*
"Steve did it."
Sure, he is only eight at the time, but Ponyboy Curtis knows what he's doing. When his mother asked him who had wasted the glass of milk, he had immediately said, "Steve" when in fact it had been Two-Bit. Money was tight and a wasted glass of milk was something to frown on.
Ponyboy – despite his youth – is already familiar with the greaser code. Steve doesn't rat out Two-Bit; he takes Mrs. Curtis's soft scolding with a solemn face and bowed head. Only, the next time Steve gets Ponyboy alone he locks him in the garage next to Darry's baseball cards and his father's old newspapers.
Ponyboy spends six hours locked in that garage pondering just how much he hates Sodapop's best friend Steve Randle.
They spend the next ten years duking it out.
*
"Sure, mama. I understand."
His mother gives him a small smile and pats the couch cushions. She wipes at her wet eyes. Ponyboy goes to sit next to her.
"Are you sure, baby?" she asks, showing him the piece of paper his has just given her. The piece of paper she'll keep buried in her sock drawer. The piece of paper Darry Curtis will find a year later and keep it clenched to him like a life preserver.
Ponyboy takes it back, turning it over in his hands. He honestly doesn't get it; what has made his mother so emotional. He wrote it a week ago, in his room while Soda complained about school and his ever-sinking interest in Penny Dunlop. He didn't have to think – he just picked up a pen and wrote a story about his family. At the time, Laura Curtis catches a glimpse of her youngest son. His innocence, his goodness; his light and his dark.
"I think so," Pony responds.
"Oh, Pony." Laura takes her son's writing and folds it into her palm. "You just don't know."
"What, mama?"
Again, she smiles, her teeth white and straight. "How smart you are."
*
"Your mom doesn't mean it. Your dad neither. They don't mean what they say, Johnny."
Ponyboy tries to reassure his friend. Johnny raises an eyebrow but is kind and says nothing.
If Ponyboy knew what he would come to know, he would have yelled at Johnny to run and not look back. But Ponyboy doesn't quite grasp what is happening in Johnny's home life. Yet.
All he knows at the moment is that his friend doesn't look quite as alive as he used to and he shakes at the slightest touch.
*
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Sure you are."
Ponyboy Curtis stares Dallas Winston straight in the eyes. "No. I'm not." His stomach churns anxiously. Dally has just climbed through Ponyboy's bedroom window. Police sirens sound in the distance, his knuckles cut and bruised. Pony's parents are gone for the evening, while Soda and Darry are playing a card game in the living room.
"I almost believed ya, kid." He looks at Ponyboy who's eyeing his cut knuckles and the bedroom door. "Go ahead, holler for your brothers."
"I ain't…" Ponyboy repeats for some reason he doesn't know. But he doesn't yell.
Dallas sits down across from him. He takes a drag on his smoke. "You're scared of me now. But one day you won't be."
*
"I hate Darry."
Ponyboy says this to his father and instantly feels ashamed. Because he doesn't hate his brother; he hates what his brother has done. He's just turned 11 and Darry won't let him fight. Everyone had been there, in the field next to the abandoned baseball stadium – Tim, Curly, Steve, Dallas, Two-Bit and Sodapop – when Darry tells Ponyboy to get home, get gone. Pony tries to argue his case but Darry will have none of it. He raises his voice and tells him it's no place for a kid. No one objects with Darry.
Pony looks to Soda for help, but Soda only gives him a small smile. Steve's smile on the other hand is smug, satisfactory.
As he trudges away, his face burns with embarrassment and Ponyboy knows he'll never walk away from a fight again. He can prove it to Darry. He can prove it to everyone.
"I hate Darry," he repeats to his father, in a softer tone; his eyes wet.
His father grabs a wrench and points it at his youngest. "No you don't, son." He gives Ponyboy a grin that belongs to Sodapop. "You'll thank him one day."
And his father is right.
*
It'll be ok. It'll be ok. It'll be ok.
Pony feels as if his heart will burst in his chest. Because they really can't be gone and he really won't be ok. He sees Sodapop crying and this makes Ponyboy dig his fists into his eyes once more. The cop edges into a corner, waiting for the waterworks to shut off.
