I can't do it. I just can't seem to get through to him. "Ponyboy, listen to me. It's been a month. I miss him too. It hurts, alright? I get it. But you can't just stop." I thought he knew this. I had to tell him when Mom and Dad died, when Johnny and Dallas died. But he still can't seem to grasp the fact that your own life isn't over when someone you love dies. "You've got to start living again, Pony. You-"
He's been turned away from me, pretending to read one of his textbooks, but now he whirls around, actually throwing the book to the floor before yelling, "I'm trying, Darry!" He's glaring at me so hard I almost take a step back. Breathing heavily and looking like he wants to cry, yet still furious, he repeats in a lower voice, so low it's almost a growl, "I'm trying."
To say I'm startled would be an understatement. We haven't yelled at each other in years. He goes on angrily. "I can't just go ahead with life and forget about him."
"You don't have to forget-"
"Then what am I supposed to do?" His voice is rising again. "I wake up every morning and the first thing I think is, 'He's dead. He's gone and I'm never going to see him again.' Everything reminds me of him, Darry, and I can't focus on anything else. I can't…" He breaks off, turning away, running his hand through his hair angrily.
"Ponyboy…" I reach towards him to put my hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away roughly, snapping, "Don't touch me."
He storms out of the room and I hear the front door slam after a second. I start after him, but stop. He needs to be alone. If he doesn't cool off, he'll blow up. Like Dallas did.
I pick his textbook off the floor. He's in his first year at the local community college, one of the top students in his class. Or was. Now he's behind on all his assignments, and failing at least one of his classes that I know of. That's the difference - one of the differences - between him and I; when I'm upset about something, I do everything I can to take my mind off it, whether that's putting in extra hours at work, or going to the gym and letting out my problems on a punching bag. But Ponyboy just sort of…stops. Stops trying. Stops living. It took him weeks to get back to normal after Johnny and Dallas died, longer after our parents had. But both times Soda was there for him. Ponyboy loved Soda more than anyone. And now Soda's the one that's gone.
Pony's just a kid. He doesn't deserve this.
Figuring I've waited long enough, I head outside, pulling on a jacket. It's freezing, but I walk rather than drive to where I'm pretty certain he'll be. I stop at the open cemetery gate, looking in. I can see him pacing in front of a gravestone - Soda's, though he's not buried here. He died when a bomb exploded right next to him. There wasn't anything to bury. The gravestone's just there to let the world know he's dead. To remind me I couldn't keep him safe.
I can hear my little brother yelling at the top of his lungs. The wind blows his words away, but I catch a few.
"…Promised it'd be okay…why'd you go…I can't…Soda…please…" On the last word, his voice breaks, and I see him fall to his knees in front of the grave marker, his throat probably raw. He doesn't move, but as I go closer, I can see his shoulders shaking as he sobs. I haven't seen him cry since we found out about it. Even at the funeral he was stony-faced, as if the person he cared about most in the world hadn't just died.
"Ponyboy?" I say softly, but he doesn't hear me over the wind. I drop to my knees beside him and touch his arm, and he finally sees me. He doesn't look remotely angry anymore; he looks distraught, like he'll never be happy again. He's shivering as tears run down his face, but even for how cold it is, I doubt he'll let me drag him away.
"Pony…" I reach towards him, but he shakes his head, gasping out, "Don't," between sobs, his teeth chattering.
So I pull off my jacket and put it over his shoulders, hoping to warm him up at least a little. After a second, he stops shivering quite so much, but he's still crying pretty hard, so I take him by the shoulder and pull him to me. He resists, trying to pull away slightly.
"Darry-" He tries to say something else but breaks off, unable to stop sobbing.
"It's gonna be okay, Pony," I say, holding him as tightly as I can, partly to warm him up, even though I've started shivering myself now, and partly because he looks so, so broken and I hope maybe if I hold him hard enough I can fix him, at least a little bit. I can feel the sobs racking his entire body, and I rest my chin on top of his head - he's still small enough for me to do that - as the wind whips at my face, stinging my eyes. "Shh," I say softly, and finally he goes limp against me, pulling his head away for a second to press his face between my shoulder and neck.
"Dar?" I hear him say, his breath catching as he tries to stop crying.
"Easy, Ponyboy. Don't talk."
He doesn't listen, just buries his nose deeper into my shoulder, so his voice is slightly muffled when he says, "Don't let go, okay?"
My fingers are practically numb, but I tighten my grip on him as much as I can, squeezing my eyes shut and lowering my forehead onto his shoulder. "I'm not lettin' go, kiddo." I wind's still howling, but with my little brother's arms wrapped around me as we sit there, I barely feel it. "I'm not lettin' go."