Disclaimer: I do not own the "Outsiders" characters. Nor do I own the song for which this story is named after.

Author's Note: I would love to thank Pearl Primrose for beta-reading this for me.


The house was quieter than normal. Not real lonesome, just quiet.

I looked out at my empty street. Rain had began to pelt the windows about ten minutes before. I was real glad that my father was at work at York's Lumber Yard (For All Your Building's Needs! the sign read) and my mother was at a friend's house playing Bridge with a few other girl friends. Though how she got those friends, I'll never figure out. She wasn't all that friendly to me.

Maybe she had the same sort of charm that Dal had that kept Sylvia coming back again and again, even after girl after girl or cooler stint after cooler stint.

It was chilly in my house. The rain's noise made it kind of lonely, real fast, once I started thinking too much about it. I think I'd take the lonesomeness over my parents almost any old day, though.

There were a few good days here and there. Dad would be a little less irritable, so I wouldn't get a clout over my head. Mom would ask me where I was going when I opened the front door, and I'd tell her that I was going "just around." But there was always bad days, too. I wasn't about to forget getting my legs and ass beat with a broken-off broom handle. That had hurt a load the next few days. I wasn't about to go forgetting that. Not at all.

I walked up to the staticky, grainy TV and turned it on; just about any company was good company. Then I turned the dial that controlled the channels. I settled on The Andy Griffith Show. Andy was just great.

His face was strong, and it appeared to have had worried enough already. My dad's younger pictures sort of looked like Andy, but there was less worry and more general displeasure. Andy's face was warmer. Sometimes, I could close my eyes, and imagine fishing with Andy at his secret spot on the lake. He knew where all the good spots were, and this one was the best. He'd found it when he was a kid. I wondered if he thought taking me, his own kid, to a place that was so old was funny. I thought it great, homey, sort of.

I really liked ol' Andy. He seemed like a cop that was actually a nice guy. And that little town of his seemed like a perfect town - small, friendly. Part of me was tempted to look at a map of North Carolina and see if there actually was a Mayberry. I really wanted there to be one, because I wanted to visit it. Hell, I think I wanted to live there.

I would live there, and I'd find a girl. She wouldn't be greasy at all. She'd be soft, and like to cook. The Mayberry Girl wouldn't swear or smoke. She'd wear pretty dresses that felt soft. The girl would look bashful if I leaned in for a goodnight kiss on her sweet, soft cheek.

Mayberry is pure country, I tell you. Sweet and flowery and quiet country. It seemed like the perfect place to be.

The episode was wrapping up already - an old lady had sold Barney a lemon. Brother, was that guy a boob. Andy had to tell him damn near everything.

As I walked over to the window, the floor creaked. I knew just when it would creak and how loud the creak would be every time. I knew my house like I knew the opening tune to Andy. Knowing my house that well was a feat, considering I spent my share of nights in the lot or on a couch at Two-Bit Mathews's or the Curtis' house.

Parting the drapes, I saw down the street, to the left a few houses, a person was walking. When it got a house closer, I saw that it was a girl. When it got two houses closer, I saw that it was Carolyn Codie.

She was born in June, she said, and that's why it was her middle name.

Her hair had changed, I noticed. It was supposed to be a just-fine brown, but now it was a bright but dark-at-the-same-time red. I saw from here that it was curlier than usual from the rain that had now slowed down to a drizzle. She needed to run a comb through her hair before she went to the restaurant. I guess she looked presentable enough, though. Just enough.

Carolyn let out at a slow jog. Her hair was bumping against her chest nicely. She looked paler than usual, like she was upset. It was funny to see her that color. Most of the time she's got a little bit of warm sun on her face.

She was already in her waitress get-up. It was getting damp, and if the stories about her boss that she told me were true, he'd not be too happy. Her boss - Mr. Kanter or Kanton, I think - was a little strict on his girls. He only had waitresses, and Carolyn told me he had some of the most customers in town.

I jumped about a foot in the air when I heard a knock at the door.

"Who the hell is it?" I called, hoping I'd achieved the right sort of authority in my voice, through the wood. There was a stamp of a foot. Someone was angry, I gathered. It could be someone I may not want to tangle with. I'd do it though, if they hung around too much longer. I'd show them. "Who?"

"It's me, Johnny! Let me in!" she called. Relief, I tell you. Unadulterated relief.

