(A/N) This is a one-shot about Dallas Winston's father coming to search out his son a year after his death. Happy reading to you :)
Ponyboy Curtis was walking through the park where, a year and two months ago, Johnny Cade had killed Bob Sheldon. It was also the park where Ponyboy nearly lost his life to drowning. He usually tried to avoid walking through the park at all costs, but to get home from school was faster that way. Ponyboy was too tired to walk all the way around the park and behind on the path.
A week after that day a year and two months ago, two more teenage boys died. One was Johnny, the murderer of Bob and savior of Ponyboy. The other was Dallas Winston, or Dally, the boy who only loved one human being in his entire lifetime. That person, was Johnny Cade. Dallas cared very much for the other boys in his "gang", including Ponyboy. But Johnny was always special, although Dally never admitted it. Dallas Winston was a no-good, mean, tough, violent, and crazed hood who died in a stream a gallance and bullets.
Ponyboy fished the keys out of his front pocket when he reached the front door. He let himself into the little house and threw his backpack on the ground. School was rough. Even if the entire ordeal of witnessing three deaths in one week was a year ago, there would always have to be a kid every day that wanted to know more about it.
"Hey, aren't you the kid that killed Bob Sheldon?" Some boy had asked him earlier in between classes.
Ponyboy sighed and turned around to face the boy. He was tall with light brown hair and curious eyes. He looked to be about seventeen. His pants were tan and his sweater was light blue. A Soc.
"No," said Ponyboy wearily. "It wasn't me. It was my friend, Johnny."
"But weren't you there?" The boy pressed. Ponyboy just nodded wordlessly and pushed past the kid, who called after him. But Ponyboy didn't stop or look back.
Ponyboy rubbed his hands over his face, trying not to think about the tactless Soc. He opened the fridge, taking out the carton of chocolate milk. Just as he began to unscrew the cap, a knock sounded at the door. He scooted the carton away from the edge of the counter so it couldn't fall off and went to go and answer the door. He opened it to reveal a man, seeming to be in his late thirties or early forties.
He was a tall man with very dark hair and light blue eyes. The eyes were cold, although the man was smiling a bit. The smile did look a little sad and regretful, but it wasn't fake. It was genuine. The man looked at the boy who had answered the door with bright interest. He was a small, little guy with a wholesome looking face. His hair was an extremely light brown, but at the roots became dark, reddish brown. The boy's eyes were green and wide. He surveyed the man with interest, like the man did to him. The child looked to be almost afraid. The man didn't want him to feel nervous, or threatened, so he began to speak.
"Hello son," He said energetically. "Tell me, is this the Curtis residence?"
The boy tilted his head to the side. "It is." He said.
The man smiled even wider. "Do you have an older brother? Named Darrel?"
"Yes." He said quietly.
"Are you the littlest one? Or the middle?" Asked the man.
"The youngest." Said Ponyboy. He didn't like being called little.
The man's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes. Ponyboy Curtis. Is that your name?"
Ponyboy looked slightly taken aback. He had never seen this man in his entire life. "Yeah, that's my name." He said to the man. Ponyboy gulped, and seemed to be thinking about something. "Can I help you with something? Would – would you like to come in?"
"I would." Said the man cheerfully. He tipped his hat at the boy and walked over the threshold. The man looked like he had tried his very best to look nice for his little visit to the poor side of Tulsa. He had on a travelers styled hat, and nice pants with leather shoes. His shirt was white and buttoned down, with a vest over the top. The Curtis child stepped back a couple of steps. He left the door open and did not offer the man a seat. The man didn't mind. He wasn't here for the little kid exactly. It was nice to meet him, but he had a bigger mission in store.
Ponyboy leaned against the couch. "What can I help you with, Sir?" He asked politely. The man beamed and held out his hand. Ponyboy reached forward and shook.
"Sorry I didn't properly introduce myself first. I'm just pretty excited, but nervous at the same time. You see, I've been searching all over the goddamn country for my boy. I lost him years and years ago when he ran away from me in New York. It was my fault that he left, I know. But I've gotten a lot of help in the last few years, and I've left my wife, who always made me so depressed. I took it out on my boy, and I shouldn't have. I'm here to make things right. I was reading a letter that he sent me at least five years ago. I had stuffed it in my pocket, having hardly even read it. But I found it again a few weeks ago, and it had this address on it. I talked to some people, and figured out that he had been staying here at this house with your family. Is Dallas here? I'm James Winston, his father."
The boy's face grew steadily paler as the man, or James, rambled. By the time Ponyboy had finally been told the man's name, he looked like he was about to faint. James began to look concerned and reached out a hand to steady the kid.
"You okay, Son? I haven't scared you or anything, have I? Maybe this is the wrong house – " said James. Ponyboy shook his head.
"Dally – Dally isn't here anymore."
