"Relax," Wayne said. "You're not going anywhere tonight."
"What, son?" his old man said uneasily. "Sure we are. We're going to the movies."
He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn't answer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then was silent.
"Okay, go," Wayne said. "If you wanta walk. I'm taking the family boltbucket."
"But we promised the Clemons, dear," his mother said.
"Hell," Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. "I just got my draft call."
He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. "Oh, my dear boy," Mother cried out.
"So gimme the keys," Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. His understanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes.
"Do be careful, dear," his mother said. She ran toward him as he laughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomed the Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramp onto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-calling neon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailed the glaring wonders of escape.