Best Year Ever

        It's New Year's Day (hardly even the day), and I'm a senior in high school.  "The best year ever," my friend had told me just hours before.  I sat on my bed reading silently, as the clock hits 4am.  I should be sleeping, I think to myself, and my stomach moans in late-night hunger.  I glare up at the TV; the volume is turned way down, as the closing credits for CSI flash on the screen.
        I focus back on the book.  A man (hardly even a man) loses his soul in Vietnam.  He didn't die, exactly, but he lost his soul.  His best friend just died, and he blames himself.  He "almost" earned the Silver Star; he "almost" saved his best friend; he "almost" had the courage.  But he didn't.  He was hardly even a man when his best friend died before his eyes, and he blamed himself.
        A million things are running through my head this late at night, far too many to list.  It's the beginning of the New Year, "the best ever," the TV is still on, my stomach is still moaning.  I think of my good friend, nineteen years old, who's out, drunk, having a great time, and not answering my phone calls.
        I focus back on the book.  The man (who was hardly even a man) still blames himself, well after the war is over.  His best friend is dead, and he blames himself.  Everyone tells him that he is lucky, he survived the war.  But he lost his soul in Vietnam.  His dad tells him how courageous he must have been, with all of the medals he won (seven in total).  All he can think about, though, is the Silver Star that he "almost" won for the best friend that he "almost" saved with the courage that he "almost" had.
        I look back up at the TV, still flashing brightly over the book.  It's still the beginning of "the best year ever," my stomach is still moaning, my friend is still drunk, and now a commercial for Girls Gone Wild comes on.  My thoughts are all over:  What should I eat?  Why won't she answer my calls?  I think about the man (hardly even a man) on the commercial.  His biggest concern seems to be trying to get this drunken woman (hardly even a woman) to take her pants off.
        I look back at the book, where a man (hardly even a man) stands in mud up to his waist, the rain coming down over him.  He lost his soul in Vietnam, but he was lucky to survive the war, and he was courageous to win those seven medals.  But he lost his best friend, and he blames himself.
        I look back at the clock, 4:02.  What a waste of time, I think to myself.  Four hours in to the New Year, "the best ever," and I haven't done anything yet.  And what does it matter?  My TV is still on, and the man (hardly even a man) got the woman (hardly even a woman) to take her pants off.  But what does it matter?  My friend is out drunk, and not answering me.  But what does it matter?  I realize at this point that it does not matter.  Things such as this don't matter.
        I went back to the book, that's what matters.  The man (hardly even a man) lost his best friend, and he blames himself.  And eight years later he would hang himself in a locker room at the YMCA.  How lucky he was, everyone said, for he had survived the war; and how courageous he was for winning those seven medals.  It's true, he survived the war, but he lost his soul in Vietnam.  His best friend had died, and he blamed himself.  He "almost" had the courage to "almost" save his best friend and "almost" win himself a Silver Star.  But he didn't.  He lost his soul in Vietnam, and hanged himself eight years later.
        A few months prior to this, perhaps, the New Year came, and his friend told him that it would be the best year ever.  But that was before he got drafted, that was before anything mattered.  Now everything mattered; he stood in the mud up to his waist.  His best friend had died and he blamed himself.
        So many thoughts running through my head as I look back up at the TV.  So many things going on in my life, but what does it matter?  It doesn't.  Nothing matters.  The New Year has begun, the TV is still on, my friend still hasn't answered, and the girl's pants are off – but does it really matter?  He had survived the war and earned seven medals.  But does it really matter?
        His best friend had died, and he blamed himself.  He lost his soul in Vietnam.  He "almost" earned himself an eighth medal; he "almost" saved his best friend, because he "almost" had the courage.  But he didn't.  He was hardly even a man.  And he hanged himself eight years later.  That's all that matters.