I jerked the door open, and saw Carolyn. She looked a little more than frustrated, and a lot more than worried.

"So, what's Barney and Andy been up to?" she asked with a grin on her lips as she eyed the television.

I burst right into a re-telling of the episode: "An old bag sold Barney a bad car, and Andy knew better - as usual. Then Barney finally figured it out. Blah, blah, blah. You know the rest," I said.

She smiled again. "You bet I do, Johnny." I had forgotten how much she liked the show, too. Once I heard her going on and on about how much of a doll she thought the guy who played Jim Lyndsey was to a girl friend of hers.

It got real quiet. A thought donned on me. "Carolyn, why'd you need in here so badly? Ain't you supposed to be at work already?"

Carolyn lightly hit her forehead with the heel of her palm. "Yeah, I sure as hell do. Do you mind if I change into my normal clothes here? I don't wanna go to work with a sopping-wet uniform. Kanton'll be mad," she said. There was a thick wrinkle of worry creasing her forehead.


I slipped inside Carolyn's place of work, unnoticed. My eyes found her quickly. She was talking to a few of her girl friends. I knew one of the names: Lisa King. Carolyn talked about her a little; she said she had the prettiest hands she'd ever seen. An argument burst into my throat, but I had bit it back, and let her continue.

She was speaking animatedly to the three other girls. I couldn't tell if she was happy or not. One of them glanced at the clock hanging on the ferociously nauseating pink wall opposite of me. They retreated into the back where a door blocked the customers' view. A moment later, Mr. Kanton stepped out from a corner where he'd been eating his lunch. He was mumbling words under his breath, hiding his frustration from the diners. I watched him stand, wait.

Nine minutes passed - I had watched the second-hand's rotations around the clock face - before Carolyn, Lisa King, and two other girls stepped back into the common area. Their boss stepped straight for them, ushered them into the back.

"He gives us a goddamn ten-minute break twice a day!" she exclaimed as we sat in school the next day. Her face was flushed. I imagined what she'd look like with a cigarette between her pointer and index fingers or her lips. I debated whether I liked what my thoughts came up with or not.

"Why was he so angry, though," I said. Usually, I didn't mind her complaints about work, but today, I wanted her to talk about something else, anything else. A heavy sigh came from her side of the desk, and I glanced at her from the corners of my eyes.

"He says we took the break a few minutes before we should've and we didn't clear it with him first." I nodded. I thought about a vein in Kanton's head pulsing, his face read, him scaring Carolyn. My interest peaked. "I kinda forgot about that rule," she murmured.

My mouth struggled to keep quiet. "Try not to forget next time," I blurted, regretting it immediatly. Her mouth seemed to curl in on itself. For just a second, I could see what Carolyn Codie would look like when she was a forty-year-old, had three kids but one drowned when he was three, and married to a guy with red eyes. I blinked away the forty-year-old, and saw her again as a youth.

The bell rang, and I jumped up. She left, as well. Walking faster than usual, she shook me off.


I nodded enthusiastically. For a moment, I glanced down to see exactly how wet her waitress-dress had gotten. The damage wasn't too bad. It'd be good to not get it any wetter, though.

"Yeah. . . . Uh, down the hall, last door to your left - that'll be my room," I said. My forefinger pointed in the general direction she should start in, though it was a pointless gesture. I watched her - mostly her hips - walk down the hall, and I heard my door squeak as she shut it.

I stood in front of the television and began watching an episode of Bonanza. A second later I took a step back, and sat down on my old, lumpy, springy couch.

My hand gave a small, minute twitch. It would've gone almost-unnoticed, but my glass of milk crashed to the hard, cold floor.

Milk splattered on my stocking-covered feet and the bottom of the sofa.

I jumped up real fast and crossed the small living room to the hallway. The small towel-closet was just inside the small bathroom.

A tiny yelp escaped my thin lips. I shut them down tight. I could barely breathe. A sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach made me think I was going to blow chunks all over the hallway. . . . Dad sure wouldn't like that.

Apparently, the tongue of my doorknob hadn't clicked entirely shut. My door stood open a little more than a foot. That damn knob hardly ever shut on the first try. It was old and needed to be replaced.

Carolyn was standing just a foot or two in front of my bed, back turned to me. Her back was bare, though.

All she had on were her underthings.