It's that moment that haunts me the most. For sure, I have a lot of regrets about that night, but it's that one moment, that second- even less- that millisecond- that bothers me the most. It's that time when you become aware of what is going to happen, yet, even though it hasn't happened yet, you are powerless to stop it. The human body simply lacks the ability to physically react in that millisecond. It's just not enough time. Yet it is not too short a time for our minds to process the horrible realization of what is going to happen, and how much we know we'll regret it afterward.
It's that moment, just after you have broken contact with the car door, after setting it into motion to close, when you realize the keys are still inside, and the door is locked. The door hasn't closed yet, and you know full well that you've gone and created a hell of a problem for yourself, but your brain just can't get it's ass in gear quick enough to tell your hand to get out there and catch the door. Truthfully, I think locking your keys in the car wouldn't be nearly so bad if you didn't have to deal with that moment of knowing that what you just did was stupid, but you are realizing it just a millisecond too late.
That was exactly how that moment went, the one I would erase if I could. My hand was raised, it was on its way down. I was going to hit Pony. I knew it that millisecond before it happened, and I knew it was stupid, and I knew it wasn't something that I wanted to do, but the message just didn't travel fast enough. I truly think might be easier, without knowing that moment ever existed. Knowing there was that increment of time when I knew better and wanted to change my course of action, but my nervous system failed me. Maybe if I thought that, all along, I really did want to hit him, I might not have to feel so bad now. I might not be sitting here, devastated, wondering if my failure to excel in that one moment has caused me to lose my brother, permanently.
And the worst part of all is that nobody else knows that moment ever existed, except me. Not Soda, and certainly not Ponyboy. They didn't live through that moment, when every cell in my brain was screaming at it's army of neurons to stop that hand from making contact, like a speeding train throwing on the brakes to avoid hitting an obstacle on the tracks. But it turned out, even with the brakes screeching, there just wasn't enough track between that hand and Pony.
I can only imagine what it might mean to him, knowing that moment had existed, that the thought had been there to stop. I wish I could give it to him, like a present, wrap it up and offer it to him, knowing that he, of all people, would understand it's implications. That moment, that one moment denotes so much more than my lack of adequate reaction speed. It says: "You are my brother and I love you. I knew I didn't want to hit you, even if it wasn't until the last possible second that one can know such things." It says: "I wanted to stop it. I tried to stop it, if only in my mind."
I am sure Ponyboy doesn't believe that moment ever existed. In his mind, I'm the kind of guy who locks the keys in the car and never thinks about it until after it's done, and wouldn't waste any energy on regret.
Damn that moment. I miss him.