November Rumble

[Tensleep]

Yes, there is actually a November Rumble this year! I'm a little more steel hearted than I was last year, so we can get to it.

Rumble, November '08:

War

Lately I have noticed that there have been authors tackling the Vietnam war in various ways, whether it has been from the home front or sending one or more of the boys over there. It's a highly historical, eventful and controversial part of history giving us plenty to explore as writers, given the time frame of The Outsiders.

So write a piece, 6 pages max, any POV, involving this aspect of history. If war's not your cup of tea, I challenge you to write something as anti-war as possible.

Please copy, paste and post your entries under this thread so we can all enjoy them! I know there are some awesome imaginations on this forum. So get writing!

Tens

[missmouse]

Yay! My specialty.

[Two-Bitty]

War...war...war.... "War At Home"... hm.... I might be able to think of something for this. Good prompt.

[murderofcrows]

nanowrimo is taking up my writing time for november...sorry! i'll look forward to reading everybody's stories, though.

[Two-Bitty]

The War At Home
Summary: Steve comes home from Vietnam, but without Sodapop. And no one knows what he’s been through
Disclaimer: I don’t own The War At Home plot or The Outsiders. They belong to S.E. Hinton and Emilio Estevez.
A/N: The itallics are either what Steve is remembering, or what he's thinking.

---

Someone not a stranger to that city walked down the old, uneven road, wearing his Army issued suit; camouflaged top to bottom with the shirt open revealing a white wife beater and the chains to a couple of dog tags. His boots untied with the strings hanging down, and his bag slipping occasionally from his broad shoulder. The hair on his head was buzzed but you could tell it was black, and his chin wore a stubble from a neglected shaving that morning. On his face was the hardest expression anyone in that town had seen on his face. His nametag pinned to his shirt read Randle. But there was one underneath it that read Curtis.

The Army man continued his long walked, past the old building where he used to work, fixing and repairing cars, watching his friend pick up girls, and laughing heartily at their cocky friend’s jokes. Recalling back, he remembered that they worked at the most popular gas station in the neighborhood, mostly from his good lookin’ friend who attracted girls like flies from his movie star looks.

He passed a vacant lot where his house once stood; now a simple For Sale sign stood on the dirt lawn. Down the street was his destination, the familiar old white house, a football in the tree, and the old blue Ford parked in front. “I’m home,” he announced softly as he stood in front of the old house. From the outside, he heard music playing and rowdy yelling from inside. He pulled the letter from his jacket pocked, addressed to a Mr. Darrel Curtis and a Mr. Ponyboy Curtis, and in red ink, stamped Urgent. The date on the front read October 21st, 1974. It was now November.

I should give them the letter.

Slowly he climbed the stairs, and rang the doorbell. And after a hesitation, and the music being cut off, the door swung open revealing the almost thirty-year-old Darrel Curtis. He didn’t recognize the face.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

“Darry…” the man pleaded, his eyes growing soft and weak.

Darry read the nametags and remembered. “Steve!”

Darry grabbed Steve up in a hug, but Steve didn’t protest and just dropped his things, returning the needy hug. They latched to each other tightly. After a moment, another person joined the hug. Steve imagined the other to be Two-Bit, since Ponyboy hated his guts.

They all broke at once, as if it was telepathy, and looked at each other. Two-Bit laughed, rubbing Steve’s head, mumbling “Fuzzy head.”

He laughed and patted Two-Bit’s hand.

Steve grabbed up his things, the letter last, and walked in.

He was sat on the couch; everyone else gathered around him. Steve fingered the letter nervously, looking up at Darry. Darry looked at the letter and spotted his name. “Is that for me?” he asked stupidly. Steve nodded and handed it over, then rested his forehead in the palms of his hands. Darry opened and read the letter silently; his eyes grew and he began to shake. Tears welled in his eyes and fell quickly; Steve watched from the corner of his eyes, and seeing the tears, he began to tear up too. The letter dropped to the floor when Darry seized Steve in his arms and tightly squeezed him. Ponyboy took the letter and began to read, Two-Bit peering over his shoulder.

“S-Sodapop…” Two-Bit whispered shakily.

“No… no, Steve… no…” Ponyboy began to rant. “No, no, not Soda… anyone but him.”

Steve broke from Darry’s warm embrace to look at Ponyboy. “I’m sorry,” Steve offered.

Suddenly Ponyboy jumped to his feet, startling Two-Bit and making the others look at him in surprise. “You’re lying!” he screamed. Steve jumped up, looking hard at the youngest man in the room.

