*I don't own The Outsiders.
Pony's past year in war has left him struggling with more demons than ever. Will the sweetness of a family reunion be the antidote to his new found bitterness?
(Third Person Point of View)
He walked, hoping to bum a ride the rest of the way into town. He was on the outskirts of Tulsa, shuffling each step closer to home. It had only been a year since he'd last stepped foot in the city, since he last saw all his buddies, but to the young veteran it was a life time ago.
The duffel bag weighed heavily on Ponyboy Curtis's shoulder. He was fatigued, not just from the hike into Tulsa but from his own weariness. The past year he'd been spent fighting in Vietnam, dodging bullets, listening to the cries of men dying, the cries of his men, including friends.
His newly defined frame shuddered slightly at the memories that hit him. He could still smell burning flesh, taste the disgusting clump he called food, see the severed limbs around him. He knew that he had to come to terms with what he did; he took a life after all.
He didn't think it was right. He can't claim he was overly religious, but he remembered going to Sunday school and going to church with his Momma and Dad. He knew one of the biggest sins was killing someone, and he committed that crime more than once.
Did fighting for your country make it right? In God's view he doubted it. And oh boy did he feel the guilt and the weight of those lives on his shoulders. How many of them had a family to go back to? How many of the lives he stole have their own kids and wives to get back to? He sighed heavily and took a heavy drag on the cigarette he had forgotten was in his hand.
He flicked the ashes to the side and chuckled humorlessly. Pony hadn't been home in so long, he didn't even know if he felt at home here anymore. He looked at the old hangouts he used to spend time at. The park, where he and Johnny were jumped, was not the best of memories.
The Dingo. Ah the Dingo, a ghostly smile graced the young man's face. He brought a hand up and rubbed the five o'clock shadow that covered his jaw line. He mouth salivated at the thought of one of their burgers.
Then he thought of Soda's smiling face, Two-Bit's crazy ass, Dar's calm demeanor, and Steve's…well Steve just being Steve. The ghostly grin widened slightly, his desire to be home was greater than the one he had for that hamburger.
But, by God if he didn't get a good tasting meal and a Pepsi soon, he may just shoot himself. What was one more murder under his belt?
The smile fell from his face like that.
Unfortunately, he had lost contact with the others during his stay in 'Nam. For all they knew, he was still fighting his ass off or worse dead. Pony's mind drifted back to the horrors he had to commit, he did it to survive. He didn't want to die…
He sighed, the answer is never clear, is it? He smiled, more than slightly bitter, well not for him anyhow.
He wasn't the only one who had to face death first hand. Was he the first one out of the gang to? No, Dallas Winston was. However, out of who is left he was. He still remembered the moonlight sparking in the pool of blood that continued to grow from Bob Sheldon's body. He remembered hearing the last wheezy breath leave Johnny Cade's body, his best buddy. Damn, he missed that kid.
Yeah, he saw and faced death young, that didn't mean he handled it well though. Darry's card had been pulled for the war while Pony was still under his care, Pony had been his ticket out of the war and thankfully he was never called again.
Darry watched the news and knew too well what was over there. He was one of the lucky ones out of them all. He's had his fair share of aches over the years, but the war wasn't one he had to witness first hand.
Soda was drafted soon after his eighteenth birthday. Steve wouldn't let Soda go alone and signed himself up under one condition: He was right beside Sodapop Curtis. Lucky for them, Steve's condition was met. Soda had been injured in battle; he still couldn't run well on his leg. Steve made it through with nothing too awful, Steve was good at keeping calm in intense situations, that allowed him to make it through the war easier than most.
Two-Bit was drafted off as well. That was a sad day for Darry and Pony, Two-Bit was sent off before Steve and Soda came home. The two had been alone for a few months before hearing the news of Soda and Steve's plans to come home.
Two-Bit made it home, a gunshot wound in his arm, but otherwise he was the same silly guy they'd known their whole lives. That just proved how hard it was to take a smile off that guy's face. But, the reunion had been short lived since Pony was drafted soon after.
