doesn’t want to go on a date with you?” he asks, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a shit-eating grin on his face. Dally thought he was funny. “So negative all the time, Dal,” Soda starts, smoothing out the front of his flannel. “She likes positive guys,” he adds, making Dally frown. Sodapop seemed proud of his comment. “Whatever, just back off from her. She likes me more, and I think she’d be tired of you drooling all over her!” Dally snapped. Steve cleared his throat, excusing himself and leaving before they could blink. Everyone had seen the tension building between them for a while now; they were just waiting for one of them to pop. 

“Me? Drooling over her?” Soda seemed astounded, putting his hands up defensively. “I think it’s the other way around, if not, it’s mutual,” he said, cocky. Confident that this must be true. Dally stood up, and the boys stood in the living room, eye to eye. Their scowls on their faces were hard to cross. “Maybe we just let her decide then, huh?” Soda asks, breaking the silence. 

Dally pulls away with a frustrated noise. “Sure, Curtis. Just don’t get your panties in a twist when it doesn't work out how you think it will,” he mumbles, leaving to light up a cigarette, pressing it to his lips. Soda gave him a grunt of irritation, leaving to meet up with you.

The night went smoothly, giggling at the Drive-In, neither of you paying attention to the movie as you munched on popcorn. People around you were getting annoyed, but both of you couldn’t seem to care less. Until Dallas showed up, Coke in hand, plopping down in the seat next to you like it was casual. Sodapop shut down immediately. Why was Dallas Winston here? Why couldn’t he just leave you both alone?

Dally gave a smug grin, “Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, offering you a sip. You took it gladly, your lipstick staining the plastic of the straw. Silence fell over you all as the movie rolled on; none of you were sure what was happening, just avoiding the tension that remained in the air. 

To you, you sat between two friends—two very attractive friends. To them, you were a prize that would end terribly no matter who won.

Once the movie was over, chatter started up again, about work and summer. Soda put an arm around your waist at the same moment Dally put an arm around your shoulders. Everyone tensed, and you looked between them. “Okay! What’s going on? You both look like you're about to bite each other's heads off!” you ask, stopping and turning to face both of them.

Soda rubs his hands on his jeans nervously. “I really like you, and… uh, Dally feels the same way,” he mumbles. Dally just puffs on his cigarette. “What Sodapop Curtis here is trying to stutter out to you, doll, is that you need to pick one of us,” he said, taking a long inhale and exhale. 

You go wide-eyed. To pick between two boys who meant equally as much to you. Sodapop Curtis—a devoted boy who was sweeter than pie. Dallas Winston—a hardened boy from New York who would kill for someone he loved. The choice suddenly felt impossible. The weight of it made your stomach turn. You pause, knowing this choice had to be made. Even the sounds from the Drive-In seemed to disappear around you. Your heart pounding in your ears as both boys stared at you, waiting. 

After weeks of anxious waiting, you could tell even Darry was tense. It showed in the wrinkle of his brow and the tension in his shoulders. Ponyboy wasn’t eating much, and you were a wreck. Nothing from Soda. You all knew this was to be expected, but that didn’t stop Ponyboy from checking the mail every day, and Darry listening in about his co-worker's kids in the war. 

Meanwhile, Soda was being transported back to the US under treatment. The world had gotten quieter in one ear, the intense ringing subsiding to nothing. His head hurt all the time. As he lay out in the hospital bed, nurses checking his vitals constantly, he couldn’t help but let out small whines of pain, the open wounds in his arm making it hard to think about anything. The blast of the grenade had been so near, so intense. He remembered it every time something fell on the floor, or when his bed was bumped. He would jolt into action, the fright of another attack fresh in his mind. The moment replaying on loop in his head over and over again. Soda had taken a lot of damage from the unexpected explosion. A soldier was lost five feet away from him; by some miracle, he survived. His arm was torn up badly by flying shrapnel, and his knee was split open when he hit the ground. The concussion left everything foggy—dizzy, unreal—but what stuck with him wasn’t the pain. It was the silence of his left ear.

Ponyboy was home from school, and he checked the mail, eagerly expecting something. Today, there was mail. Inside was an envelope, one he recognized. It had the same stamp as before when Soda was recruited. Ponyboy didn’t know if he should be excited or not. He grabbed it, inspecting the packaging, and walked inside slowly. “Darry! We got mail from the army!” he yelled through the house. Darry looked up from his armchair, folding the paper and standing quickly. “What?” he asks, holding his hand out for the thick envelope. Ponyboy handed it over with shaky hands. Darry wasted no time ripping into it. His face went a bit pale, and Ponyboy panicked, pulling it towards himself so they could both read. 

