Title: Measure of a Man
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Drama and Angst
Disclaimer: We obviously don't own the characters of The Outsiders, and we certainly don't own Clay Aiken or the rights to his CD or the title of his song/CD. We're just borrowing it, because it fits. All we own is the idea, the plot, and anything or anyone else who might just pop up now and then.
A/N: Hey everyone. This is a new story from both Alli and Keira. There isn't a whole lot to say at this point except that this one is going to be a doosy. It'll be long and it'll be heart wrenching, just to forewarn you. No girls in this one, isn't that a relief? Lol. Anyway, um, yeah...enjoy it because we've had fun planning it!
-- Keira and Alli
~*~
(Darry's POV)
From the time the mail came, I was busy. I don't know if I've ever had a more stressful day. First it was this line at this building, then another across town. They kept sending me to different places and I just wanted it to be over with. When I finished running all the errands and settling things, a deep disappointment had settled on me. How could this be happening? I made my way home through the lunch hour traffic and paced the front room till it drove me crazy.
After that, I spent the entire day cleaning the house till I couldn't clean any longer. The constant thoughts running through my mind kept me from any kind of relaxation. The thought of telling Pony this was weighing on me heavily, and staying still seemed to make it worse. It was going to break him, he wouldn't do too well. So, because I couldn't keep still I kept cleaning, trying to concentrate on scrubbing the floors and walls so I didn't think of the look on his face.
It was hours of cleaning, first it started with just picking things up, but soon it was scrubbing the floors, dusting, washing walls, straightening pictures, cleaning windows, washing dishes, and anything else I could think of. By the time I was finished it was like we had a full time maid employed. It wasn't half bad. I hoped it stayed like that for awhile. At least until our visitors had come and gone.
It seemed like forever before Pony walked in from school, and by that time, I was working on the bills. They would have to be done within the next week, or there would be hell to pay.
"Hi, Darry," he sighed and threw his backpack on the floor near the couch. He watched it bounce a few feet then came over near the kitchen to find something to eat like he did everyday. He had this new routine, but I could tell something was irking him. He was really readable these days. "What're you doing?"
"Bills," I responded, scribbling a few more numbers on a scratch piece of paper before putting it down. "What's going on?"
He ignored me for a few minutes while he dug out some bread and lunch meat. His coach was always on his back about keeping up his weight and strength for the next season. Ever since he made the football team last fall he had gained a good thirty or forty pounds in muscle and his confidence had boosted quite a bit. He was having fewer encounters with the Socs and was making more friends with them. He was always telling Soda and me that he never wanted to consider himself a Soc or anything like them. He was too much of a greaser at heart to want that. I told him I would be more than happy for him to go in that direction, although at this point in his life it didn't seem very likely. I was proud of him, not because he was playing football, but because he had done a spectacular job of moving on from the events of the last few years and was focusing more on what he could do to make himself more well liked at school.
He closed the refrigerator door with his foot and moved over to the counter. "You know Mr. Dalstup decided to throw a pop test at us today? Not a pop *quiz* a pop *test*. What the hell is with that?" He always had something to say about that teacher. From what I've gathered he's a pretty selfish prick, but there wasn't much you could do about that.
"He didn't tell you about it?"
"No!" He unscrewed the mustard jar. "Fuckin' bastard wanted to know how well we've been paying attention."
"And how did you do?"
"How do you think? I've been absent the last three days," – he had been out with the stomach flu – "how the hell do you think I did?" He scraped some mustard onto a slice of bread and finished making his sandwich. He took the fixings back to the fridge and pulled out some leftover pork chops. "It's the first of the semester too. This is the only thing on my grade. Coach is going to bench me."
"Well, it's a good thing it's off season, huh?" I almost smiled when his face changed from angry to one of dawning realization and then back to smoldering. I felt bad that he was upset and that his teacher had punished him for something that wasn't his fault, but at that moment it was the least of my worries. He wasn't going to have to worry about it either, come a while. Nope, he wasn't going to be concerned with any of that come a few weeks. None of it.
"Still... My GPA is crap now because of it." He came and sat down across from me at the table. He knew how little I liked him eating anywhere else, especially when the house was freshly cleaned. He was taking in the sight of it all, even going as far as to run his finger along the window sill behind him. It came up clean. "How come it's clean in here?"
"Because," I looked back down at the bills, "houses are supposed to be clean."
"And...?"
"And because we might have some social workers coming by sometime."
