Free Time
A/N: I have a specific request here for reviews, cause I'm tired of being lazy, sloppy writer. I need some learnin' and y'all are the ones who've got to school me, lol. Tear this one apart, boys. And girls. Probably mostly girls. But, boys too. I'm looking for the harsh reality folks, and I'm mimicking Tim's thick skin here, so blow this baby up!
In case that was garbled, I want harsh criticisms, please.
P.S. Mucho thanks to marsonfire for her WSOTTA-Darry prompt.
xxx
Morning broke with the usual crash and tinkle of Soda in the kitchen.
"Mornin' Pony," came in hushed tones, or a hushed as Soda could manage, anyway.
"What you whispering for?"
"Darry's asleep. Don't wanna wake him."
Too late, Darry thought. He stared blearily at the wall, trying to keep from blinking. He knew the second he let his eyes close he'd go right back to sleep and today, he didn't want to waste any time.
I should get up, he thought, and blinked.
When he next woke up his mouth held the dry taste of afternoon. He'd managed the kick the sheets off the bed in his sleep, but his undershirt was drenched with sweat from the heat of the day. He felt a momentary surge of panic before he remembered he hadn't missed anything, except the prime fishing time. Today there would be no dirt, no loud noises, no sore muscles, no work. Today he was free.
He climbed out of bed too quickly and his vision went blurry. He made his way dizzily to the bathroom and flipped on the shower. As if he'd suddenly flipped on his brain, he automatically found himself asking the question:
"What am I gonna do today?"
He checked the time –one twenty-three pm – and could have kicked himself for wasting half a day on nothing but sleep. Seven minutes for a shower, and then it'd be one thirty and he could start doing what he really wanted to do today.
He climbed into the shower and thought about it. He had to be at work tomorrow at seven forty-five am to set up which meant he needed to be in bed by midnight the latest – but he'd prefer eight hours of sleep, so eleven would work better. That meant he had nine and a half hours to do whatever he wanted. Well, nine and a half hours minus the hour and a half it took to cook and eat dinner. Eight hours, then. Plenty of time.
He climbed out of the shower and realized with a start that it was one thirty-five pm and he still didn't know what to do.
It's fine, he thought. I'll get dressed and eat something and then it'll be quarter to. I'll start doing what I want to do then.
He dressed in a hurry and was about to grab a bowl when the screen door swung open.
"Howdy Darrel, long time, no see!"
"I saw you last night."
Two-Bit ignored him and grabbed the dish from his hands, spinning it across the counter into the sink. "Big day, huh? Whatcha gonna do?"
Darry grabbed the bowl back. "I was gonna eat breakfast if you'll let me."
Two-Bit snatched the bowl again. "Cereal on your day off? Nah. Come down with me to the diner and I'll guilt ma into cookin' us up some grub."
He'd have said no, but his stomach suddenly reminded him that he'd missed lunch as well as breakfast.
It was a dry day, and windless, and after a three minute walk Darry felt like he was being baked alive. Both boys had taken off their checked shirts, and every so often peeled away their undershirts, which stuck to them like wet toilet paper.
"Ain't you thought to bring your car?" Darry panted.
"Naw, you know my baby don't like to work in the heat," Two-Bit said. "She shut down last night."
It was a relief to get to the diner. Fans were set up all over the place, but it didn't stop the kitchen crew from sweating.
"Out. Get out. I have enough to deal with, without you buggin' me."
"Hey, ma, we'll have a couple of burgers and cokes," Two-Bit said, swivelling onto a stool.
"Hey, Mrs. Mathews," Darry said, awkwardly. Being around parents made him feel nervous and uncomfortable, like he was a freshman and they were seniors. In the same place, but at opposite ends of the food chain. They were just so much better at staying alive.
"Hey, Mr. Curtis," she replied with a Two-Bit-like twitch and bustled back to the kitchen.
The burgers took a long time coming with Two-Bit's mom spending her time chatting and chastising instead of serving them. They took an even longer time being eaten, as Two-Bit had chatting skills on a whole different level. It had been awhile since Darry had spent so much time just talking to someone, and he had to thank God it was with Two-Bit. He would have failed miserably at carrying a conversation that didn't have to do with slating or English homework.
By the time he'd walked back it was a quarter to three and Ponyboy was home.
"Hey, Darry," he said, barely looking up from the fridge. "How's it going?"
Darry shrugged and tossed his sweaty shirt across the couch. "Fine."
"We're outta chocolate milk."
"So, go get some more."
Ponyboy shut the fridge. "You wanna come with?"
Darry paused. Two forty-seven…
"Yeah, sure."
They walked down to the DX in relative silence, but he managed to get out that Ponyboy was having trouble in math.
"Pony, you can't fail math."
"I didn't say 'fail', I said 'trouble', Darry."
"Just don't let it get outta hand."
"I won't." Pony kicked at a stone. "It's a dumb class, anyway, the teacher never checks our homework. How am I supposed to know if I'm doing it right?"
Darry pressed his lips together. He remembered that class – he'd had a lot of appreciation for the fact that the teacher never checked the homework. "Less math, more football," he'd said, and ended up with a B+, anyway. No one looked at your grades until high school…but, he'd be damned if he let Pony know that.
