Coming Home

My father used to tell me that it was the little things that counted. Of course, I had always disregarded this, seeing as how we lived the less than average life in a run-down neighborhood. Little things were all we had. But even though I dreamed of a better life somewhere away from the slump that I learned to call home, it didn't mean I didn't love everything about it.

Several years ago, my parents were killed in a car incident. It was dark, temperatures had just reached below freezing, and my father always loved driving home on the back roads. At that time, I had been seriously contemplating moving out of state. Even though I had received an athletic scholarship to the University, there still wasn't enough money for me to actually go. A good friend of mine had just been made co-owner to a small diner located on the outskirts of Kansas and they were low on help with maintenance. The pay would be better than anything I could get at home and figuring I needed all the help I could get, I made plans to move out, take the job, and come back once I could pay off the tuition.

My father wasn't too happy once I had proposed the idea. Cutting remarks were exchanged and before I knew it, he was peeling out of the driveway to start his second shift, leaving me at home upset and beyond frustrated.

You see reality has a funny way of teaching you life lessons. Had I known that I would never have the chance to say I'm sorry to him I would've changed my attitude and approached the subject differently. Had I known that my brothers and I would be made orphans in the blink of an eye I would've told my father how much I loved him, and did everything in my power to keep him from leaving; maybe, if I was the one to go pick up mom from work, the crash wouldn't have happened- we wouldn't have to know what it felt like living without them. Regret and guilt don't even begin to describe how I felt when those cops told me that my parents were never coming home again.

Standing above their soon-to-be graves about a week later I had almost lost it- but then I heard my brothers' choked sobs. They had cried all week, but this was different- muffled and stilted, like they were trying to hold their own, then ending in an almost silent wail letting everyone know they just couldn't do it. It was right then and there that I decided I would be strong for the both of them. I would take care of them and do everything in my power to make sure their lives played out the way they would've had my parents been alive. I would fight and keep fighting because that was what I owed them. Our family had just gotten smaller. I finally realized what my father meant.

Then, a few months later, Ponyboy and I had gotten into a fight. Déjà vu settled in as cutting remarks were exchanged, and before I had time to register what it was that I was actually doing, I hit him, a bright red mark showing clearly on his cheek. My father flashed in my mind as I watched my youngest brother flee the house and take off down the street into the darkness. It was the worst thing I could've ever done and I still have a hard time coming to terms with it. And when, almost a week later, I was told that Ponyboy and Johnny were admitted into the hospital, after being pulled out of a burning church, I was out of my mind. Needless to say, seeing him tow-headed and covered in dirt but otherwise okay was a relieving experience; I was almost okay with the idea of him hating me, because at least I knew he was still alive to let me know it.

The fighting didn't stop there, though. He's still so young but so stubborn in his ways, it drives me insane. A couple days later, after yelling at each other in what seemed like the millionth fight we've had that week, Soda ran out. Pony and I quickly followed and found him, ending up being hit with a sad truth. I really didn't know either of them as well as I thought I had… That night I amended my primary declaration by making sure I would actually try to understand both of my brothers better before making decisions involving their well being.

That was how it was in the years that followed- I really did try to understand Pony more, even though the almost seven year age difference between us leaves more than enough room for difference of opinion. Because of that, I was able to rebuild the relationship we once shared. I did it so that Pony knew he could come to me if he needed to, that I would be there for him through anything and everything; and he did, he really did.

Pony had picked himself up and started to excel in not only his academics but track as well. Soda became co-manager at the DX with Steve, and Steve finally moved out of that house he hated so much. Two-bit was finally able to find himself a job at a classy bar over on fifth, and as for me, well, I was just starting to make my way through community college; I had worked my way up through the roofing business and was able to quit my second job because of it. Things were beginning to look up.

But as I said, reality has a funny way of teaching you life lessons. The war in Vietnam wasn't getting any better, and more and more young men were being sent over to try and alleviate a problem that everybody knew couldn't be solved.

I wasn't supposed to be the one to hop on that train to go fight for our country, but the latter wasn't an option for me. There was no way on earth I would allow for Sodapop to get dragged halfway across the world into some dark unknown place where boys were getting killed all the time. I had convinced myself that since I was the strongest in our gang, I would have the best chance at survival there. So, without giving anyone much of a warning, I took his place.

But about 6 months in, I got caught up in an ambush that resulted in me being locked up and losing my mind faster than anything- certainly would've given Pony a run for his money.

I stayed a POW for 5 months; and once I had finally been liberated, I quickly found that not only had I been declared MIA but also KIA. Every soldier is if they haven't been found after a certain period of time. I thought of Soda and Pony and my heart sunk.

I was finally coming home, and for the first time since my parents died, I had no idea how I was going to fix this.