Today I was thinking about the father I never remembered all too well. The strange man holding me tenderly next to my mother, in the black and white photo, on my bedroom shelf.
Admiration, curiosity, and green eyes are the two of us.
I hope you all enjoy.
-Kylelover101
Title: A Father's Warmth
Summary: Loosing a parent is hard for a child. The days become unbearable and nighttime is worse.
Rating: T
Dad. . . .
Ponyboy Curtis tossed and turned on his side of the bed, occasionally giving out a shutter, wrapping the blankets around him tightly. Memories flooded his head and began mumbling nonsense to the darkness of the room.
Pony started sweating, whimpering in pain.
Dad. . .
In his mind, angles of all sorts of colors of red, came whizzing at him and a white noise of hatred screamed in his ear as he tried to run away from whatever was happening to him. Whatever was going on, he didn't like it. He ran as fast as his legs could run but the noise, the god-awful noise, he covered his ears.
It wasn't long until he felt as if we were being chased.
Daddy!
". . . My boy."
The noise stopped and Pony felt himself lurch forward, an arm wrapped around his stomach area, holding him. He felt his knees go weak and allowed his body to go limp as the comatose feeling of floating, relief and not-caring came to his whole body, washing away fear.
"My little boy. . . "
Although no noise was to be heard, he still kept his eyes shut. He kept his hands over his eyes like a small, frightened child.
"Ponyboy, my Pony."
Tenderly, a large pair of hands were placed on his shoulders. They were strong hands, worker's hands, the calloused, thick hands he used to hold so long ago. They were always warm.
Ponyboy bit his lip before removing his own hands to be placed in the larger ones. He still didn't open his eyes however.
With his hands in the larger pair, he felt both thumbs crease over the tops of his own. A gentle, loving gesture that was always given to him when he asked for advice, a question, or simply sat next to him watching TV, driving in the truck or just before bedtime.
They moved from his own to his shoulders. The hands were large enough to grip his whole shoulder, like Darry's could. They sometimes would, as a sign of 'I'm proud of you' or 'it'll be okay'.
The hands moved upwards to cup his face and feel his jaw, the fingers traced along his cheeks.
"You've grown so much, little one. Grew up on me, eh? heh, heh."
Pony gulped, licking his lip. That voice, the deep, comforting voice that always whispered in his ear telling him everything would be okay after a nightmare, falling off his bike, when those kids picked on him and he ran home crying. Pony was brought in closer till he was wrapped in strong arms close to his chest. He could hear breathing, the occasional hitch and-
Pony heard a heartbeat.
Slowly, tenderly, he opened his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of blue flannel and a hand cupping his face still. Dare he look up? Dare he see the face? He didn't understand why he just couldn't look up.
"You're becoming a man, Ponyboy. You look so grown up."
No. He didn't want to. He didn't want to be reminded of the Father he lost, he wanted to remember the smiling father that tucked him into bed the night he and his mother left for the evening, he decided. Pony closed his eyes, snuggling deeper into the hold.
Darrel Curtis stroked Pony's hair, creasing behind his ear, trickling his neck, his back. Pony's shoulders were more broad, he had some muscle on him. His baby boy wasn't a tiny little thing that could wear his wedding ring as a bracelet in the hospital, he wasn't the boy that came running to him crying of a scraped knee, he wasn't the boy that would ask him questions such as: 'why is the sky blue?', 'why can't I see wind?' and his personal favorite: 'when will I be big like you?'.
Darrel regretted not spending as much time as he would have liked with his youngest; taking him fishing, hunting, playing football. He wanted to teach Pony what it would be like to be a man. But he would have to leave that up to Pony's older brothers while he watched from above.
". . . Pony. . . I am so sorry. It's all my fault."
It was his fault, he knew it. He shouldn't have been driving so late at night, in pitch black. He should have let Soda look at his breaks on his car. He should have, he should have. . .
Pony felt the body begin to face and his eyes snapped open.
Darrel was gone and he was awake in bed.
While trying to process what had just happened to him, Soda stuck his head into the door way, smiling. "Rise and Shine, Pony. Time to eat breakfast."
". . . Yeah, okay."
Soda frowned, "You okay, buddy?"
"Yeah, still tired."
"Well, hurry. My pancakes are disappearing fast."
Soda left, leaving Pony to his thoughts.
". . . You don't know what disappearing really is." he never heard Pony mumble.
Later on in his dreams, Ponyboy sees Darrel from afar. His back is always turned to him, almost in shame. Pony tries to run to him, but before he can get Darrel to turn, he awakes; almost as if he is in infamy of what to say. What his dad said to him, about this whole situation being his fault, did he agree?
He did tell Soda nothing was wrong with the car, he was driving late at night and roads were icy.
No, Pony told himself, he didn't agree with his father. It was an accident. Nothing more.
"Wha'cha thinking about, kiddo?" Pony didn't look up, hearing it was Darry.
Pony shook his head. "Nothing." I can't even look at him! He looks like Dad! Too much like Dad! Darry bit his lip, "You getting enough sleep, Ponyboy? You look tired and it's only seven-thirty."
"Just a little."
"Well, want any help?"
No! Stay away from me! "No thank you, I got it."
"Lights out at nine, you're going to bed early to get more sleep, okay baby?"
You're not my father. You just look like him. Who are you to tell me what to do?
". . . Okay."
Pony was convinced that he wasn't dreaming, nor was he having a nightmare. He didn't know what to call this. A meeting? A hallucination?
