2:00, the mailgirl rang the bell and asked the young man to thumb the form. There it was. On the floor, under the mail slot, with the Christmas catalogs .... the red white and blue envelope Simon had been dreading. "Mom, its here ..."
Mrs. Gordon came to the door, picked up the envelope and led Simon to the kitchen table. "Sit down Simon, I'll pour us some Kaf." She did, then Simon opened the seal. "Greetings ..." and then he read "marine Corps." "Damn, damn" and then Simon ran to his bunk and slammed the curtain shut. Mrs. Gordon sat still, staring at the letter. "Marines?" What could be worse????
Mrs. Gordon remembered the old days, before St. Louis got nuked and before President Powell got Congress to pass the We Serve Law. In these days, young folks could do what they wanted ... flip burgers, study Arabic, travel the country, or even volunteer for the War. Now Simon had no choice. Not just the War, but a marine. She cried while her finger traced the fatal words "simper fi" in the sugar spilled on the table.
It was an hour or two before Simon opened the curtain and stepped back into the room. By then Mom had settled down in her Lazy-boy, the family's one real antique, and was watching the Vida wall news. Just the usual stuff. Reverend Bishop Jefferson was giving the evening news.