Only Darry stands strong, watching them like a hawk. He doesn't cry and Pony is both amazed and fearful of him at the same time.
*
"It's nice to meet you."
He's polite, like Darry's told him to be. But his voice comes out as a whisper.
The social worker gives him a doubtful glance and returns to questioning Darry. Ponyboy moves closer to Sodapop, clenching his book in his hands. "They're gonna take us away," he tells his brother. Soda shushes him and in whispered tones begins telling Pony about the night he and Steve had with Evie and Sandy.
Darry, knowing what Soda is telling their youngest brother, keeps shooting Sodapop warning glances. Soda ignores it and keeps taking. Ponyboy tries to listen but can't; his eyes still on Mrs. Peterson – the social worker from CPS.
Pony decides that if she makes a move, he's running for it. She can't catch him. Nobody can.
*
"It's ok. I didn't expect anything different."
But foolishly, he had held out hope. Pony thought that somehow something had shifted within their universe.
Because like two different people who once share the same moment, Ponyboy believed she'd at least acknowledge him. That she'd have the decency to say hi.
She looks hurt at his words and leans against the locker. "Oh good." She runs a hand through her red hair. "Because I didn't want you to—"
"Don't worry," Pony cuts in. "I know what side we're on."
Cherry chews at her lip.
*
"Dallas went to hell."
Darry looks up in surprise, his face white. "What did you say?"
"Dally went to hell," Ponyboy informs his brother, opening the screen door and coming out onto the porch. "He's dead. And that where he went."
"You don't believe that." Darry grapples with what to say, struggling to wrap his mind around what his brother has just said.
"I do."
Pony's confused.
It's six months later and Soda's got Sandy's letter and Ponyboy's finished his theme but he's not finished with Dallas Winston. Pony's sadness has morphed to anger as he has started to wonder just why Dallas went up in a blaze of…stupidity. Gave it all up for selfish reasons, for another life.
This eats at Ponyboy. Johnny didn't have a choice, Dallas did. Pony's face burns and he avoids his brother's eyes.
"Oh, kiddo." Darry reaches an arm out.
*
"I feel fine, Two-Bit."
"I don't believe you."
His friend presses a hand against his forehead and Ponyboy pulls back. "Knock it off."
Two-Bit rolls his eyes. "Touchy ain't ya, kid?" But Two-Bit's voice carries a warning.
"I'm fine," Pony reiterates. It's not an entire lie; it's more of an omission, because he does feel fine. There's just a burning in his chest but he figures it's the smokes and makes a mental note to cut back. Also, he hates it. Hates being the youngest and feeling everyone's eyes on him.
So Ponyboy reminds Two-Bit about the Blonde they've seen at the diner and Two-Bit's off in dreamland.
Then, there's the cough that won't go away. Darry confiscates his smokes, yelling at him, while dumping the white sticks into the toilet. He flushes them, with Steve looking on regretfully. Ponyboy yells right back reminding his brother he hasn't had a cigarette in two weeks. The lie sticks on his tongue. It's hard quitting; easier to lie about it.
A week later, they're in the backyard. It's fall and the timing's just right for a BBQ and a game of football. It's Sodapop and Ponyboy on one side and Darry and Steve on the other. Two-Bit opts for the beer and sits on the porch. Ponyboy muses at their low numbers while thinking that Johnny would've been on their side and Dallas with Steve and Darry. He takes a short breath, rubbing his chest as Soda throws out the first pass.
It's 14 to 7 – Darry and Steve on top. Darry grins at his brothers and readies his muscles. He clasps the football between his hands, warming it up for the throw. "I ain't getting any younger, Dar!" Soda shouts with impatience. Darry grins again.
Right as Darry pulls his arm back for the throw, Ponyboy coughs into his palms. It's a heavy, strangling cough. He draws his hands away from his face as Darry releases the ball. On each palm are two red globs of blood.
Ponyboy misses the ball. "Um, Darry…" he says, holding up his hands.
Darry blanches.
