"Damnit," I swore as Ponyboy disappeared from sight. I whirled around and let the screen door slap closed as I stepped past Sodapop. Running my hand through my hair I sighed. All I wanted tonight was to go to sleep and sleep in the next day because I don't have work. Then, Pony didn't make curfew, showed up hours late claiming he had been asleep in the lot, basically asking some Soc's to mess with him, and he doesn't even see why I'm mad at him; I swear the kid can be so thick sometimes. Fed up with every time he's said he forgot or that he didn't mean to, all the mistakes he doesn't bother to fix while I'm working my ass off trying to keep he and Soda out of a boys' home, I hit him.
In that moment, I wasn't his guardian. I wasn't the responsible, hard-working, adult older brother who held his custody and, in extension, his future. When I shoved him- sending him reeling backwards past the table and almost against the wall- I was twelve again with an annoying little brother who followed me around and always bugged me to play with him. I was young enough to still tackle him and not get in trouble for being immature. When I hit him, it was the kind of hit that a brother gave a brother when they got in a fight. It had managed to slip my mind, in that moment, that it wasn't like that anymore. I couldn't push him around and all be forgiven because I was the adult now, and adults don't hit kids.
"Darry," Soda started lowly. He wasn't happy with me; hell, I wasn't happy with me. God knows Pony isn't. I couldn't get his eyes out of my thoughts, the way they were surprised, then hurt, then scared. He was scared of me like he should be scared of Soc's. I didn't mean to scare him. I didn't mean to hurt him.
"Shit, I know, Soda, I know," I said irritably actually sounding pretty miserable. I didn't know what to do.
I'm twenty; I should be off at college partying and playing football, hanging around with new people, getting out of this stupid town for once and for all. I'm not though, and I won't ever be thanks to the night my parents died, thanks to the morals they bred in me, thanks to the look on my brothers' faces when a social worker showed up saying that if I didn't try for custody, they'd be sent to a boys' home. I kicked the recliner in a surge of anger and bitterness, "Dammit!" I yelled. I wasn't meant to do this; this was a job for a parent. If Mom and Dad were alive, I never would have hit Pony, and he would still be here; I'd be off at college while he grew up the right way, not this shitty life I'm giving the three of us. I can't help it, though.
Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened if I had let the state place them in a new home. I didn't let my mind explore the possibilities, though. The boys deserved to live here at home just like I did.
"Do we follow him?" Sodapop asked uncertainly. Lord, do I wish I knew what we were supposed to do. I shrugged.
"He'll come back soon, right? Maybe he just needs some time to cool down," I suggested. Soda nodded and eased down back onto the couch.
I sat back down in the recliner. This is where we stayed for the second time that night waiting for our little brother to get home. Only this time, instead of yelling, instead of getting angry, instead of losing my temper, I would grab him in a bear hug and not let go until I felt like he would understand that I didn't mean it. I probably wouldn't apologize but I would hope he'd just know. I'd rest my chin on top of his head and hold him tight. Brothers aren't usually so affectionate, but I'm not just the brother anymore. I'm the parent, and I can't ever let myself forget it again.