“Ponyboy Curtis!”

“Lying bastard!” Ponyboy hissed. “You’ve always lied and you always will!”

“Why would I lie about something as serious as this?” Steve retorted angrily. He grabbed onto Ponyboy’s shoulders and shook him. “I’m not lying, damn it.”

“Why couldn’t it have been you!?” Ponyboy screamed; Steve held his breath, eyes growing.

“Hey!” Steve yelled back. Ponyboy turned his head to the side and ran out the door. Darry looked after him, concerned, but looked away. “He’s not a kid anymore, Steve. He’s twenty-two.”

“I know, Darry, but he’s still as pig-headed as usual.”

“He’s hurt.”

Steve glared at the door after him for a minute. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a picture of Sodapop in his Army uniform. Then he took the dog-tags from his neck that said Sodapop Curtis on it, and took the Curtis nametag from his shirt. He gave them to Darry, who took them and held them for a moment.

“He fought well,” Steve told him. “Just too… heroic.”



“Sodapop, get the fuck out of there!”

“Hold on, one more shot!”

“Sodapop Curtis, get your white little ass out of that trench!” Steve stood there with his Remington 870 in his hands, a Colt M19 on his hip, and his helmet secured on his head. He was sweating and covered in dirt and gun powder. But Sodapop was still in the trench and was shooting like a mad man.

“You’ve had your shot, now run!” Steve yelled at him. Sodapop didn’t have time to react; a grenade was flying through the air right at him. His eyes were locked on it as it approached. It landed next to him, then exploded.

“SODA!”


Steve looked at Darry for a moment. “I know he was heroic,” Darry whispered, grinning. “At least he died with honor.”

The older man stared into his faded reflection in the damaged, smudged dog-tags, his expression hurt and pleading. “Dad would be proud…” he whispered so silently that Steve almost didn’t catch it. Two-Bit was looking at them, his eyes clouded. He caught sight of the clock on the wall and stood up. “I have to go… I’ve got work in ten…”

Steve looked at Two-Bit with a forced smile. “Yeah,” he said softly. Two-Bit clutched onto Darry’s shoulder in a loving gesture and made his way towards the door. He disappeared in seconds.

Darry, wiping his eyes urgently, looked up at the man standing above him. “Let’s find a new topic,” Darry offered, his voice shaking madly.

Steve sat beside Darry.

“What all changed around here?” Steve asked hopefully. “How are you and the kid getting along?”

After Steve finished his last sentence, Darry started to laugh. “No one has called Ponyboy ‘the kid’ in a long time…”

“Habit, I suppose. Being away for damn near a decade, you can’t help but go back to your old ways.”

“Yeah,” Darry chuckled out. “But Ponyboy has found himself a girl; he’s going to marry her. She already lives with him in his apartment.” Steve smiled, patting his calloused hands on the knees of his pants. They had grown leathery from carrying the gun and for other things. Darry continued.

“Shepard got killed about a year ago in a police shootout. Curly is still around, just trying to better himself. Angela is… well, Angela.”

Steve stopped for a moment, thinking, How ironic. Shepard and Dallas dying in the same way.

“Buck moved to California. Got a better opportunity out there, he said. I couldn’t blame him; I almost joined him.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes; Steve stared at his hands constantly, working his hands and stretching them, entertaining himself momentarily.


Struggling, Steve pounded on the other soldier’s arms which were holding him back from going after Sodapop. The smoke cleared a bit and the soldier released Steve, who dashed out, stumbling, and ran into the pit the grenade made, which wasn’t too deep. He looked around for a while, cursing and yelling, panting, straining to see through the dust and dirt which flew through the air. He found Sodapop soon, or, what was left of him. Steve took a step back, covering his mouth with his arm, his eyes flowing shut with a snap.

It’s not true, it’s not true.

When he opened them again, he screamed.

It’s true.

Sodapop laid there on his back, yelling. He had no legs; blood gushed from the ends of his legs, where they were torn off at mid-thigh on one leg, and just under the kneecap on the other. He was missing a few fingers from both hands. And Steve remembered the realities of war as he began to watch his best friend tremble and cry. Of course he ran to his aid, but what could he do?

“S-Steve, I can’t… I can’t feel my fucking legs! Steve, my legs, Steve!”

Steve held his best friend’s head to his chest, preventing him from looking down. Steve called for help. None came.


Ponyboy walked in the house, hoping Steve was gone, but was angry when he found his thoughts to be untrue. Steve looked up at him. “Pony…” he began, but Ponyboy simply turned and walked back out. Steve darted out of his seat and chased the younger man.