"I knew it!" Two-Bit hollers, jumping over the porch railing. He grabs the kid's arm.
The ride to the hospital is hell. Two-Bit crows about how Ponyboy Curtis should never be trusted on anything health related. Darry curses and tells their friend to shut the hell up. Ponyboy's silent, trying to keep from coughing. Trying to keep the blood in.
It's pneumonia. Pony doesn't know how he got it but he never lights up again. Not once.
*
"You don't know what you're talking about, Steve."
Ponyboy cracks his soda and takes a sip, worrying that Steve has some sort of insight he doesn't. Ponyboy wants Steve to be wrong…but he also wants to see what happens if he's right.
"Yeah, I do. It's always the quiet ones." Steve grins. "There's gonna be no Darry around…no curfew…you'll be twenty minutes away." He taps the windshield wiper in his hand. "You're gonna go nuts."
"Shut up, Steve," Soda snaps. It's abrupt and Pony and Steve both turn to him. "I don't want you filling his head with your shit." Soda's face lightens and he smiles at Ponyboy. "You'll be fine, kiddo."
"I'll bet you." Steve eyes Ponyboy. "I'll bet you twenty bucks you go wild when you get to college."
Ponyboy shakes on it.
*
"School's…fine."
Soda knows him too well. "You're lyin."
Ponyboy tightens his grip on the phone. "It's ok…"
What he really means to say is that he hates it in the dorm. It was his choice really, thinking that if he's staying in Tulsa for college the least he can do is put some distance between them by living in the dorm. The scholarship covered it.
He misses his brothers; but Soda's rented an apartment with Steve and Pony doesn't want to cramp Darry's style. He's alone for once and probably likes it that way.
Pony also hates being surrounded by unknowns, by being in a world his world isn't familiar with. His classes are dull, the only thing interesting him is the school paper and even the editors turn up their nose at a 17 year-old-freshman.
"You can move back home with Darry," Sodapop says, his voice soft. In the background, Pony can hear Two-Bit and Steve arguing about something.
Ponyboy rubs his hair. "Nah. He wouldn't want me there anyway."
Sodapop laughs, long and hard. "That's what you think. Our room is always free."
A slow smile spreads across Pony's face. "He just doesn't know who to boss around anymore."
The laughter is gone from Soda's voice. "Darry misses you," Soda tells him. "He's miserable."
*
"It looks good, Dar. It really does."
Darry stands before him, beaming. Ponyboy's eyes flick to Sodapop and Sodapop drops his head, trying to hide a smile.
Darry looks like a mountain man. In the few weeks that Pony's been away at college, Darry's taken to growing a wild beard; if Pony thought he was intimidating before…well…a grizzly bear ain't got nothing on Darry Curtis.
*
"What're you talking about?"
"My, my, my…Ponyboy Curtis is all grown up."
"You're cracked, man." Pony ignores his friend's intense stare. "I have no idea what the hell you mean."
"You know good and well what I mean." Two-Bit rubs his hands together, sitting back in his folding chair. "I can tell."
"Knock it off." Ponyboy blushes, his ears burning. "Just shut up, Two-Bit." The oddest conversation is about to happen and Pony thanks his lucky stars Darry isn't here. Unfortunately, the other two are.
"What's going on?" Sodapop asks, approaching with the bait.
Two-Bit reels in his fishing pole and re-casts. "Pony got laid."
Soda smiles Cheshire-cat style. He looks at his brother. "Is that so?"
Pony just shakes his head, smiling through his embarrassment. He tries to clear his mind and not think about her. But it doesn't happen and he feels his face flush again.
Steve raises an eyebrow. "Really?"
Unable to help himself, Ponyboy snorts, "Oh yeah, like it's that hard to believe."
Steve shrugs. "I gotta tell ya kid, I had my doubts."
Ponyboy's ready for it. "Yeah, funny. That's what Evie told me about you."
Steve's face turns about as red as Ponyboy's. Two-Bit screams with laughter, Sodapop nearly drops the bait. He looks at his youngest brother with a mixture of pride and nostalgia. "I guess college came in handy after all," Soda says.