We write on behalf of Sodapop P. Curtis. He was injured on the field, a grenade exploding in his vicinity and leaving him unable to fight. Sodapop is being discharged and should be returning home as soon as he is well enough to be on his own. He suffered an arm and knee injury, a major concussion, and suffers from hearing loss. We regret to inform you of his injuries and extend our wishes for his recovery. He is expected to pack up back to the US as soon as May 15, 1968. 

Sincerely, 

              US Army.

Ponyboy looked up at his big brother, his eyes welling up with tears. “Dar, what do they mean by hearing loss? Is he okay?” he asks rapidly, looking for some kind of consolation. “I don’t know, baby. It sounds like he’s gonna be just fine, don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Darry replied, pulling Pony into a firm hug, his hands gripping Ponyboy’s shirt rougher than he meant to. They stood like that for a while. Eventually, they told the gang and you, all of you thrilled, and a little mad. Kids shouldn’t be fighting wars.

Sodapop was slowly getting better, and upon news of his return home, he was the happiest guy alive. He had nearly smothered the nurses at the news, making them both laugh a little. He was going home to his family, his friends, and you. Just like he had promised. He still had your necklace, and he had spent many hours looking it over. On the final day in the hospital, he was anxious. The soldier sharing a room with him shut the curtain in annoyance as Soda practically vibrated in his bed, so excited to go home. The nurses took out IVs, gave him tips that flew over his head, and, of course, a parting hug. They had gotten used to his sweet charm, and it was hard not to love, he had brightened many people's days despite the inner turmoil he avoided thinking about.

The bus was packed with soldiers, some looked stripped of life, so tired their bones ached from travel. Some looked fine, some with wrapped arms or band-aids on various locations. Soda was one of them, wrapped up, the damage more serious than expected, his arm was wrong and hurt to move. His eyes followed all passing by cars as the bus bumped along, each speed bump jolting him. The bus stop was packed with people. Soda looked through the crowd, looking for you, for his tall brother, for Steve’s black hair. But he couldn’t see it from the window. When it was his turn to get off, he slung his bag over his good arm, wasting no time to get out. When he stepped onto the platform, no one was there waiting. He looked around, confused. Didn’t they know he was coming home? His house wasn’t too far of a walk. With a slight limp, he walked home slowly, sniffing in the fresh Tulsa air. The hot sun is slowly starting to win over the spring atmosphere. 

When he saw the familiar house, he nearly cried. The peeling white paint of the house, a ladder resting on the side, and the signs of human life there. He took a deep inhale, running his fingers over the old silver pickup truck. As he opened the metal gate, it whined in protest. He smiles at the sound; he had almost missed it. His boots were heavy on the worn-down porch, the curtains drawn, and his heart beating in his ear. How different did he look? Would they think differently of him? That was untrue. When he opened the door, the gang lounging around, they all looked at him in awe. Steve and Two-Bit on the couch, Darry in his chair, you at the table with Ponyboy and Johnny. His eyes filled to the brim with tears. “Sodapop!” Steve yelled first, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms around Soda. Soda winced in pain, but hugged him back like it didn’t matter. Suddenly, the feeling of the bomb had left him, only for a moment, as he bathed in the pure bliss of seeing his family safe. Ponyboy and Darry practically bulldozed into him, wrapping him up. Darry ran his hand over Sodapop’s shaved head, tears in the pale blue-green irises. “Your hair…” he choked out, staring at the shaved mess of it like he didn’t quite recognize it. Ponyboy cried harder into his chest, soaking the front of his army uniform. “Thought y'all forgot about me…” he joked as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him first. “We didn’t know you were coming; they just said you’d show up soon. Figured you’d send us something,” you say, grinning as tears ruined your makeup. He pressed a kiss to your lips, holding you close, basking in the smell of you again. It had been forever since he smelled the sweet vanilla your skin held. You mumble something quietly near his bad ear, and he looks at you in confusion. You repeat, your brows concerned, “How are you feeling? The bus okay?” He looked around the room, then back at your eyes again. His hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out the necklace with the sweet pendant on it. He pressed it into your hand. “My bad ear. The bus was just fine, but I think this belongs to you,” Soda said. Both of you cried in each other’s arms in his childhood living room. His feet planted in safe territory. His friends clung to both of you with a big hug. 

Not long ago, he thought he’d never seen these faces again—his best friend’s laugh again, his brother's matching eyes, Johnny Cade’s scar, Two-Bit’s ridiculous Mickey Mouse shirt.