Oki Doki! Lets See, I didn't really have time to work on this, just type it out. Ive been busy. Sis has cheer, so that takes up a lot with travel and what not. I've also been teaching myself songs on the piano and i finally perfected A Thousand Miles today. I feel so talented! xP
ANYWHOO, read and review. Catch mistakes? Constructive critisism? Love it? Hate it? Advice? TELL ME! I am lost without reviews.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders or any of SE Hinton's fascinating characters, of which they must be relieved
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Segregation. It's not a good thing, in fact the boy himself had decided on his own that it wasn't right. But, it was also something rarely acknowledged; that is, until now.
Today, Tulsa Central High School was integrated. A school closed down town and this one was opening it's doors to all students. Bus loads of Negroes were flooding through the school gates.
Whistles and hollering of crude names and insults were thrown, then returned with something nastier glued to the wrapping paper. A "white trash" here, N-word there. Soon enough, fights broke out.
What a perfect way to start the school year.
A few more fights begun, then friends joined in. All he could do was sit at the foot of one of the two large cement pillars at the front of the school, binder in hand, and watch; wait until the staff and police came running. Too soon, the boy couldn't look one way or another without the beginnings of a war leering back at his greenish-gray eyes.
As if 'Nam wasn't enough. Tears threatened to overflow. He leaned back and closed his eyes, waiting for the moment to pass.
Looking around again, he noticed that the only people outside who weren't fighting were the people encouraging it by hollering like the cowards they were to "FIGHT, FIGHT!" without having to get into it themselves, a few of pacifists with peace medallions hanging from their necks and flat hair much longer than his own, and girls who were either screaming for their boyfriends to kick ass, hollering at each other and other young men for their color- a couple had actually surprised him by jumping in themselves-, or crying for it all to end. He pulled out a cancer stick and lit up. No longer was he the weed-fiend, but smoked only when nervous or to look tough. In this case, both reasons applied.
The boy nervously tried to focus on blowing a smoke ring when he heard the unmistakable clicks of blades being pulled. Now, where there was face-to-face, close-up combat among the young men, there was running; the dodging of blades. A shot was fired- loud, unforgiving, sure to pierce the flesh of young meat. A girl screamed.
Sirens sounded and a cop hollered through a megaphone. Finally, he thought. Then, looking at his wristwatch, he realized it had only been a few minutes. The mob hesitantly dispersed, sure to continue the war in the hallways of the school. Some had to be pried off one another like fresh gum on the underside of the desks in Math. Luckily, no one seemed to have been stabbed, it was too short a time from the first click. For guns, however, you only need a second. No one knew who'd fired that shot.
The courtyard revealed drops of blood here and there, some people too hurt to get up- in order with the white boys first- being taken to the few ambulances parked just in front of the gates along with the cop cars, and a young black man kneeling over a girl who was bleeding to death from a bullet-shaped wound just above her right hip bone, him trying desperately and failing to stop the flow of blood as he kissed her forehead and spoke in a forced low and calm voice. Where were the cops? The medics?
Damn them, the boy thought as he threw down his cigarette not bothering to ground it on the cement and began running toward the black couple. They probably thought she was dead already and didn't even give a crap if they couldn't do anything. Just give half-assed apologies and leave it alone. It amazed and disgusted him how even those who's job was to protect and serve just help people in general could be just as racist as everybody else.
The boy turned to reveal a more matured, dark, angular, face and hair cut in that army style that seemed so familiar and brown eyes that immediately filled with hate when he approached. He screamed, voice escalating to where it was cracking every so often. Every obscenity and insult he knew was flying from his mouth. This was expected, for "his kind" had nearly killed an innocent girl. The fact that he'd not been near the fighting was like sandpaper against his patience. Suddenly, somewhat unnerved by the lack of reaction, the older boy tackled him. He kicked him in the back of the head and the younger boy was immediately reminded of the greaser-soc rumble a couple years ago. That's when he snapped.
"HEY!"
He dizzily grabbed at the boy's ankles and pulled hard so he fell right on his ass.
"I'm trying to help, damn it. I'm not the idiot who brought the gun, so just chill a second and listen." he said going for calm, but failing miserably.
Silence and a once over was his reply. Then, a curt, yet somewhat unsure nod.
He knelt down beside the older boy and checked to make sure she had even the slightest possibility to be saved. Pulse: light. Breath: . . . . Breath? Oh, God, he'd better hurry it up. He told him to apply pressure to the wound to slow the blood loss, as he had learned it. He never thought he'd need the knowledge, but here he was.
As soon as the other boy had a handle on it, he ran fast as he could returning with a small group of men came with a gurney. Two to carry the girl and another to resume the position slowing the blood flow. They had picked up the pace all for the white boy who was deeply worried for his friends.
"Damn it, were you trying to decapitate me?" he groaned, his head throbbing from the kicks and his neck aching from being thrust into such sudden awkward positions.
"Sorry." He hesitated supposing he should be nicer to the boy. "C'mon," he changed the subject and lead the way to ride in the back of the ambulance.
She had a beautiful face with high cheekbones and skin tight but soft skin painted by God a dark color to match her usual personality. They had both gotten their face shape from their father, but her hair she got from her mother. Black and straight until it reached the inward curve at the ends. Her plump lips hidden away by the oxygen mask were made for kissing. This much worried her brother.
As they stood in the ambulance with the sirens blaring over them and the girl between them when there was a sort of clanging sound. The older boy finally tore his eyes away from the girl and noticed the other boy leaning back against the side of the ambulance with his eyes squeezed shut holding his head to the cool metal.
"You okay, man?" he asked.
"Headache," he answered quickly. "It happens all the time."
"Oh."
Silence.
"So, what's your name again?" He'd been trying to figure out how to go about asking the younger boy's name without embarrassing himself, him having brought him along in the first place. Fortunately- or more rather, unfortunately- he was in too much pain to notice.
"Ponyboy Curtis."
Ponyboy heard the expected "Really?" but it wasn't like a that's-not-seriously-your-name "really" but more with a tone of recognition. He chuckled to himself, lifting his head.
"You seem to like my name. What's yours?"
"Dante Iredell."
He nodded.
"And who's. . ." Ponyboy asked uncomfortably.
"Oh, she's my little sister. Teresa." He smiled at her remembering their dispute on the side whenever he'd introduced her as his "little sister". "Well, she's a year younger than me. She's a junior."
"Dante and Teresa," he tested the names on his tongue. "Huh, you might end up in some of my classes."
"Yeah? Senior huh?"
Was he already a senior? "Uh-huh. I hope she doesn't get Ms. Tanette. She always talks about being reincarnated from a tree."
"We'll see if she lives first."
If. If she lives we can see what classes she gets. If he makes it he'll never walk again. If he gets out of the war he'll come to my graduation. That god damned deceitful if. A wave of pain coursed through his head like a tornado through a city. No mercy.
"Don't talk like that, Dante." He groaned leaning his head back against the cool metal of the ambulance.
Dante looked worriedly at him from across the gurney. "Ponyboy?" He noticed his face was paler than before and he was stumbling slightly at every bump of the ambulance with the striking resemblance of a drunk.
"I'm fine!" He snapped impatiently. He didn't mean to and tried for a contrite glance, but couldn't manage it. Like hell I'm fine, he thought. More like I've got another damned concussion. He felt himself sway and had a feeling of deija vu along with it knowing what was coming next.
The ambulance slowed in front of the hospital as it went over a speed bump and just as he lost his balance he thought dazedly how lucky he was that this was happening in an ambulance.