The ending's not as good as I'd like- I took stuff out and now it's different and...shmeh. Oh well.
I sit on the back steps, staring down at the photo in my hand, a picture of Darry, Soda, and me from a few years ago. I flip it over and read my mother's writing on the back: Darrel, 20; Sodapop, 16; Ponyboy, 13. Gosh, was this that long ago? I turn the picture back over and look at our grinning faces. Mom took the picture right after I'd jumped onto Soda's back and he'd stumbled into Darry, but what it didn't show was how Darry almost fell over and we'd ended up in a wrestling match, resulting in me getting squashed.
I run my thumb over the photo. I wish I could go back to when this was taken, before Mom and Dad died, before Soda went to Vietnam, before… I let my mind wander back to the day he left. It takes too much energy to keep trying to forget it all.
"Hey, kiddo."
I look up, and suddenly it's like I'm watching the scene play out in front of me. It looks so real, as if I could reach out and touch it…
I'm standing there, biting my lip as I look at the ground, hoping Soda won't notice how close I am to bawling. When he speaks, though, I look up at him. He's giving me a half-smile, but his eyes are dull, sad.
"It's gonna be okay, alright? The war'll be over soon, and then I'll come back, and everything'll be okay again."
My voice is barely a whisper. "But what if you don't come back?" I could kick myself. Soda's probably just as scared about that as I am; my question isn't helping.
For a split second, his façade falls away and he looks like a scared, lost kid standing there in an army uniform. "C'mere, Pony." He reaches towards me, and I wrap my arms around him, burying my face between his shoulder and neck, squeezing my eyes shut to keep from crying.
"Please be careful, Soda," I beg, unable to bear the thought of losing him too. "Please."
"I will, Pony. I promise." He hugs me tighter for a second before pulling away, and I reluctantly let go. "Hey," he says gently, cupping the sides of my face in his hands, "it's gonna be okay, Ponyboy." He runs a thumb along my check absently as he pauses, looking at me intently, doing his best to make me believe it. "Alright?"
I finally nod, and he says softly, "I love you, Ponyboy. Don't forget that, okay?"
That does it. I've managed to keep from crying this long, but now I feel a tear trickle down my face before I can stop it. "I love you too, Soda."
He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes, then turns to Darry, who's been standing a few feet away this whole time, looking down awkwardly. But when Soda looks at him, he comes over and pulls Soda into a hug so tight I'm willing to bet Soda can't breathe. But he doesn't seem to care; he returns the embrace just as hard. He says something I can't hear, and, pressing his forehead to the side of Soda's head, I hear Darry reply, "Love you too, Pepsi-Cola." They stand there for a second, and it's my turn to be the awkward one until they pull away.
"Take care of yourself, little buddy," Darry says as Soda picks up his canvas bag and grins at him.
"I've been taking care of you and Ponyboy for how long now? I think I can manage myself."
It gets a smile out of Darry, who puts an arm across my shoulders as Soda steps onto the train, pauses, turns to give us one last wave and a grin, and is gone.
Forever.
The memory fades and I'm back on the steps, staring at the empty yard. I look back down at the picture and am suddenly angry. He was nineteen. Nineteen. In just a few weeks he would've been twenty. He didn't deserve to die. If anyone had deserved to live, it was him. He was the best brother anyone could've ever had. Not that Darry isn't, but - well…he just doesn't understand things, doesn't understand me, like Soda did.
"I love you, Ponyboy. Don't forget that, okay?" Why did it have to be Soda? Why him?
It's been two weeks since we got the letter saying he'd been killed, but for some reason it hasn't really hit me until now. I hear the back door creak open as I stare down at the photo, an ache in my chest so strong that it physically hurts.
"Pony?" Darry says behind me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I respond automatically, deadpan. "I'm fine."
"You sure?" His voice is gentle, concerned. He knows I haven't cried since we got the letter and seems to think if he's not careful, I'll explode or something.
I nod, still turned away from him, and suddenly I feel hot tears rising. Don't you dare cry, I command myself silently, clenching my jaw. Not in front of Darry. Showing weakness in front of Darry makes you feel small, inferior. Darry's always alright, no matter what. The only time I've seen him cry in the past ten years is after I came back from Windrixville, and that was more from relief than anything. I'm not going to let him see me break. As far as he knows, I'm fine. That's what I've told him all the times he's asked me, and I'm not going to let him believe any different, even if it's not the truth.
Suddenly I stop. What am I doing? Darry knows I'm not okay. He's known it for two weeks. He keeps asking if I'm alright because he knows I'm bottling it inside and he's okay with me breaking down in front of him. He's okay with it. What am I doing? I've got one brother left, one who cares about me as much as I care about him, as much as I cared about Soda, and I'm completely blowing him to the side.
"Darry-" I don't even realize I'm standing up until I'm facing him. He's been stepping back through the door, but now he turns to me.
"What is it, Pone?" He looks worried, sad. Broken. It hits me: sometimes Darry, even Darry, isn't okay. He just doesn't express his grief by crying. He can't. Grief takes on different forms in different people, and in Darry, it's exhaustion, worry, even guilt. Guilt because he can't change the way things went. It's all over his face - for once he's not hiding his emotions. He's hurting because Soda's gone, blaming himself for not being able to protect him, and worried about me.
"Darry-" I say again, and this time my voice breaks and I'm sobbing before I know it. "I'm not okay."
I feel his arms wrap around me and he holds me against him, silent, just being there.
"I'm not okay." It comes out again between sobs, and Darry says softly, "I know, kiddo. I know."
For the first time, I don't feel weird breaking down in front of Darry. I feel safe more than anything. Loved.
Slowly, I stop crying, taking quivering breaths, trying to calm down. I can't tell you how thankful I am that Darry's here; just having someone here is comforting. I remember the look on his face, pure brokenness, and I wish I could do something to comfort him…but then I realize this is how he deals with pain, with grief; he focuses on people he loves, makes sure they're okay. That's his comfort: knowing he's done everything he can.
I close my eyes, burying my nose in his shirt, and take a deep breath. Soda's gone, and I know I'll never fully get over the pain of that, but I've got Darry. And Darry's got me. I pull away and he smiles half-heartedly at me, one corner of his mouth turning up, before we go into the house. I pause and look down at the picture that's still in my hand, now slightly wrinkled. I smooth it out. I can't go back to those days, but I can make the most of the ones I've got left. I'm okay.
Yeah. Not as good as I'd like, but I decided to post it anyway.
Have a fantastic day, ya'll! :)