Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders x
"Dally? That you?"
You look up at me and smile a tired kinda smile.
Why are ya smilin,' you punk? You don't look good, kid.
The nurses told me an' I didn't fuckin' believe 'em. I told them where they could stick it. They don't know shit.
They don't kno–
I graze my tongue over a lip and move to sit down. I hate hospitals. They're worse than the joint with all those sack of shit cops swinging their nightsticks around like they're in a damn brothel.
But your room is the most hateful cell I've ever been in.
"Yeah, it's me, Johnnycake."
"Why are you—"
"I'm goin' down to the rumble. Those boys ain't fightin' without me."
"Oh."
You sigh out.
"We're gonna teach those socs a lesson. I—We're doin' it for you, you know? You and Pony."
"I know."
But you don't smile. You just stare straight ahead at the wall like none of this shit means anything to you.
"I ain't…doin' so well, Dally."
I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat. I've been doin' that for years but it ain't ever been this hard.
"Don't talk like that, kid."
"I need to see Ponyboy. I'm getting' worse."
Then fight, you punk. Fuckin' fight. Put your fists out in front of you and start swinging.
I feel sweat beating down my forehead.
Hell. Come on, kid! Don't just stare into a damn abyss.
This is your fault, you know that? You gotta clean all this shit up 'cause it's your fuckin' fault.
"Why'd you do it, huh?"
My wrath comes so suddenly, you whip your eyes towards me. Your face is so pale and desperate that for a second I think I'm gonna hurl right there, lookin' at you.
"Are you…mad at me, Dal?"
Yeah, I'm mad, kid. What the hell were you thinkin' runnin' in that church like some kind of patron saint of burnin' little shitheads?
You and Pony and your bright ideas.
"Hell, Johnny, It's just–why'd you go and do somethin' that stupid, huh? What the hell were you tryin' to prove?"
You hesitate as your eyes move towards my arm.
"Dal, your arm…"
"Is fan-fuckin-tastic. Now answer me"
I don't really want an answer from you, 'cause there ain't an explanation that could make me stomach this pile of shit we're all seeped in.
But asking is the only thing I can do right now.
You clench your teeth as a wave of pain burns through you.
And then you get that look on your face –the one where you're really thinking about something. You know: your eyebrows furrow, your mouth clenches, your eyes glaze over like you're witnessing Jesus come to earth or some shit.
"I killed that boy."
Good. If he clawed his way outta hell and stood right here in front of me, I'd kill him all over again.
"I know nothin' can fix that, Dally, it's just..."
You take a deep breath, and force the words outta yourself.
"Savin' those kids, I dunno. It felt good. I felt good for the first time in my life, like I had a purpose 'stead of just existin.'" And how does it feel now?
"I wanted to do something worthwhile, for once in my life. Somethin,' I dunno, everyone could be proud of, Dally. Somethin' brave."I clench my hand and feel the blood drain from my knuckles.
"What, so you decide to run into a burnin' building like some kinda action hero? I was callin' out for you and Pony, an' you two still ran in there. Why the hell didn't you hear me? Glory, kid!
I bang a fist into the table next to your bed, wishing it was somebody's skull.
You flinch and your eyes shut on instinct. Years of anticipating blows from daddy dearest, I reckon.
It felt good?
Fuck you. Fuck you, Johnny.
I musta been crazy, kid. I musta been fuckin' crazy for not wantin' you to get tough like me. 'Cause now…
You open your eyes again and lock your gaze onto mine like you can will me to understand the bullshit coming out of your mouth.
"Listen, Dal, at first I was just runnin' after Ponyboy. I guess he ran in there 'cause he felt responsible for the whole mess. It was our cigarettes, you know? That's who he is, Dal. He's a real tuff kid, but he gets an idea in his head an' he don't think it through. I wanted to help him. Like…like that night in the park….I just wasn't really sure of it until I looked at him tryin' to bust down them wood panels…"
You cough slightly. I run a hand through my hair and bite my bottom lip.
"All of a sudden I remembered the book he was readin' me that week. It was burnin' in there. The heroes in it rode into sure death because they were gallant…I-they…"
You exhale.