*
"I don't have a problem."
"Bull."
Pony knows his eyes are glassy so he lowers his face. "I don't."
"They're not aspirin," Soda growls. "You're out of it, Pone."
"I'm fine." Pony crosses his arms.
"You haven't been home for three months. You haven't been fine for a long time." Soda hisses. "You're acting like a goddamn zombie."
Ponyboy says nothing. Soda leans closer. "You're lucky I'm here." At this, Ponyboy raises his head. "Darry was gonna clobber your ass, drag it home and lock it up. Is that what you want?"
Pony can't help it; his leg is bouncing, his heart is pumping. He jumps up and begins pacing. His voice comes out jumbled. "I don't know Soda, I don't know what I want, I'm failing school and I hate it. The only thing I'm passing is English Lit and even that's a joke. I can't write and I've never wanted a damned smoke so much in my life. But I'm trying because I know Darry never got a chance and I don't want to ruin it and I just—"
His brother's face fells him. Soda's brown eyes are darker than Pony's ever seen them. "I just can't do it," Pony finishes.
Soda places his hands on his knees and takes a breath. "What are you on?" His voice is low.
Pony reaches into his desk drawer, withdraws the bottle his friend's roommate has given him and hands it to Soda. Soda's fingers curl around it as he reads the label. Ponyboy sees Soda's jaw jump.
"I don't like you right now, Ponyboy," his brother says, eyes still on the label.
Ponyboy's guts churn. He hadn't meant for this to happen. The pills were supposed to give him energy, make him give a damn, not shut him down. "I'm sorry," Pony says, feeling lame.
Soda looks at him. "I know you are." He stands up. "You're gonna be a whole lot sorrier when Darry gets through with you."
*
"I can't believe you won."
Six months later, Ponyboy gives Steve his twenty bucks. Steve pockets it with a smug grin. "I thought you'd forgotten."
"How could I?" Ponyboy grumbles. "You never shut up." He glances briefly behind him as Darry files out of the house with his girlfriend Carol. They're holding hands and pause to kiss on the steps. Two-Bit mimics throwing up and dodges Darry's swat. Soda flips the burgers, chatting with Two-Bit's sister.
Steve, following Pony's gaze, says, "It took you a while…but I knew you'd combust."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Hey," Steve hands Pony a beer from the cooler. He's trying to keep the softness from his eyes, steady the relief beneath his voice. "I knew you'd combust, but I knew you'd get back up again. You're like a cockroach; you just keep coming back."
Ponyboy smiles at Steve's words. He pops the beer's lid. "Yeah, I do."
*
"It's a small assignment. Nothing to get worked up about."
Pony is thrilled. He made it onto the paper and six-months in has just been handed an actual story. He's not covering the weather or the University's budget – he has an honest-to-god story.
"That's great, Pone," Darry says, handing him a plate filled with spaghetti. "What's the topic?"
"The rising homeless population in Tulsa. It's a human interest piece…or something like that…" Pony takes a small bite of the pasta. It's not Darry's recipe but Carol's. It's good and he takes another bite. "It's not a big deal."
Darry rolls his eyes. "So it's a hippie story?"
Carol laughs and brushes her blonde hair away from her face. She's young and pretty, blonde and sweet. But best of all, she can make Darry blush and stammer unlike anyone else.
Ponyboy rolls his own eyes. Darry's not a fan of the peace and love movement. Pony can make do with the way it is but doesn't have strong feelings one way or the other. "Hey," Pony says, twirling spaghetti around his fork. "It's a story and I ain't complainin'.
*
"My hands never shake."
But Ponyboy's voice does.
The man gives Ponyboy a doubtful glance. "Are you sure?" he asks again. "Because the nightman says that shaking hands are evil. Evil Weavil."
Pony keeps the carefree smile on his face, willing his ever-loving hands to keep steady, to not rock the boat. Because he knows they will before too long and give him away. He lifts them up and shows them to the homeless man with the wild hair. "See?"
The man takes a swig of his beer, splashing some on the front of Pony's shirt. "Youse comin around here to laugh at us. The nightman tells me that."