James' worried expression melted away with a look of delight. "Dally? Is that what you called my boy? Dally. That's nice. You're good friends then, yes? Is he just staying somewhere else? I promise I ain't here to hurt him. Honest, kid, I mean it. Don't be thinking I'm gonna do anything to him. I just need to – "
"Sir – " Said Ponyboy, cutting James off. The boy's big eyes were glassy with tears. "Oh, Sir – Dallas is – Dally is – "
James' eyes dimmed a little. "He's left, then? To be expected. He is eighteen. See?" He looked a little proud. "I know my boy's age. I've done my research."
Tears started escaping Ponyboy's eyes and running down his cheeks. He brushed them away hastily. The man smiled softly.
"I'll bet you miss having him here. He's a good friend to you, isn't he? But he stops by and sees you all, doesn't he? I'm pretty sure I was told that he was still here in the city."
"Sir, please." Ponyboy said again. It was taking all his willpower not to just start sobbing. He was white as a sheet. "Dally is dead."
It was as if the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. James' smile froze strangely on his face, but fell rapidly after a couple of seconds. His face fell into one of horror. He started to shake.
"No," He whispered. "That can't be true. It isn't true. He's eighteen, like I just said. He can't be dead."
"He's dead," whispered Ponyboy. He backed further, but was stopped by the couch. "He was shot, by the cops – "
"That can't be!" screamed James. Ponyboy gripped the couch, leaning away from the man. "He can't be dead! You are lying! You filthy, sketchy hood! Don't lie to me! Don't try and hid him from me!" James grabbed the tops of Ponyboy's arms and began shaking him. "I know I made some mistakes, but I've come to make it right! Tell me where he is!"
"He isn't here!" Ponyboy cried. "I'm not lying!" He tried to pull himself away from James, who looked crazed and murderous. "Let me go!"
At that moment, a young man walked through the door. He didn't need to open it, so neither James nor Ponyboy noticed him come in. But when Darrel Curtis saw a man screaming in his youngest brother's face, he made himself known.
"Who the hell are you? Let him go!" He roared. In a swift movement he crossed over to Ponyboy and ripped him from James' grip. James collapsed to the ground, shaking with heartbreaking sobs. Darry held Ponyboy by the shoulders and maneuvered him so the kid was shielded behind his oldest brother. Ponyboy peeked out around Darry and watched James sob hysterically.
"It isn't true, it isn't true, it isn't true." He repeated over and over to himself shrilly. Darry turned to Ponyboy and wiped a tear falling down his kid brother's face.
"Are you okay, little buddy?" Darry asked gently. Ponyboy nodded. "Who is he?" said Darry gesturing with his eyes to James.
"He's Dallas' father." Darry's mouth dropped open. "I just – I just told him that Dally's – that he's – "
"I get it, baby." said Darry, not wanting Pony to have to say that Dally was dead aloud. Ponyboy nodded gratefully. He stepped away from Darry and walked over to James warily. Darry tried to grab his arm, but thought better of it. He just followed behind Pony instead, keeping one hand always on his shoulder. Ponyboy knelt down in front of James, who looked up at the boy. His eyes were clouded over and crestfallen. Pony was sorry for him.
"How – how long?" asked James thickly.
"Has he been gone? A little over a year." Ponyboy answered. James let out a little moan of despair. He seized handfuls of his own hair and doubled over. Pony looked up at Darry, who was still standing.
"My Dallas," James cried. "Oh my son. How – what happened to him? You – you said he was shot?"
Now Darry knelt down too, not wanting Ponyboy to have to answer that particular question. "Yes he was shot. By the police. He – he robbed a grocery store. The cops caught up with him, and he pointed a heater at them. It wasn't loaded, but they didn't know that. It – "
"Why did he rob a damn grocery store? Why did he point a gun at a cop? Didn't he know that would get him killed? Damn fool!"
"Dallas wasn't a fool," said Ponyboy quietly, speaking up. "He wanted a die. A friend of ours, and his had died earlier that night. It was too much for him. He wanted to be dead, and Dallas Winston always got what he wanted. There were so many bullets, that he was dead before he hit the ground. He didn't suffer."
James gulped. "Stupid boy. Oh, listen to me. That's what I would always call him when he lived with me. A stupid, good-for-nothing boy. And now look what I've done. I've killed my own kid." And he broke into fresh sobs. Darry held tightly onto Ponyboy, wanting to scoop him up and run him away from the deranged man. But Ponyboy was firmly planted on the floor, and Darry couldn't move for pain.
"Who told you that he was still here, in Tulsa?" asked Ponyboy calmly. What a dirty trick.
"I – I asked someone over the phone who works for the state if she had any records of Dallas Winston. She told me that he was at this address," He pulled a little blue piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Darry. "But he had usually stayed with you guys. The gal said if I wanted any personal information on him, to come here and talk to you all."
