greasers

Soda

Our wedding wasn't a traditional one. I didn't have a bachelorette party, nor did my fiancé have a bachelor party. We just spent the night cuddling and watching movies and loving life. The next morning, Soda woke up before me. I knew that because when my eyes fluttered open, the other side of the bed was cold and empty. I swung my legs over the side, simply braided my hair, and smiled in the mirror. Today I was marrying the love of my life, otherwise known as Sodapop Patrick Curtis. He may not be a flower-child like me, but he still is the happiest person I've ever encountered. I walked quietly into the kitchen and saw Soda sitting at the table with his back to me. "Hi sweetie," I said softly. He quickly shoved a letter into his pocket and turned around. A small smile flashed across his face and I saw sadness in his eyes but it was quickly replaced by love. I must be imagining it. Soda got up and hugged me. I buried my head in his chest and inhaled his scent. "Good morning," he whispered as he kissed my head. After he pulled away I started making breakfast. As I was frying the eggs, Soda came over and wrapped his arms around my stomach, so that my back was to his front. Then he rested his ching on top of my head. "I love you so much Sara." "I love you too Sodapop," I said softly. He stayed in the position until I needed to get the toast and jelly and chocolate milk. I poured him his glass of chocolate milk, spread the jelly on his eggs, and put the eggs on the toast. He smiled and sat down across from me. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked. "I'm not that hungry," I smiled back. I was so happy at that moment. I bet rays of happiness were shining out of me. Soda and I talked as he ate his food. After he was done, he felt his pocket and then looked down. Soda got up and walked into the bedroom, leaving me confused. Why had he just gotten up and left? "Sara?" he called. That was my cue. I waltzed into the bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed, that letter from before in his hands. He then patted his lap, and I sat down on it. "Look, you..." he paused. "Just read this," and he handed me the letter. I read it once, but didn't fully understand. So I read it again. I read it over and over and over again, it never making sense.

'You are hereby ordered for induction to the Armed Forces of the United States and to report at Assembly Room, 17th floor, Federal Bldg., 1000 Liberty Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA on May 20, 1970 at 7 A.M.'

As I read that sentence over and over, it got blurrier and wet drops began to form on the paper. "Awe baby," Soda whispered, pulling my head to his chest. I silently cried and prayed to the good Lord that nothing would happen to him.

Years have passed from that day and Soda sits next to me as I recount this story. Soda and I got married that day, and we had four months until he was shipped out to Pennsylvania. A year later he came home with no physical wounds. But to this day, I still find it ironic that a flower-child's fiancé got drafted into war.