Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders.
You look down at the newspaper in front of yourself, an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach. How was it possible?
It was only last week that you and Cherry were sitting at the drive-in together, talking with Johnny Cade and Ponyboy Curtis, and being harassed by Dallas Winston.
But now both Johnny Cade and Dallas Winston are dead.
A cool sensation moves down your spine as you remember the two greasers who were in your company that night. The dark-haired boy, Johnny . . . he was so timid, so quiet, yet it was he who had sent the towheaded, rude hoodlum, Dallas, away.
And it had been Johnny, who you had mistakenly assumed to be only fourteen years old, that had killed Bob Sheldon later that very same night.
It was something you couldn't wrap your head around.
All three of them were gone.
Perhaps if you and Cherry had found your seats later that night, you wouldn't have met the three greasers, or maybe, if Bob and Randy hadn't decided to get drunk, the four of you could have stayed together.
Maybe if none of you had decided to go to the movies that night . . . maybe, just maybe, none of the events that had taken place would have occurred.
But everything has a domino effect, doesn't it?
You remember the rusty-haired, comical greaser, too. What was his name again? Two-Bit? You were sure that was it.
You had given him your number, but he had never bothered to call.
Probably never would have, either. You must have been out of your mind to give it to him in the first place.
You thought the rumble would finally settle things between the Socs and the greasers, but it hadn't, and now two more boys were dead.
You hadn't seen Cherry since you'd found out about Bob; you couldn't bear to look at her, to see the dead expression in her green eyes that were once fiery and alive.
You knew she had been helping the greasers, keeping them up to date on what the Socs were planning, and you knew that she was getting answers through your boyfriend, Randy.
He wanted out as much as you did.
There's a sickening consciousness surrounding you, and you suddenly feel faint as you recall your words to Two-Bit that night.
It was only a week ago . . .
You remember Bob, and Johnny, and Dallas. You remember the look in Cherry's eyes as she told Dallas Winston off. She could have fallen in love with him that night had he stayed longer and acted more decent.
You didn't understand what she saw in him, but you knew she couldn't love him for him, but rather for the idea of him.
It was the same thing with Bob. There was something magnetic about the two boys, both alike and unlike at the same time, that made you want to follow them.
But now they were gone.
You swallow your feelings, shoving your thoughts aside. You don't want to think about it anymore; there was nothing you could do anyway.
With a grim expression, you drop the newspaper in the trash and wipe your eyes.
After all, wasn't it you who had said that if he gets killed or something, you just bury him, no sweat?
You hadn't realized it was meant for three people, though.
Funny how things have a domino effect like that.