"Since when? They just came, like a month ago." He shoved a chunk of pork in his mouth. "Wh – ey – doin – at – fo?"
I finished configuring the bill and set it aside. I was ready to lay everything out for him and he was asking, I couldn't possibly delay this any longer. Starting was going to the difficult part. It wasn't everyday that you had to tell your little dependant brother that his life was about to take a drastic change. For the better or worse was still to be decided.
I looked at him and crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. He gave me the Two-Bit-made-famous eyebrow raise and paused. "What?"
"Pon, you remember me and Soda talking about possibly being drafted at sometime?" He knew perfectly well what I was talking about. Soda and I had discussed this on several occasions. We knew it was a very real possibility, and we had even set to make arrangements for all the reasons we wouldn't have to go. Or that at least I wouldn't have to leave. But I had signed up to be called when I was eighteen and he did the same. It was only a matter of time before it happened to us. And the feds weren't budging.
"Yeah. So what? You haven't been yet. What's the big deal?"
"No, Pony, that's the thing." I leaned forward now, making eye contact, and making sure he knew I wasn't playing with him. "We got our notices today."
He started to cough as he choked on his un-chewed food. He pounded himself on the chest and cleared his airway. "What?" he gasped out before collapsing into another coughing fit.
I nodded and sat back up straight.
"We leave in two weeks."
He swallowed. "You too? You said that --"
"Me too," I interrupted him. "I tried to get all that jazz worked out, but they won't hear it. I told them that there are special circumstances now and I couldn't go, but they don't see it the same way." None of the people I talked to say eye to eye with me on the matter. "I talked to the social workers and they said that...they said you going to go...well, if we can't find someone to take you around here, like Mrs. Mathews they you'll... most likely being going to live in a foster home."
"A what?" he nearly whispered. His tone had grown to one of silent pleading. "Why?"
I shrugged. "That's all we know right now. I'll talk to Two-Bit's mom, but I can't promise much."
~*~
Pony had since taken refuge in his room. He didn't have the desire to carry on the conversation and I wasn't going to push it. I knew what was going through his mind, the possibility of going away and probably what I was thinking. I was feeling extremely uneasy about the situation myself. I had the same thought going through my mind a million mile a hour. This was the Vietnam War. The majority of the people who went didn't come back alive.
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Drama and Angst
Disclaimer: We obviously don't own the characters of The Outsiders, and we certainly don't own Clay Aiken or the rights to his CD or the title of his song/CD. We're just borrowing it, because it fits. All we own is the idea, the plot, and anything or anyone else who might just pop up now and then.
A/N: Hey everyone. This is a new story from both Alli and Keira. There isn't a whole lot to say at this point except that this one is going to be a doosy. It'll be long and it'll be heart wrenching, just to forewarn you. No girls in this one, isn't that a relief? Lol. Anyway, um, yeah...enjoy it because we've had fun planning it!
-- Keira and Alli
~*~
(Darry's POV)
From the time the mail came, I was busy. I don't know if I've ever had a more stressful day. First it was this line at this building, then another across town. They kept sending me to different places and I just wanted it to be over with. When I finished running all the errands and settling things, a deep disappointment had settled on me. How could this be happening? I made my way home through the lunch hour traffic and paced the front room till it drove me crazy.
After that, I spent the entire day cleaning the house till I couldn't clean any longer. The constant thoughts running through my mind kept me from any kind of relaxation. The thought of telling Pony this was weighing on me heavily, and staying still seemed to make it worse. It was going to break him, he wouldn't do too well. So, because I couldn't keep still I kept cleaning, trying to concentrate on scrubbing the floors and walls so I didn't think of the look on his face.
It was hours of cleaning, first it started with just picking things up, but soon it was scrubbing the floors, dusting, washing walls, straightening pictures, cleaning windows, washing dishes, and anything else I could think of. By the time I was finished it was like we had a full time maid employed. It wasn't half bad. I hoped it stayed like that for awhile. At least until our visitors had come and gone.
It seemed like forever before Pony walked in from school, and by that time, I was working on the bills. They would have to be done within the next week, or there would be hell to pay.
"Hi, Darry," he sighed and threw his backpack on the floor near the couch. He watched it bounce a few feet then came over near the kitchen to find something to eat like he did everyday. He had this new routine, but I could tell something was irking him. He was really readable these days. "What're you doing?"
"Bills," I responded, scribbling a few more numbers on a scratch piece of paper before putting it down. "What's going on?"