"They reminded me of you."
Your breath hitches slightly and you struggle to keep your eyes open.
Me? Jesus, kid. You gotta be shittin' me.
"I thought that…I dunno, Dal.. that I could be a little more like you."
I run a hand over my face, but I can't find any words for you, Johnny.
"I think 'bout 'em, you know? All those times I wished I could be more like you. Like that time Two-Bit smashed in them school windows an' you took the hit for him without hesitatin'. I stood there an' I panicked. But you just took it, cause you can. You can always take it, Dal. I wanted to be able to do that….And I did."
I don't blink.
"I ran in there an' felt like I'd been holdin' in my breath for 16 years an' I finally got the guts to send it outta me."
Johnny...
"For once, it felt real good to be alive."
I blink.
xxx
I blink.
Shit.
I blink again.
But you're still leanin' in the door frame with your eyes locked on the floor. There's blood gushin' out your temple. Your lip is bruised to hell. Your hands are shakin' and you can't steady 'em. You don't even try too.
You're worse than I've seen you in a long time.
"Johnny?"
You don't make a sound. You just trudge forward like you got two boulders tied to your ankles dragging you back to that shithole while you keep trying to push forward.
I get up and walk towards you, seething and still half asleep. We've been through this before, you and I, but somehow it's different this time.
I'm itching, kid, itching to crack open your old man's skull with the back end of a hammer.
"What did the ol' bastard use on you? Was it a beer bottle again? Or did he get creative?"
But you're still not talking. You've never been much for talking. It's one of the things I like about you. Only right now, it's making me uneasy. I hate feeling uneasy. There's no control in it. It's one of those useless feelings that are better off dead in a ditch somewhere.
I move towards you and you back away on reflex.
Trickles of your blood hit the floor.
Then you look up at me, and I swear, kid, for a split second, it's the creepiest fuckin' thing, 'cause it's like I'm staring at your ghost.
I've seen that look on your face before, in New York before I landed myself in Hicktown, USA surrounded by a bunch of drunk Okies.
xxx
See, there was this kid in Brooklyn who used to prowl the streets at night, trying to earn a penny any way he could. His dad was a deadbeat gambler who didn't give a shit whether his kid ate or slept. His mother…well, it don't matter, does it?
Point is, he was always hungry and restless. He had this stinging fucking itch in the pit of his stomach he could never scratch, and that's no way for a ten year old kid to be.
Usually, he'd steal from beggars who were too drunk to try and run after him. Sometimes, he'd be lookout for some big, tough guys who robbed convenient stores with a barrel pressed to some stiff's head. They'd throw the kid some change afterwards. He started running with those guys. Better than starving, right?
But one night the tough guys figured a skinny little kid who knew those streets and tenements better than his own face would draw less heat for the stunt they were about to pull. Get this, they wanted him to push a little smack on some prostitutes on 5th avenue. Now, it wasn't some Cartel level shit the kid was dealing with here, but he was still was scared, lemme tell ya. Only, he wouldn't let it show. He learned to never let it show.
Now this is when the shitfest starts.
See, some bigger, older, tougher guys weren't too keen on a bunch of JDs and hoods pushing smack in their territory. They got hold of the kid and tried to beat some names outta him. Kid wouldn't budge. Too proud, even then. But he was small enough that he managed to cut loose out of the guy's grip and escape before they could break his skin. He ran like hell. He didn't stop till he found those other guys again–the ones he ran with. Only, now this is funny, kid, only, they fucking beat on him too cause he lost all the dope trying to save himself and all their ungrateful asses.
Fucking pussies.
They told him they didn't wanna see his face until he paid up for fucking up. He was just a patsy. One of them belted him so hard, the kid collapsed face first into a puddle. All he could do was sit there, cold, hungry, busted ribs and swollen eyes. He sat there for a long while until he finally picked himself up and walked into a nearby tenement. Place was a real shithole, but his house was an even bigger shithole, so, silver lining, right? Kid sulked in there, a hand on his smarting rib, and he tried every door until one opened. See, people in crack housing like that are usually higher than a kite and desperate as hell. And desperate makes for dumb. So, he opened the door cautiously, cause, kid, you never know what kinda crazy you're gonna find when you open up one of them doors, and he peered around for a second before realizing it belonged to some addict sack of shit who was passed out on the couch with an elastic tube tied around his arm. So, he shuffled into the bathroom without a second thought. He needed to clean himself up and find something to eat in the sack of shit's fridge.