He grabbed Ponyboy’s shoulder, turning him and bringing him to a complete stop. They stared at one another, one glaring, one pleading. Ponyboy turned his head to look away from Steve. Steve grabbed Ponyboy’s chin and forced eye contact. From beneath his fingers, he noticed Ponyboy was trembling. And looking into his gray-green eyes, he saw a flicker of Sodapop inside of the younger man.

“Pony…” Steve pleaded.

“Let me go,” came the reply to the question not spoken.

“No. We need to talk.”

That was when Ponyboy began to fight against him, pulling and yelling. Steve grabbed both of his wrists and held them firmly, but Ponyboy still fought. Finally, after minutes of fighting, Steve grabbed the younger man around the waist with one arm and around the shoulders with the other, bringing their bodies close together in a hug. Ponyboy, stunned, stood there as Steve hugged him.

“I’m sorry, Ponyboy,” Steve said, making Ponyboy catch his breath. “I’m so sorry…”

A pair of hands returned Steve’s hug half-heartedly.

Steve continued. “We never had the patience to understand each other back with the gang… now I wish we did.”

“Steve…?”

The older man buried his head into Ponyboy’s shoulder and he was almost at the point of sobbing. “I wish we never hurt Sodapop so much back then.”

“What are you talking about?” Ponyboy asked softly.


“Sodapop died knowing his little brother and good friend never liked each other. He died wishing we could understand one another.”

Steve sniffed and released Ponyboy, looking at his camouflaged clad shoes. His head lifted slowly to meet Ponyboy’s gaze. He had grown in the past eight years; Steve remembered being at least a head taller, and now he was looking into his eyes without bending his head an inch.

After a few moments of staring, the younger man held out a hand to Steve in a peace offering. Steve grabbed the hand without hesitation, trying to smile.

“We can try again,” Ponyboy said firmly, grinning so much like Sodapop that Steve stopped, tears rolling out of his eyes. He took his hand back and used it to wipe away the salty tears from his cheek. Ponyboy stood and just watched.

“Sorry,” Steve got out, tears racking him. “You just… you and Sodapop look so much alike…” He smiled.

Ponyboy wrapped an arm around Steve in a loving gesture and ushered him back to the house.

At least now, Steve thought hopefully, we can try to start again. For Soda.

[cooroo]

Two-Bitty: Wow. Man, that was powerful. It upset me, for sure! I especially loved Pony holding it against Steve that while he lived, Soda didn't.
The one problem I had with it was the... well, emotions, I guess. Like, this line: '“I know he was heroic,” Darry whispered, grinning. “At least he died with honor.”' And this one: 'After Steve finished his last sentence, Darry started to laugh. “No one has called Ponyboy ‘the kid’ in a long time…"'
Those are great lines (I loved the first) but the problem was the happy emotions in there. Laughing and grinning imply happiness, and while I can imagine Darry grinning painfully and laughter that sounded a bit forced, I'm not entirely sure if you meant it that way. My
suggestion is just putting in an adverb to show the mood. Like Darry grinning, though with tears in his eyes. Or him laughing in a forced way. It would just add more feeling to it, in my opinion.
But I still really enjoyed it. It was hard-hitting and a good read.

As for my entry, I have a brilliant idea (at least, I think it's brilliant) but I'm so desperate to write my NaNoWriMo entry that I'm not sure I'm going to write it. But I'm sure I will - it's too good of an idea (in my opinion) to waste.

[Two-Bitty]

I guess it's the little things I always forget to add in my stories. I imagined Darry being strong for Steve or Ponyboy, and wanting to remember Sodapop for the good things, not wanting to accept his middle brother is gone. Just kind of stunned that this happened to happy-go-lucky Sodapop.

Thanks, I'll remember to include the little things next time.

[Tensleep]

Two-Bitty, my hat is off to you. I really liked your portrayal of the boys at war, not only in Vietnam, but with the relationships they had yet to fix. I really thought that you had Ponyboy's reaction nailed. And Darry's poor attempts to keep control of his emotional situation were just great. I could also see Two-Bit taking off instead of dealing with it. Nice.

What really got me - and I haven't read the other comments on this, so bear with me if I am repeating things - were some of the little actions that helped to ground the piece. Like Steve's fuzzy head or Ponyboy still being a kid in Steve's eyes. I know they weren't big parts of the story, but they added to the overall effect.

My only criticism is the use of flash backs. I find they sometimes can draw away from the reality of the piece. I just don't like them in general, so feel free to disregard that.

Great job and keep up the great work!