No ownership of The Outsiders here. I just own my OC and her family. I haven't written in a long time, and I just want to see where this thing goes. Please let me know if you like it, if you don't, if it's boring, etc.
The day I lied about the window, Louise married a foreigner.
I mean, it wasn't TECHNICALLY Bill's fault that the ball crashed through the attic, blowing the pane to dusty, glittering fragments. I was actually pretty proud of him; it had taken him AGES to learn how to aim. There we were, in our Sunday best, waiting for Dad to pick us up and take us over to the church. I threw the ball, something strange came inside of Bill, and with a huge CRRRRRRAAACCCKKK the bat hit the ball, the ball crashed through the air, and the air helped the ball smash into the window. We watched in disbelief, following its path across the deep blue sky. I had told Dad that a confused bird had crashed through the window. When Dad found the baseball, I decided that from that day forward, I would never tell another lie.
Anyway, that was just a fun fact. That was also six months ago. I'm so glad that Louise married Jorge, because he helped me begin one of the dreams I've had since childhood: opening my very own restaurant.
Granted, it's not REALLY a restaurant. I'm not sure what to call it, exactly. It's like a lemonade stand that mainly sells tacos. Jorge is from Nicaragua, and ladies set up tables and things on the street all the time to sell food. His mom actually has one. He taught me how to make the very best tacos, and now, I can make my summer living out of it, helping pay to accomplish one of my other big childhood dreams, which was to be a third grade teacher. Not a second grade teacher, not a fourth grade teacher; third grade. There's just something very special about that age.
Every morning from Monday to Friday, I get up and I begin my taco making. I usually make around fifty. By 11:45, it's time to go out to my semi-permanent location, the Albert T. Hoffman City Park. Usually I can find someone to help me carry my table and chair over there, along with my basket of tacos and my pitchers of lemonade, and I'm set up there. It's a convenient location not only for me, but for the babysitters, policemen, and construction workers to come and buy their lunch. Sometimes on holidays, parade days, or Saturday afternoons, I would set up my taco stand also.
Mother never thought that anything would come out of this, but I would certainly say a few very large things did.
It all started on Tuesday, June 12, 1966. The summer of that year's entrance was quite mild, so more and more people were going out for walks. I started making 80 tacos every morning of different kinds, even different sizes. Around their normal time of 12:15, a gang of construction workers came ambling down from whatever city project they were working on. I tried to move around to accommodate them, as they were my best customers.
Mother didn't like the way the construction workers talked, smoked, and spat. They never bothered me, though; they would buy their tacos and lemonade and go to another part of the park. They didn't go out of their way to be kind, but at least they were never rude to me.
That particular day, I saw a new guy. Whether it was his first day with this crew or he usually just packed his own lunch, I wasn't sure. He waited in line patiently, staring straight ahead past me. I smiled. It was always nice to see a new face.
I picked up a little sack. "Hi there, one or two tacos?"
In a very quiet voice, he responded with two. "Sour cream, chiles?" I asked, pointing to each of them in turn.
His brow furrowed and his mouth turned, confused. "Um...does it taste good?"
Sometimes I forgot that tacos were not a normally served item in Tulsa, like hamburgers, and a lot of people didn't know the absolute best way to eat them. "Yeah, I love it! Only if you don't like spicy food, I wouldn't have the chiles," I explained.
"Both sound fine." I spooned the other ingredients in, took his money, and passed him his bag and his lemonade. He nodded and gave me a small smile. "Thank you." He walked away, and looked over at the other guys. They were all smoking, rough housing, and yelling. He chose to sit on a bench off to the side.
The guy had taken my last tacos. I put my money bag in my purse and headed for home. It was still a little early yet for Bill to come and help me, but I thought I could manage the couple trips it would take me to transport my "restaurantito" (as Jorge called it, my little restaurant) home.
I tried to pick up my folding table, and then proceeded to drop it on my own foot. Hissing with pain, I tried picking it up again. And again.
"Hey!" I glanced over, and taco boy was heading toward me, cramming a taco in his mouth, sour cream running down his lip. "Can I-" He tried to talk with his mouth full- "help you?" He smiled crookedly as his food was shoved into one of his cheeks.
My heart smiled. "Hey, you don't have to. Isn't this your lunch break?" He shrugged a little bit, and gently took the table from me. I grinned up at him, grabbed my basket and my lawn chair, and led the way. "Thank you so much. I don't live too far, I promise."
In books and movies, when things like this usually happen, a beautiful friendship or relationship forms, the two start hitting it off immediately, and there is undeniable chemistry. Well, you know what? Books and movies LIE. Taco girl had a very awkward walk with construction man, because we both didn't know what to say or do. Life is awkward sometimes. Nothing was said til we were almost to my house.
I sighed. "I'm Caroline. What's your name?"
"Darrel," he responded, shifting his gaze over to me. His pale eyes were a shocking contrast with his dark air and sun tanned skin. "I'd shake your hand, but...you know." He grinned at me, showing off beautiful teeth. "And I'll have you know, that was a great taco. My first, actually."
We reached my porch, and I sat my lawn chair down, helping him set up the table. "Well, you'll just have to come back, then! There shouldn't be more manual labor next time, it looks like y'all do that a lot already. Are you guys working on that big house over on Pritchard Avenue?" We talked for a minute, and he looked at his old, battered watch and jumped.
"I'm real sorry, I need to go. My first day on the job, ya know. Nice to meet you, Caroline!" Darrel walked backwards a few steps, waving and smiling, and started running back toward the park.
The sidewalk still smells a little bit like Jorge's mom's famous combination of chiles since the day of the accident, a week or so after my first meeting with Darrel.