He stood over the sink as the blood seeping down his temple started to drip onto the cracked porcelain. When he looked up into the dirty mirror, he paused for a second to get a good look at his face. He wanted to see the damage for himself. Only, a second turned into a long minute. He couldn't peel his eyes away. Point is, after a while the kid swore he was staring at someone else.
You know, Johnny, when you say a word over and over again in your head and it stops sounding like a real word.
You oughta try it sometime.
Shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shit. shi–
Right?
Well, it was kind of the same thing with the kid. See, he kept staring at himself until he only saw a ghost—a ghost of a hungry, cold, little shithead with one too many scars.
It was the first time he ever felt that living on the streets was worse than not living at all.
xxx
"You ever think, Dal, that everyone'd be better off if…"
"No, Johnny."
No, you hear me?
You're still looking up at me with that haunted look on your face, the one the kid had.
"I think everyone would. Maybe I'd be too…"
I pull you roughly towards the bed and shut the door.
"So this is why you came here instead of the Curtis' or Two-Bit's, huh? To fuck with me 'cause you think I get it?"
I shake my head and light up a cigarette.
I hold it out for you, but your hand is still trembling.
"Listen, no one's better off. So quit talkin' like that before I wise up and throw your ass out."
You know I won't. I never have.
And it ain't 'cause I'm some bleeding heart sentimentalist that sees some pure part of myself in you. There ain't no pure part of me left, kid. The truth is, I recognize the ugliness, and in some sick, selfish way, I'm glad I ain't alone.
Only, I also wanna protect you from it.
See, the kind of ugliness that you and me have seen rots you from the inside. I don't want you to rot, Johnny. You wouldn't wear its symptoms as well as I do, 'cause, we ain't built alike, even if some of our scars are the same.
"Don't you ever want it to end, Dally. All this shit? Don't you ever just want...to end?"
If you were trying to get under my skin, kid, you did a bang up job of it, but I try not to let it show.
I take a puff from the cancer stick.
"And make the fuzz's job easier? Fuck, no."
"Who would even care if…"
"The boys would. They couldn't get along without you, hell, you know that."
I hand you a clean shirt and a towel, but you just stare at the floor like it's gonna suck you into a void.
"My folks would be better off. Mom wouldn't even notice…"
My blood goes colder.
"Jesus Christ, Johnny! Smarten up! You gonna quit 'cause of those sons of bitches? Listen, you say the word and I'll—"
"No!"
You whip your head around and meet my glare.
"No…don't, Dally. Just…"
You stare up towards the ceiling for what feels like a goddamn lifetime.
Then something in you finally sinks, sinking me along too.
"It's just…sometimes, I think that livin' in that house is worse than not livin' at all."
xxx
I don't tell you about New York, because things change, Johnny.
That kid? He doesn't think about not living anymore. That weak ass, starving, desperate kid staring into the mirror like an idiot? He grew up. Went to prison. Got cut up. Got wise and mean and tough. He learned that living is a fight, and you know the score, Johnny. You never back down from a fight. You smirk, clench your fist and you start swinging at the bitch.
Hell, the kid knows he's gonna die someday, but it'll be on his own terms.
One day, he's gonna make death his bitch too, but until then, he'll fight.
xxx
I chuck the cigarette into an ashtray and grab you by the collar, forcing you to squint up at me.
"You gotta toughen up, Johnny."
I bring the towel up to your temple and plug in the bleeding.
"Like you?"
"No, not like me. You're nothin' like me, kid. You don't wanna be like me."
The sound of your chuckle breaks my focus. It's so out of place in that room I almost forget you're still bleeding.
"What the fuck is so funny?"
