I leave my house, locking the door behind me. I walk over to my little, black, car. "It's not too big, but it'll do", I tell myself. And it's true, I don't need much to be happy. I unlock the door and get in. Right before I start the car my mom calls me, "Puedes checar nuestro buzón", 'Can you check our mailbox', she asks. I sigh, softly so she won't get angry. "Si, tu solo siéntate y te traigo nuestro correo", 'Yes, you just sit down and I'll bring our mail', I respond. I get out of my car and walk over to our mailbox, it's a small one, painted like the Mexican flag with a brown dot in the middle instead of the eagle holding the snake. I open the little door in the mailbox and take out all the letters, advertisements, and other miscellaneous papers. I walk back to my house, making sure my car is locked on my way back. I walk back onto my house's porch and I unlock the door. I give my mom the mail, she's sitting on the couch watching the TV. She skims over it while I walk out. Once I'm out of the house and walking to my car I hear the door open and footsteps coming towards me. I turn around and see my mom with a letter in her hand. She says, "Es tuyo, esta carta", 'It's yours, this letter.'. I open it. I fall to my knees. Tears come out. "Que es?", 'What is it?', she asks in the nicest tone I've ever heard. "Es...es...mi llama de servicio militar...", 'It's...it's...my draft notice...', I respond, holding back all the tears in the world. "NO...NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. NO MI HIJO!", 'NO... NO NO NO NO NO NO. NOT MY SON!', she screams frantically. "PORQUE NO ACEPTAS ESA BECA PARA ESA ESQUELA EN AUSTIN?! NO TE PUEDEN LLAMAR SI ESTÁS EN COLEGIO!", 'WHY DON'T YOU ACCEPT THAT SCHOLARSHIP TO THAT SCHOOL IN AUSTIN?! THEY CAN'T CALL YOU IF YOU'RE IN COLLEGE!', she screams. "Ma...necesito hacer lo que me dicen...lo ciento...pero lo necesito hacer, para mi país...", ' Ma...I have to do what they tell me to...I'm sorry but I have to do it, for my country.'.
I didn't end up hanging out with my friends...now, I look up at my ceiling. The fan spinning above my bed. "Thanks, Lyndon B." I say, sarcastically.
[CHAPTER 2, END]
(Once again thank you if you read this, I'm mostly doing this as a passion project. If you enjoy this, keep reading and follow me. Love you all)
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When We're All Used Up
Historical FictionSebastian Carlos is a very smart kid, he is set to receive a scholarship to the prestigious University of Texas at Austin. But unexpectedly, he gets drafted into the Vietnam War. And only one thing is for sure - he's not leaving the same as he came.
