The pounding of hisown heartbeat was thunderous in hismind. The dry ground made his feet slip sloppily in the dust with every distracted step. His breathingwas heavy, his chestheaving not from the exertion of hisrun, but from the upwellingof emotion
that had crashed down on him.
It's too much.
They were the only coherent words hecould decipher in the jumbled tangle of hispersonal thoughts. Part of himcould hear his brothers, Darry and Ponyboy, chasing behind him-hishalf-hearted, stumbling run wasn't exactly difficultto follow- but the
other part chose to ignore this, instead focusing on the way hisheart seemed to have seized inside hischest, and the intense longing henow felt for a nice,soothing drag on a cigarette.
A blur with bleached hair hit Sodapop Curtisfrom behind, knocking himto the ground. Both of the boyslay there for a few minutes, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of them. "Dammit, Ponyboy. You should have gone outfor football instead of track."
/The older of the two mumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position.
Ponydidn't crack a grin at this, his face remaining set in a worried expression, one that made his brother feel intensely guilty."Where did you think you were going, Soda?"
Darry finally caught up, dropping into the grass beside the other two. Soda swallowed, and to him, the next second seemed to last for eternity as he mulled over this seemingly simple question.
Where did I think I was going? Why did I run? Was it the letter returned bythe girl I'd planned to marry? Was it the deaths of the friends I thought of as brothers?
It's too much. He thoughtagain. Memories flashed in hismind's eye. In that split second, he remembered the police man showing up at theirfront door, his solemn expression as he explained the twisted fate that had befallen the Curtis brother's
/parents. He remembered the first time he'd seen Sandy, in all her glory. And then a few months later when he'd been informed she was knocked up with another man's baby.
He remembered Darry's blind rage when he'd dropped out of school, the way it had morphed then into guilt, and then into pride. The way he had finally accepted Soda's choice, and supported him for it.
He remembered all the girls that never mattered, all the nights he got drunk on life alone. The times he had partied too hard to chase away the pain, hidden behind his trademark grin.
He remembered the panic when Pony had disappeared that last week, and the way it had started, with that harsh moment from Darry, the brother he looked up to somuch. The vision of Dally, bloody and broken, looking far too innocent in death, nothing more
/than a shattered corpse under astreetlight, was bright in his mind. He could taste the tears he had swallowed when he had heard about Johnny's fate.
Sodapop Curtis remembered everytime he had felt dumb, ignored, worthless, and covered it up with sarcasm and natural charm.
But then that second passed, and he swallowed all of that once more, looking up to meet the eyes of the two people he loved the most, and gave a casual shrug.
"I don't know." He said, his voice almost unnervinglycarefree. "It's just... I can't stand to hear y'all fight. Sometimes... I just have to get out or... it's like I'm the middleman in a tug o' war and I'm being split in half. You dig?"
The words tumbled out of him in a mess as he fiddled with a blade of grass. He kept his head down, not seeing the surprised look that passed between the other two. He kept talking, almost embarrassed as he explained his dilemma of being caught in their
/fights, about his choice to drop out, being more honest with them than he had in months.
Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he wiped them away with the back of his fist. "We'reall we've got left." He continued, his voice faltering.
"Please, don't fight anymore."
The plea was quiet, childlike, and heartfelt. It was reflected in Darry's face as the two other brothers enveloped Soda in a sloppy hug.
"Sure little buddy. We're not gonna fight anymore."
Soda nodded, quickly changing the subject as it got too emotional for his comfort. "Well," he began. "I'm cold. How about we go home?"
My over-dramatic take on how Soda might have felt during his scene in The Outsiders. Also,
Disclaimer: I directly copied lines of dialoguefrom S.E. Hinton. So I don't own any of that.
Please R&R!