I had heard the crazy driver zooming behind me from a mile away. I rolled my eyes; there were little kids playing all around here. I turned around to shake my fist at them, when I noticed not one but TWO crappy cars. Were they racing? The head car zipped around the unexpected corner (going 50 in a 25, as you do, so he had to slam on the brakes) and the one behind it wasn't so lucky. They rammed into the back bumper of the front car, and the sound of the crash made my heart skip a beat and my tacos and chiles to jump out of my hands. As I ran, I saw a nasty, greasy looking guy jump out of his car, take a few steps forward and backward like he wasn't sure what to do, and then yell, "YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT, CURTIS!" With the rest of his car unscathed, he drove off in a huff.
The crappy little truck was half on the road, half on the sidewalk from the impact. I had no idea what to do, what if he was hurt, what if he was DEAD..."Oh, goodness gracious...hey. HEY. Are you okay? Please don't be dead…" I jumped in the car and shook the kid as hard as I could. Praise to our God and King, the boy opened his eyes slowly.
"Oh dear. Are you all right? Did you hit your head on the steering wheel? Gosh…" His arm was also bleeding. What concerned me most was that he wasn't talking. I stared at him, hoping that it would make him uncomfortable and he would start talking. I don't know how to save people! What do I do?! My mind was racing.
He was a beautiful creature, long and lanky with hair so light that I thought only little baby boys had that color. My heart ached for his poor mother, once she found out about this.
The truck was totaled, bless his heart; it was already in pretty bad shape, so it was nice that now they had the excuse to get another one. I gently dragged him out of the truck. I didn't know what to do about the truck; my dad wasn't home, and other cars could still go around it. But I did know that one way or another, I had to get him to the hospital.
He seemed fairly stable, and it was good that the hospital wasn't too far out of the way, because I didn't want him falling off my bike. He now seemed a little more awake. "I'm gonna take you to the hospital. Can I call anyone for you?" I sat him down on my porch. He put his head in his hands, and I put my hand on his back. He moaned.
"My big brother's gonna kill me…"
I patted his back gently. "There, there, I'm sure he'll be more grateful that you're alive. Is there a number I can call your parents at? Or your big brother?" The boy silently shook his head. "Are you sure? Where do they work?"
"My big brother is working on that construction project on Pritchard Avenue downtown," he told me quietly, slurring his words a bit, his head lolling onto my shoulder. I had to get this kid to the hospital.
"Well that's great!" I said brightly, running to get my bike. "That's right on the way to the hospital!" He moaned again, and I wasn't sure if it was more about the pain or if he was still worried about the dang car. He was ALIVE-surely his family would be grateful for that.
I had him jump on my handlebars. He wasn't very stable anymore and I kind of had to support him with my chest, but it happens. I pedaled my hardest, not sure if I should take him to the hospital or take him to the construction site. I figured that his brother probably had a car, so he could take him to the hospital. That was more reliable than my bike.
After about five minutes, we neared the entrance. "What's your brother's name?" I asked him, hopping off and walking my bike.
"Darry," he said in a whisper, his eyes shut. I parked my bike and propped him up against a tree. I realized I forgot to ask the boy's name when I was almost to a man who looked like the manager.
"Excuse me," I said, looking up at this giant of a man, "but there was just a car accident down by Washington Street, and the kid who was driving is hurt. He said his brother works here, his name is Darry?"
The man grunted. "Must be Curtis' brother. He's over there." He jabbed a thumb over to where a bunch of the men were gathered and eating. I realized who it was when I realized the poor thing didn't have a lunch. I was so annoyed with myself that I didn't put it together sooner that Darry was a nickname.
"Darrel!" I ran toward him. He looked so confused. "Your brother's been in a car accident, I have him on my bike, if we get him in your car we can get him to the hospital faster!" I said this all very quickly, barely stopping to breathe. His eyes widened and he froze.
"Pony," he said quietly, his eyes darting around. I pointed under the tree, not even questioning what the word pony meant to him at a time like this. He ran toward his brother like a football player.
He cradled the boy in his arms. "Sodapop...what happened, buddy?" His fingers gently propped up his face as he looked deep into the boy's eyes.
"One of the River Kings was trying to fool around with Sandy and her friends...spooked 'em... I chased him and accidentally rear-ended him." The poor kid had tears cascading down his cheeks, and couldn't hardly talk through his hiccups. "Oh, Dar, I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry…" The boy sobbed, and Darrel ran his fingers through his hair, looking defeated.
I stood off to the side, not sure what to do or if I should leave. "Uh, Darrel, he should go to the hospital. Maybe if we got him in your car and headed over there, it would be a good idea…maybe call your parents, too? I'm sure your mom would like to know..."
Darrel sighed, rubbing his brother's back, as the sobbing grew even louder. He looked up at me and whispered, "Our parents are no longer with us. Soda and I shared the truck."
"Then borrow my bike!" I replied quickly, not even digesting what he had said until after. No parents? Who takes care of them? They're still practically just kids!
Darrel looked up at me hopefully. "Yes! I'll take him over there, you explain to your boss what happened, and meet us there." I glanced nervously at Soda, who I hoped was not too beat up from the crash.
He paused to think for a few seconds, and then nodded. "Yeah...yeah. I'll see you there." He took off running to his manager.
"He'll come soon," Soda whispered as we wobbled away. "He's real fast..." His head lolled onto my shoulder. Our ride to the hospital was full of me poking him in the side and slapping his arm to keep him awake, as I wondered what I had gotten myself into this time, as well as hoping that the weight of the half-conscious boy on my handlebars would topple me into traffic.