"Tell you what, kiddo. I'll look over your stuff tonight, make sure you did it right, okay?"
Pony shrugged. His pace picked up as they neared the DX. "Hey, Soda!"
Darry watched his younger brother sprint to the gas station. He'd have made a great wide receiver with those legs. If only he wasn't so puny.
He waved a quick hello to Soda, picked up the chocolate milk and was going to head back when Steve asked him when the last time he'd changed the oil on the Ford had been.
"Can't remember," he'd lied. Steve was a good three years younger, and a good three times better at dealing with cars. Something about his easy confidence with cars and girls and school made Darry feel like he was lacking.
"Ought a keep track of those things, Superman," Steve chastised. "She's a slow day today, tell you what. You bring her in, and me and Soda'll give her the works. Today only."
Darry shrugged and tried to remind himself that Steve was still a kid, just Soda's friend from grade school and every bit as nervous as he was.
By the time he'd brought the truck around and headed back, he was hungry again, and starting to think about making dinner. For some reason, he thought it should be special, so he picked up a pair of chickens to roast from the A&P. The girl at the cash register had been awfully cute, and he'd forgotten the onions just staring at her smile. Then he decided he'd run back to get a couple of potatoes and found out her name. If she hadn't had a boyfriend he'd have almost have maybe thought he should possibly ask her out. But, maybe not. He didn't care. Much.
It was six twenty by the time the chickens were done and Soda came barrelling in. He tossed the mail on the table, asked "What's for dinner?" and bounded into the bathroom for a shower before hearing the answer.
Johnny popped by for dinner, but Dally showed up halfway through, grabbed a piece of garlic bread, and dragged Johnny out to hit the stables. Darry was secretly glad – he'd been worried Johnny would take the last potato and he was still hungry.
At seven he found himself up to the elbows in soapsuds. Soda started a cake ten minutes before Steve showed up with a deck of cards, which meant the cake turned out black and Darry was scrubbing for a good ten minutes longer.
He felt tired and full after the dishes were done but the mail was calling to him. Five bills and a letter from Gary Hutchison about voting. He didn't know who the hell Gary was, so that went in the trash, along with all the bills that didn't have a big two printed on the front.
"Hey, Darry, look at this!"
He ambled into the living room to find Soda looking at the TV and Steve looking at Soda's cards. The tail end of the six-thirty news flickered on the old black and white. Something about a garage fire. Darry didn't give a shit, but he thought maybe he should so he sat down and watched.
"That's hardly a block from here," Steve said soberly. "You know who done it."
"Socs," Soda said in a monotone. "Yeah, we know Steve."
"Just sayin'," Steve muttered. "Makes sense."
Darry stared at the TV until his vision blurred. He couldn't ever get into the news on TV. The indifferent tone of the newscasters made him sleepy. He'd much rather the paper but he'd forgotten to pick it up. He wondered if the A&P were still open, if he should bother to swing by cash register number two…
Ponyboy saved him from the news with his homework. He sat at the table and looked at the math questions. It felt like he was fifteen again, and worrying about what Mom and Dad would say if he got less than a B on tomorrow's test. X squared plus Y squared equals zero. Factor. Simplify. Solve – in three quick steps or less. Such easy problems.
He blinked at question four point seven and realized he'd hit the end of the page. Ponyboy was absorbed in his book and didn't look up even after the third time Darry called him. He watched Pony turn the page and realized he had a book on his nightstand that he'd been meaning to read.
He brought a beer into the bedroom with him, brushed the dust off the cover and started in on chapter six. He couldn't remember the beginning, but his eyes kept slipping over the same sentence, anyway, so he didn't bother to turn back. He read for an hour and a half and turned the page once, and got up twice to get another beer. He got to the part where the heroine said: "You have a nice day!" and then he thought about the girl at the A&P. He couldn't remember her face, but she'd been pretty, all right. Blue eyes. Or were they brown?
He closed his eyes and tried to get it right. She'd had such pretty hair. The colour of caramel. The colour of the baked apples in an apple pie. He'd bet it'd be real soft to touch…
He woke with a start and was glad he was alone. He didn't know why he'd bothered to wake up – his head felt as heavy as a stone. It was eleven twenty-three. He heard a burst of laughter from the living room, rubbed his eyes and stood up. Time to be a jerk.
"Alright, guys, time to pack it in. I got work tomorrow."
Steve yawned and stretched as he stood. "Y'all mind if I crash here tonight?"
"Yeah, I do. Get the fuck out, y'weasely cheat," Soda said, and was quickly tackled by Steve.
Darry suppressed a yawn. "So long as you're quiet, Steve, you can sleep with me for all I care."
He slunk back to the bedroom, drowsy from the sun and beer, and toppled into the bed. He barely had the strength to pull his jeans off. He lay in the quiet dark for a minute before the door creaked open.
"Night, Darry," Soda whispered.
"Night."
"You have a good day off?"
"Yeah."
"What did y'do?"
"Mmm…" Darry mumbled, and let himself tumble into sleep.
xxx
The End.