Darrel was sitting on a bench fit for two this dream and Pony was allowed to walk towards him and sit next to him. The two didn't look at each other and Pony felt like he was a million miles away from the man he was sitting just beside to. They gazed at the scene around them, a deep, deep sea blue atmosphere with an occasional twinkle of starlight off in the distance.
Was this heaven? No. Purgatory? Maybe.
"Soda. . . " Darrel says, finally. "Soda looks so much like your mother."
Ponyboy felt slightly angry. Five dreams of silence and being far away from the man and the first thing he says is something about Soda?
"I've noticed Darry has gotten bigger, if possible. He still roofs houses. Tell him not to carry two bundles, he'll break his back."
He talked about Soda and Darry. Pony kept his mouth clamped shut. Not one word about him.
"Why am I not important?" Pony asks. It's the first thing he's said in all of his dreams. Darrel turned to look at his son, Pony has yet to look at him, more or less talk to him.
"You are important, you're my little boy." Why couldn't Pony see that?
"Not important enough, I guess." Didn't Pony remember being swung around in his arms? Didn't Pony remember all the games they played, all the truck drives into the country where they pointed out barns, horses and cows? Didn't Pony remember how much Darrel loved him?
Pony folded his hands together, gazing at the twinkling stars bellow him. Darrel was always gone. He came home tired, he left for work tired and what time he was alive and kicking, was spent helping Darry do homework, making sure Soda didn't fail a test, or playing football with the older kids because Two-bit was home alone, Steve's dad yelled at him and Johnny's dad hit him.
He'd ruffle Pony's hair and tell him he could play when he was older.
Darrel got laid off of work when he was older and could play football. Darrel was working longer hours at his new job, the money was great, but his absence was ruining the bond. Then Darry became old enough to work and started working with Darrel, spending more time with him. Soda became interested in cars, working outside on the car with Darrel, being with him all afternoon.
Ponyboy was stuck being the same dumb-little-tag-along-kid that was occasionally seen by Darrel.
Ponyboy felt ignored.
". . . Ponyboy, do you know that I was the first to hold you?" Darrel spoke, "Your mother went into an early labor and I got to deliver you. You were so small, you nearly fit into the palm of my hand. I got to hold you, me."
Pony had enough, he was tired of feeling angry, than guilty. "Fine than!"
He stood up, turning around and for once, seeing his father's face. God, Darry looked just like him! Darrel actually looked a little older than Pony remembered and had whiskers.
"Fine, I'll be just like them then! I'll fix cars, roof houses, and work till I die! I won't write, I won't draw I won't simply be me because that's what it takes for you to notice and be proud of me!"
Darrel's expression wasn't one of shock, or fear, no, it was one of sorrow and shame.
"I'll be just like them, because you adore Soda and Darry, don't you? You take them out back, play football, show them how to drive, how to be a man! I apparently was too small, wasn't I? Dad."
Pony's breathing was rapid and he felt his arms shake with anger. All of this coming out at once, confusing him and simply making him feel like crap.
He came to realize that he was nothing more than a little brat competing with his brothers for his father's attention.
"Pony. . . " Darrel put his hand on Pony's shoulder. Pony may not remember most of the good times Darrel did. But he did however remember the abandonment, the sheltered truth of just what kind of man he was.
"It's too much, Ponyboy. It's just not right."
Pony was silent, listening.
"It was wrong of me to not include you like I did Darry and Soda. It was horrible of me to not do a lot of things I should have done." Darrel wanted to cry. His son would grow into a livid man if he didn't hurry up. "I apologize for that. But you can't hold on to this angry, Ponyboy."
Pony's eyes softened.
"You may never forget what I did, but you have to forgive me. Please. I don't want you to be an angry, bitter man who thought I didn't love you. I love you just the way you are."
A little boy running to him with paint all over his fingers, clothes and happy smile, racing to Daddy, to show him a picture he drew at school.
A little boy crying at the edge of his bed from a nightmare and needed Dad's strong hugs to chase them away.
A man who needed to know he was appreciated and wanted from his Father.
Ponyboy felt a lump in his throat. Tears bean to roll off his face and he sobbed into the hug Darrel wrapped him in. This time, Pony hugged back.
"You're so smart, thoughtful, and I wouldn't trade you for the world. You're my son. You always will be. You're becoming a man, and I was the first one to hold you."
". . . . I love you, Daddy."
Darrel faded away and Ponyboy woke up.
Ponyboy Curtis, now a man, waited outside the room. He was waiting, while his wife slept away from the aftermath of birth. When he was given permittion to go inside, he felt strange, almost scared. He was excited and anxious.
He was led by a nurse to the side of a small bed that held his first son.
"Hi." Pony's voice was raspy. He reached down and picked up the small bundle of joy in his arms. "Hello there."
The baby whimpered and Pony shushed him, calming him. "I'm your Daddy." Pony's heart swelled with pride when the baby opened his eyes to reveal a nice blue color, but Pony knew they'd change. His wife had brown eyes and he remained with his greenish-grey eyes, they'd change, to what, Pony didn't know.
This was his first child, he was the first to hold him.
"You're my son." Pony whispered, kissing the baby's forehead. ". . . and I'm the first one to hold you."
The baby yawned while Pony held him.
"You're my Stallion." Pony liked the name. His son, much like him, was a strong colt. Fighting to stay alive. "You're my little boy."
Stallion yawned, sleepy from his father's hushed whispered.
". . . and you always will be. I love you, my son."
Review please.
-Kylelover101.