Could've, Should've, Would've
Fear and sorrow tore through me as I watched him take his very last breath. Johnny Cade; Johnny; my Johnnycake... dead? I could've done something, I realised. I should've done something. I would've done something— if my feet hadn't been cemented to the ground. The hospital spun; everything went foggy and distant.
He wasn't dead. No, Johnny couldn't be dead. Anyone but Johnny. Was it Two-Bit lying in that hospital bed? Was it Steve or Pony or me, maybe? Anyone but Johnny.
I might've yelled for him, but all I heard was an annoying buzzing in my ears, like a swarm of bees. Pony might've said something, but I didn't hear him. The anger I'd always held so close suddenly fought its way out, and I violently shoved my fist into the white-painted wall. It wasn't fair! Not Johnny! Anyone but Johnny!
It was all voices and feelings and feet pounding on the pavement after that. My heart, usually so controlled and closed off, felt like it had been torn wide open for the whole world to see. Johnny was the only thing I ever really gave a shit about. The only person who knew me, who really cared what happened to me. The brother I never had, the friend who always had my back, the kicked-puppy I took under my wing... whatever you called him, he was my Johnny. And he was dead.
I didn't even know where I was going. The streets were blurred lights and car honks and people yelling and laughing. Oh, don't cry Dally, don't cry. I couldn't help it. I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek, in spite of my trying to hold it back. I sniffled pathetically. Dallas Winston was not a crybaby. Dallas Winston was not a mourner of the dead. He laughed at their misfortune! He kicked gravestones and spat on caskets! As long as he was not among them, he would not respect them! It was their own damn fault!
Dally, don't do this. My fingers twitched over the empty heater I had in my jeans pocket. If only I hadn't given my last bullets to the boys. They wouldn't have used them, even if they hadn't gone up in flames with the church on Jay Mountain. Dally, please; think about what you're considering!
Johnny had thought about killing himself. He thought about it all the time. He told me once, when we were hanging out after his father had beaten the crap out of him. He was so broken; I'd helped him bandage the gash under his ear. Kicked too many time; far too many. I'd been kicked just as much, I realised. I could take it. Johnny couldn't.
I could take it, Dally; I took it. I took it every time! I never actually killed myself, Dally. And you're stronger than me. So much stronger. Don't give up everything just because of me. Please, think about what you're doing! I had my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the gun. No bullets. There had to be another way to do this. But I wanted to feel it. I wanted a lot of pain, right until the end. More pain could take away the other pain, distract me from the gaping hole Johnny had left in my chest.
Don't do it, Dally. Don't do it. I remembered what Ponyboy had told me. He told me that people with guns got shot down by the fuzz. A small smile crossed my lips as I wiped away the remainder of sticky tears from my cheeks. Shot down by the fuzz? What a way to go. Don't you dare, Dallas Winston. Don't you dare! I found myself outside of a convenience store. One of those ratty old ones that only ever had fifty dollars in the till. I grinned. It was perfect. Dally, please stop it! You don't want this.
I was crazy, and I knew it. Johnny's sweet voice had been comforting at first, but now— I pulled the gun on the man at the counter, watching his eyebrows shoot under his bangs in surprise— it was just getting on my nerves.
"I want all the money in the register," I said, watching as he hesitated. "Now!" My index finger trembled over the trigger, and he quickly got out the cash.
I could hear him calling the police as I walked purposefully out of the store, a smile on my face as I stuffed the cash in my pockets. Sixty-five bucks, probably more than that store made in a week, and it was mine now. I put the gun back in my pocket, feeling it brush against Two-Bit's switch. I really needed to return that. He loved that switchblade.
I started running when I heard the sirens. I didn't feel as panicked as I thought I would. It was like after I decided I was going to die, the idea wasn't all that scary anymore. Hey, who else gets to choose how and when and where they go out? Just me. I'm tuff like that.
I spotted a payphone and quickly grabbed the receiver and shoved in a couple nickels, dialling the only number I had memorised— the Curtis's. I didn't know why I called Darry. I didn't know what to tell him. Tell him the truth. He can help you. The gang can get you out of this mess.
"It's me, Dally," I announced, "I just robbed the convenience store on Fourth. Yeah, those are sirens. I'll be heading down your street in a sec. Gotta hide from the pol—" The cop car turned the corner and was at the top of the street, lights flashing. I dropped the phone and started a sprint towards our neighbourhood. I wanted to die at home, in the lot. And I wanted everyone to be there; just so I could see them one last time, of course. Don't do it, Dally.
I rounded the corner and dashed across the street into the lot just as the gang got there. Wide eyes and open mouths, they look more like drowning fish than anything. I grinned at them almost sheepishly, then turned to the cops.
It was dark, but I was under a streetlight. The cops had their weapons drawn, and soon, so did I. I pointed the gun towards them, and I knew the light from the streetlight must be glinting off my smile, since I have such nice teeth. I bet that looked real tuff.
No, I would not drop my weapon. I rolled my eyes. Did guys in my position ever do what the fuzz told them to? I could've, I suppose... I just would have gotten jailed for the robbery. I should've, I guess... but I couldn't take it. I couldn't take knowing that I would never see Johnny's shy smile, or his sad eyes, or hear his gentle laugh again. I couldn't. I would've dropped it if it had been any other day, any other instance. But not then. Not there. Not after everything that had happened. Dally... I always loved you like a big brother. You don't have to do this. Not for me. Don't give up because of me. I ignored the voice.
"You'll never take me alive!" I bellowed, pulling the trigger and hearing the empty magazine of the heater click ominously in the silence of the night. Silence? The sirens were blaring. The cops were yelling. Yet all I could hear was the click of my unloaded gun? I really was a nutcase.
"No!" I heard Pony's voice, and turned to look at him as the first bullet hit its target, my right shoulder. It barely stung, compared to the hurt I was already going through on the inside. I hadn't heard the shot.
I tried to tell Ponyboy how sorry I was with my eyes. I'm not sure if he got the message, as my look was replaced with one of glee when another bullet tore through my stomach.
Bullet after bullet; it seemed to happen in slow motion. I felt hot as blood poured out of the holes, and I began to cough up blood... but I was happy. So happy. I wouldn't have to think about anything anymore. I wouldn't have to worry about the boys; I wouldn't have to think about Johnny; I wouldn't have to see his face in my dreams when I went to sleep. I'd finally gotten what I wanted; I wanted to put myself out of my misery.
Blackness enveloped me as I went down. I smiled one last time. I'm coming for you Johnny, I thought, I'm coming.