He ignored me for a few minutes while he dug out some bread and lunch meat. His coach was always on his back about keeping up his weight and strength for the next season. Ever since he made the football team last fall he had gained a good thirty or forty pounds in muscle and his confidence had boosted quite a bit. He was having fewer encounters with the Socs and was making more friends with them. He was always telling Soda and me that he never wanted to consider himself a Soc or anything like them. He was too much of a greaser at heart to want that. I told him I would be more than happy for him to go in that direction, although at this point in his life it didn't seem very likely. I was proud of him, not because he was playing football, but because he had done a spectacular job of moving on from the events of the last few years and was focusing more on what he could do to make himself more well liked at school.
He closed the refrigerator door with his foot and moved over to the counter. "You know Mr. Dalstup decided to throw a pop test at us today? Not a pop *quiz* a pop *test*. What the hell is with that?" He always had something to say about that teacher. From what I've gathered he's a pretty selfish prick, but there wasn't much you could do about that.
"He didn't tell you about it?"
"No!" He unscrewed the mustard jar. "Fuckin' bastard wanted to know how well we've been paying attention."
"And how did you do?"
"How do you think? I've been absent the last three days," – he had been out with the stomach flu – "how the hell do you think I did?" He scraped some mustard onto a slice of bread and finished making his sandwich. He took the fixings back to the fridge and pulled out some leftover pork chops. "It's the first of the semester too. This is the only thing on my grade. Coach is going to bench me."
"Well, it's a good thing it's off season, huh?" I almost smiled when his face changed from angry to one of dawning realization and then back to smoldering. I felt bad that he was upset and that his teacher had punished him for something that wasn't his fault, but at that moment it was the least of my worries. He wasn't going to have to worry about it either, come a while. Nope, he wasn't going to be concerned with any of that come a few weeks. None of it.
"Still... My GPA is crap now because of it." He came and sat down across from me at the table. He knew how little I liked him eating anywhere else, especially when the house was freshly cleaned. He was taking in the sight of it all, even going as far as to run his finger along the window sill behind him. It came up clean. "How come it's clean in here?"
"Because," I looked back down at the bills, "houses are supposed to be clean."
"And...?"
"And because we might have some social workers coming by sometime."
"Since when? They just came, like a month ago." He shoved a chunk of pork in his mouth. "Wh – ey – doin – at – fo?"
I finished configuring the bill and set it aside. I was ready to lay everything out for him and he was asking, I couldn't possibly delay this any longer. Starting was going to the difficult part. It wasn't everyday that you had to tell your little dependant brother that his life was about to take a drastic change. For the better or worse was still to be decided.
I looked at him and crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. He gave me the Two-Bit-made-famous eyebrow raise and paused. "What?"
"Pon, you remember me and Soda talking about possibly being drafted at sometime?" He knew perfectly well what I was talking about. Soda and I had discussed this on several occasions. We knew it was a very real possibility, and we had even set to make arrangements for all the reasons we wouldn't have to go. Or that at least I wouldn't have to leave. But I had signed up to be called when I was eighteen and he did the same. It was only a matter of time before it happened to us. And the feds weren't budging.
"Yeah. So what? You haven't been yet. What's the big deal?"
"No, Pony, that's the thing." I leaned forward now, making eye contact, and making sure he knew I wasn't playing with him. "We got our notices today."
He started to cough as he choked on his un-chewed food. He pounded himself on the chest and cleared his airway. "What?" he gasped out before collapsing into another coughing fit.
I nodded and sat back up straight.
"We leave in two weeks."
He swallowed. "You too? You said that --"
"Me too," I interrupted him. "I tried to get all that jazz worked out, but they won't hear it. I told them that there are special circumstances now and I couldn't go, but they don't see it the same way." None of the people I talked to say eye to eye with me on the matter. "I talked to the social workers and they said that...they said you going to go...well, if we can't find someone to take you around here, like Mrs. Mathews they you'll... most likely being going to live in a foster home."
"A what?" he nearly whispered. His tone had grown to one of silent pleading. "Why?"
I shrugged. "That's all we know right now. I'll talk to Two-Bit's mom, but I can't promise much."
~*~
Pony had since taken refuge in his room. He didn't have the desire to carry on the conversation and I wasn't going to push it. I knew what was going through his mind, the possibility of going away and probably what I was thinking. I was feeling extremely uneasy about the situation myself. I had the same thought going through my mind a million mile a hour. This was the Vietnam War. The majority of the people who went didn't come back alive.