He was the kind of kid you just wanted to scoop up and protect, or shelter under your wing. He was so tragic, so deliciously tragic. Johnny Cade. Small for 16, nearly frail, his shoulder blades poking at the thin material of his soft T-shirts, jeans hanging low on slim hips. Even when he was more or less okay his eyes were wide and scared and so dark.
You wanted to protect him, or maybe hurt him more, because he was hurt, you could see that in his eyes and in all the bruises on him, in the scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone. He'd been hurt bad sometime, and not just once.
You wanted to analyze him, endlessly analyze him. His parents were alcoholics, his parents neglected him, his father beat him, his mother yelled at him. Why did he stay? And it wasn't a nice and cuddly gang he was a part of, not if you really understood. Dallas was a criminal. Two-bit was a thief. Everyone fought, sometimes with knives and tire irons and pipes, sometimes with just their fists, even Johnny fought. He fought socs on the streets with his friends and he fought in rumbles and he probably didn't like it much, it probably scared him but he had to. Don't you see? He had to.
They caught him once, the socs. He was alone and his guard was down and it was the afternoon and he was in his own neighborhood but still, they caught him. It wasn't fair because they had a car, they had a mustang. They were drunk, and Johnny knew that when people were drunk, like his old man, he knew that you didn't stand a chance. It was four to one and they caught him and beat him unconscious. Blood splattered on his white T-shirt. No one knows what they said, but it was bad enough to make Johnny cry and he doesn't cry very easily. Ponyboy once saw him take a whipping with a two by four and not let out a whimper.
That was it, though. That would be the last beating. Not the last fight, no, not in that neighborhood. Not the last time his old man hit him, that was different, because somewhere in Johnny's heart he probably felt that he deserved that. But that would be the last beating. He carried the switchblade after that. If he was cornered again someone would die.
He was so quiet. Never said a word. He was jumpy and anxious and a nervous wreck. He flinched from sudden movements. He looked at you with his head down and his eyes looking up. He didn't steal, he didn't even lie, but he might not have had a firm grasp of the truth. What did he think behind those dark frightened eyes? Did he think he was worthless because everyone, his whole life, treated him like he was worthless? Everyone except the gang. His parents, teachers, the socs, all ignored him or abused him. His sole support system was made up of six kids who could barely take care of themselves. How were they supposed to take care of him? Dallas was most likely a sociopath, or at the very least had sociopath tendencies. Dallas was very violent and acted without conscience and without remorse. Johnny was the only thing he seemed to care about at all. Ponyboy, Darry, and Soda were consumed with grief over the death of their parents. Two-bit and Steve, well, they had their own issues.
As far as girls went he might not have had the self confidence to even approach a girl. He was shy to the point of being withdrawn. Ponyboy said they thought they were doing good if they could get him to talk at all. He was damaged. How deep did the abuse and neglect by his parents run? That might have been worse than the beating by the socs. It had been going on for longer, and Johnny needed the love and support of his family. He didn't expect anything but violence from the socs.
He started smoking at age nine. Nine! What kind of parents let a nine year old smoke? So he's nine, and he probably hasn't eaten enough, and he's wearing hand me down salvation army clothes, and his parents are fighting again. And he gets hit again. So he takes off, again. And there's nothing to do and no one is around because all the normal people are home eating supper instead of wondering if they're gonna get a shiner from where their old man hit them, and he can feel his stomach twisting in on itself in hunger. And he looks around at all the run down houses and the scraggly lawns with broken toys and broken cars, and he sees paint chipping off of all the houses. So he smokes, he knows how, he's seen it enough. And the first drag does nothing and the second makes him cough and he throws that cigarette away but it happens again, same scenario. He's hungry, his parents fight and his old man beats him, just with his belt but Johnny can feel the sting of it and he's embarrassed and he wants to love his parents but he hates them. Or they're just ignoring him, he comes and goes and they don't notice at all, and he goes outside and smokes again and this time he pulls it slightly into his lungs and gets a nicotine buzz and for just a second, one tiny second, he feels a little bit better.