Backed up against the wall, Pony swallows. This guy has to be messed up in the head or on something, he thinks. He searches the alley for Paul – his partner on the assignment – but Paul's nowhere to be found.
"I'm not trying to do anything," Pony ventures. "Except listen. Whatever you tell me, I'll listen. That's what I'm here for." Instinctively, his hands move to his pockets, feeling around for his notebook and a pen.
Then, the oddest thing happens.
"Ok," the guy says, unveiling a silver knitting needle from his sleeve. He waves it as if it's a wand. The sharp end glitters in the moonlight. Ponyboy watches with a peculiar sort of curiosity as the guy twirls the knitting needle in the air. There's a sharp flash as it comes down.
"Hey!" Pony exclaims as the guy stabs the needle towards his belly. The long needle juts inside, its coolness now warm. It comes back out, only to sink in again, dull and numb. Pony's insides turn to liquid as he feels the wet pooling beneath his shirt. He slumps against the wall, sinking down to sit on the cool cement. The needle is still sticking out of his stomach. Pony leaves it in. Removing it seems just as painful.
The man laughs and sits down across from him.
Pony stays still for five minutes, gathering strength and then leaves the man behind him. He finds the nearest pay phone, fishes a dime from his pocket and dials the number ingrained into his head since he was a child.
"Darry," he says, when his brother answers. "Can you call 911?"
Darry hollers something and Ponyboy tells his brother where he is. Then, Two-Bit is on the line, trying to keep him talking. "Two-Bit," he tells his friend. "If I go out by way of a knitting needle, I'll be mighty pissed."
*
"I'm ready, Dar. I swear I am."
"Yeah, just like you swore this damned assignment wasn't a big deal?"
"Are you still mad about that?" Pony's effort to play casual doesn't have the desired effect.
Darry's face goes white and then red. "Am I—? Am I still mad? I can't believe you're asking me that." Angry, Darry grabs Pony duffel bag, slamming the front door open and stalking off.
Pony's hand flutters to the tender spot on his stomach. He doesn't feel ready to go back to school but knows he has to. It's a stifling ache, waiting for his drive to write to return. Ponyboy never would have thought a knitting needle was mightier than the pen.
He wishes Sodapop were here to help him but Soda's gone.
He and Steve took off to California for a month. "Don't tell him," Pony had begged Darry from the hospital room. Darry kept his head buried in his hands as Pony argued with him. "He'll just come home."
Knowing it's important to the both of them that Soda experience something other than Tulsa, Darry had raised his head, his eyes tired. "Fine. But when he starts yelling at me, I'm sending him after you."
Two-Bit approaches from behind and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Well kid, you really know how to clear a room."
"I guess it's a bad time to tell him I'm not quitting the paper," Pony says.
"Yeah." Two-Bit sighs. "I'd keep that nugget of information to yourself."
Pony goes back to school and finally picks up a pen again. He writes with fervor and throws himself into the game. Darry calls every evening to check up on him. Two-Bit swings by; a six-pack in one hand, a girlie magazine in the other.
One night there's a knock at the door. Ponyboy glances at his calendar, knowing who the visitor is.
Sodapop, his hair bleached by the sun, his skin tan, props himself up in the doorway. His eyes brush over his brother's thin frame. "I can't believe you didn't tell me," Soda says, shaking. "I can't goddamn believe you."
*
"It ain't that good."
Pony shifts as Sodapop gives him a look. "Are you kidding me?" Soda says. "It's great."
Pony smiles and watches as Sodapop turns the page. Soda – the brother who can't sit still for a movie or church – is nearly finished with Pony's rough draft.
Pony can't help it; he knows his story is good. He can feel it. When he had written it he didn't pause to think or criticize. He just wrote. Ten hours a day for 6 months; forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep. Admitting this scares him. He doesn't want to jinx it – the what could be.
So, he takes the story back from a grinning Sodapop. When Darry comes into the room, Ponyboy hands it to him.
*
Please review. You'll see similar themes throughout each person's little one-shot…some themes are just in my head and they have to be. Thanks for reading. Pardon any typos.