You stare with a smirk on your face I can't place.
"What? Don't leave me hangin' here, kid."
You push my hand away from your temple and wipe at the blood with your sleeve.
"Maybe we ain't the same, Dally. I ain't ever been as tough as you, no matter how much I wanna be, but..."
You look down at your sneakers. You're quiet for a minute, and I know it's 'cause you're hesitatin' to answer me.
"But, what, kid?"
You look up at me with nauseating desperation.
"We're both alone in this world."
For a second it's like someone cut off my air supply.
"We got friends. We got families. But we're orphans, Dally. We're…we're orphans."
Oh, shit, kid, so you see the same ugliness in the both of us too.
xxx
The nurse walks in as I try to steady my breathing.
"Time for your—"
"Get the fuck out."
"Pardon me?"
"Dal—"
"I said, Get. The. Fuck. Out."
I don't even look at her, but I hear her huff and wheel around down the hallway.
Now's not the fuckin' time, lady.
"Dally…she's only tryin' to help."
Your voice is nearly a whisper.
I don't say anything.
For a while I don't know what to say. I'm lost in my own head like Pony with all his pansy books. I half expect to hear Darry's voice telling me to get my head out my ass.
Maybe it's that thought that shakes me outta New York, outta Buck's, and back into the hospital room.
My eyes scan your IV bag. Then your burns. Then you.
Only, there's something in your eyes that strikes me in the gut like a two by four. I didn't wanna see it before, but it's been there since I walked into your room.
You're trying not to let it show, but you can't hide it from me, Johnny.
I know you, kid. I don't spend much time looking in mirrors anymore, so I know your face better than my own.
You're letting go. You're fuckin' letting go.
I grimace. Every part of my anatomy feels like it's sinking into an ice bath.
I can't stop myself from shaking.
"This is what you wanted, huh? This is what you wanted all along."
"What?" Your voice is a croak. Mine's a poisonous hiss.
"You remember, don't you, that day you came to me, beat to hell by your old man? You said you wanted to be six feet under. I tried to shrug it off as a bluff, kid. But here we fuckin' are at your funeral!"
My words sting you. You're choking on them as you try to respond.
"I was only trying—"
Say it. I dare you.
No? I'll say it for you then.
"To do what you thought I would want you to do?"
I smile a cutting sort of smile.
"To be like me?"
Your lips clench, and you look away, but I'm ready to let you have it, kid. You gotta hear it. You gotta hear it from the asshole himself. You can shut your eyes, but I'm not letting you shut your ears, Johnny.
"You were trying to be like me, huh? But Guess what? I ain't ever tried to be a hero, Johnny. Not even when I ran in there to get you."
"Dally—"
"No, kid. No. Shut up. Don't you get it? You were the one tryin' to be a hero. I wasn't."
I shake my head manically. I would have let those little shits burn.
"I fuckin' wasn't. I don't want to be anyone but the motherfucker I am!"
I'm selfish, Johnny. It's the only way I've ever known how to be. It's the only way to survive. I learned that while crumpled under a streetlight in New York.
Don't look at me like that, kid.
Don't look at me like you don't believe me. You've always recognized the ugliness in me too. You saw it that night you came to me, bleeding and desperate. You saw it from the first moment you met me. And the messed up part is you see it in yourself, in some twisted, fucked up way.
Only, there's nothing beyond my ugliness. Not anymore. So don't try to look past it now.
You think I get it, kid. And I do. But you don't. You keep wanting to see something in me that you think oughta be there. But it isn't. It won't ever be. I ain't you.
"But you saved me, Dally."
Oh, you stupid punk. Don't you see?
My eyes are crazed and I smile so wide you flinch.
"I saved you for me."
I fuckin' saved you for me, you hear? You ran in for Ponyboy. You ran in for those kids. You ran in to nail yourself to a fuckin' cross that spells out 'hero' in bright fuckin neon letters. But me, kid? I only ran in for you. So leavin' me now would be the shittiest fuckin' thank you in the history of mankind.
You close your eyes and tremble. I wipe the sweat from my brow.
It's almost 7.
The fight's not done.