Pony couldn't even think of that goodbye without tears coming to his eyes. A kid with no parents, working his way through college, wasn't good enough to get a pass. Pony had heard the horrific stories Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit shared with one another.
Darry, wanting to make sure of Soda's mental and emotional wellbeing, made sure Soda told him every detail. Dar didn't want it to fester in Soda, so he convinced him to spill his heart out and he did. They just didn't know Pony was on the other side of the front door listening to the conversation fold out on the porch.
Pony cried hard for his friends that night.
When his own draft letter came, he cried. Hearing those stories scared him, his overactive imagination showing him every gory detail. The three brothers had holed up together and cried. With heavy hearts they said goodbyes and then Pony set foot on the aircraft the following week.
That was so long ago, Pony thought.
Pony jumped as a car blares its horn. He still wasn't used to all the city sounds. Each one seemed to send his mind reeling to a state of panicked alertness, waiting for the enemy that wasn't here. He hoped, in desperation, this didn't continue. He loved Tulsa and didn't want to walk around jumping at nothing more than the sound of a horn or a glass shattering from up on top the bridge.
He looked down at the item in his hand. One of the first things he grabbed when he got here, with his limited money, was a bottle of liquor. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was drinking. It was still covered in a brown bag, the lid lost many steps ago. He took a final swing and disposed of it.
He drank maybe a quarter of the large bottle, but it was enough to get a buzz. He didn't want to worry his brothers anymore than he had to by coming home after a long year and being completely drunk. That's the sort of thing they expected from Two-Bit, maybe Steve, but not him.
He wasn't sure why he picked up the bottle at that little store, his original intentions was to only get a pack of cigarettes. He figured it was to try and drown some of the guilt and pain that was bubbling around in him. He laughed aloud, drinking doesn't get rid of pain, only covers it up for another day.
He told Two-Bit those exact words after he found Two-Bit drunk at Johnny's gravestone a couple years ago. Yet, here he was trying to do the same thing.
"I'm a fucking hypocrite," Pony muttered to no one. He laughed, "And a loony for talking to myself."
He lets his bag fall of his shoulder; across the street from him is his childhood home. The same peeling cream colored paint, with the faded blue shudders, and a rickety old porch. Through the front window, he can see Darry, Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit all playing a game of poker, drinking bears.
A single lonely tear trails down Pony's face, tickling his cheek. He's never seen a sight so beautiful.
Looking quickly both ways, he crosses the street. He'd laugh all the way to Hell if he died walking across the street to finally get home after everything he went through to get back here. He can't help but smile, "It would be just my luck," he murmurs, to himself. "Or lack thereof."
He walks up the stairs of the porch, savoring the moment. He sighs, feeling better already. His stomach still twists at the thought of who is sitting on the other side of the screen door; the beaten wooden door was open to let in the cool fall breeze.
Pony licks his dry, chapped lips and whistles a low note turning high right at the end. The chattering on the inside stops and the men all turn toward the door, the direction of the whistle. Pony takes the last few steps, a smile twitching on the corners of his mouth as he steps into the light pouring out from the living room into the darkness outside.
Still on the other side of the screen door, all the four on the inside whoop loudly. Cards, chips, drinks, and chairs fly and fall over as they make a mad dash to the door.
The young veteran whips the door open and is scooped up into his brothers' holds.
Through tears, they whoop and hop around like idiots. Pony's thoughts of drinking, death, and destruction are left aside as he's passed from person to person.
"When we stopped getting letters, we began to think the worse," Soda choked out. He reaches out and ruffles his little brother's red brown hair, making Pony feel like a child again.
Pony smiled at him, "I'm tougher than I look."
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows it is true. This was one more hurdle to get over in his life, but he could do it. He could make it through like all the other times, with his family by his side.
This was just an idea I had swimming in my head, so please excuse typos.
Review please!!