Darry stared down at the address on the slip of paper, his face sad. He handed it back to James, who somehow looked a little bit hopeful. Like everything was a mistake and if me drove to where the piece of paper said, he would find his hood of a son.
"That's the cemetery where he's buried. Oak Heights is what it is called, and 113 is his gravestone number." Darry's hands shook and James stared at him imploringly.
"Oh," He said dejectedly. "His – his grave – dear God – "
"We're sorry, Mr. Winston." said Ponyboy meekly.
James swallowed his tears and collected himself the best he could. He got up off the ground and straightened out his nice shirt and hat. Darry hauled Ponyboy to his feet and put his arm over him.
"I'll have to go and see that for myself then." said James softly, staring at the floor. Ponyboy wiped away more tears.
"What he a good boy?" asked James almost desperately. "I mean, I know he was a bit of a delinquent, but past all the judgments, was he a nice kid?"
"He was," Darry said. "He was tough and level-headed and smart. He loved our gang. The gang being me, Soda, my other brother, Pony here, Steve, Two-Bit, and Johnny. He loved Johnny the best, and he is the one that passed away."
James nodded mutely. Ponyboy gasped. "Wait here." He told Darry and James. He bolted into his room and could be heard rummaging through his drawers. He came back out and handed three papers to Mr. Winston.
"This is a picture of Johnny and Dally. Don't worry, I've got two of them. So you can keep this one. This is a letter he wrote Johnny a while ago. I'm not even supposed to have found it, but I think Dallas left it on our couch or something, because I found it in one of our cushions a few months ago. He never even gave it to Johnny. He was probably too embarrassed." Pony took a deep breath. "You keep it, it was never meant to be mine. And this is a newspaper article about Dally. He helped me and Johnny save some kids from a burning church. He saved my life, and pulled Johnny out after the building collapsed. He was – he was a hero." Ponyboy's throat constricted as he gave over the article. Darry had a copy of the paper too, so he wouldn't be missing that. It wasn't like he really wanted it anyways.
James looked at the three items like they were gold. He ran his finger over the picture of Dally carefully. He began to survey the house obsessively. He was probably thinking something like, Dallas was in this room. I bet he walked through that door. I bet he sat at that table. I bet he slept on that couch. I bet he laughed in here, spoke in here. Darry took Pony's hand and James looked to them hungrily, almost jealously. Because Pony was close to Darry, and that was all James wanted. Someone to love.
James cleared his throat gruffly, his one spark of joy and hope put out. His mask came back up at the news of Dallas Winston's year-long murder. He held out his hand to Darry and shook. He patted Ponyboy on the head and muttered a "thanks" to him, which was an understatement. The items that Ponyboy had given to James Winston would stay in his pocket until the day he died.
OooOoo
A half hour later, James walked through the gates of the cemetery where his late son was buried. It took him a little while, but he finally found slot number 113. The gravestone was heavy gray stone, saying:
Dallas James Winston
Born November 9, 1948
Died October 12, 1965
A Hero in our Hearts
He placed the small wreath of flowers that he had bought from the drugstore on his son's grave. Here he was. Well, the remains were at least. Here was the boy he had driven from his own life, and ruined. He hadn't been able to pull himself together fast enough to save his only child. Dallas died young and he died not knowing how much his father wanted him.
To avoid crying again, James took the letter that the little kid named Ponyboy had given him out of his pocket. Being careful not to tear or crinkle it at all, he unfolded it and began to read.
Dear Johnny,
Okay, kid, I've been meaning to write you this letter for a long time now. Ever since those Socs jumped you, you've been more nervous than ever. I've just gotta get some things off of my chest, and if you show this letter to anyone, I swear I'll brain you.
All-right, that was a lie. I could never hurt you Johnny. That's kinda what this letter is about. It's about me – no it's about you. Oh blast it all. I'm the worst writer ever. Maybe if my daddy would have kept me in school, I'd be able to tell you what I want to say. But I shouldn't be blaming him for everything. He did try with me, or at least, I think he did. Plus, you don't blame your no-good folks for anything, so why should I? I don't care about them anymore. But you do Johnny, and I want you to – no I wish you could – shit, I'm so bad at this. You're a great kid Johnnycake. Don't let anyone tear you down. I let my folks tear me down, and I made myself so past feeling that if my old man ever did try and talk to me, I'd just shunt him away. And ain't no Socs ever gonna do anything to you again Johnny. I'll help you out if you ever need it. I promise. You're my best friend Johnny. We're buddies, we are.
Lov – Your Friend,
Dally Winston
James smiled crookedly. Well, so much for not crying again. It was a relief, he decided, that even after all the crap Dallas did, he was still able to live his life with a little bit of love. Even if it was just a little bit, it was something for James to grasp onto, and hope that Dallas had experienced some true happiness.
Review.
-learning