Okey-dokey, so this is something from my old notebook that I practically tripped over while cleaning my room a few months ago. I decided to thumb through it and much to my surprise, I found a rather old story I'd started but never finished.(I.E., this story is only about a year old or so, and I didn't get far from the beginning, only about ¾ of the page down. *heh, heh heh…*) Anyways, this is kinda like (okay well it flat out IS) an apology about not posting anything since.........HOLY SHIT! NOT SINCE LAST YEAR!!! ACK! So so so so so so so so so so unbelievably sorry about not posting anything! Enough with the talkey, more with the writey! And On we go!
Death Wish
By
Cinnamonbear200
Chapter 1: Apples and Stories
-"Alice!" I heard my older brother, Sodapop, yell. "Alice Starr Curtis, do you have a death wish or something?!" I sighed as I flicked my waist-length, honey-brown hair out of my face. Soda hadn't always been like this, I reflected as my older brother ranted. I remember times when he would hold me like a baby when I cried, and how he used to slip me candy bars with caramel filling on the sly from the DX when he got home from work. But that was all before my oldest brother, Darry, got killed in a terrible car crash, just like my mom and dad were when I was nothing but an infant. But now Darry is dead and gone, and there's nothing I can do about it.
My twin brother, Ponyboy, now, he's awful nice to me, but sometimes, he seems so— so, gloomy. 'Specially when Johnny or Dallas are ever mentioned. They were real good buddies of his.
However, away from that. Back to the matter at hand. Soda was yelling at me for one reason. I had taken out my Swiss army knife with its 5.5 cm. long blade, to peel and slice an apple with. I couldn't understand why Soda was blastin' a gasket over it. It wasn't like I did it in front of Socs or anything like that. I ain't that stupid. A loud bang issued from our old screen door, startling me out of my reverie. "I'm home!" I heard Ponyboy shout.
"In here!" I yelled.
"Here now, what's this all about?" Ponyboy asked when he saw me leaning coolly against the old enamled stove with the red-faced Sodapop standing over me, looking a heck of a lot like Darry.
"Ponyboy, can I talk to you for a minute in the family room?" Soda asked.
"Sure." Pony replied easily. Soda seemed to relax a little at his tone. My twin brother has that effect on people. Soothing, sort of.
Anyhow, Soda took Ponyboy aside and spoke to him for a couple of minutes. I got bored waiting for them and began to munch on the apple I had sliced. It tasted fresh, clean and juicy, and made me feel better, not so angry. Apples do that to me, they clear my head. "Alice?" at the sound of Ponyboy's voice, I looked up at him from the table I had sat down at to eat my apple. His face was relaxed and reassuring, but his eyes made me worry. They had a worried, kinda nervous, gloomy look to them. "Alice, honey, can I talk with you for a moment, up in your room?" He asked.
"O.K. sure." I replied, my voice flat.
We walked up the stairs to my room. It actually used to be Ponyboy and Soda's room, but recently, Soda added another room onto the first floor of the house last summer, and moved his and Ponyboy's stuff into it, leaving me with their old room. I painted it powder blue, 'cause it reminded me of Paris, and had a neat little set of wooden furniture from the Sears Roebuck catalog moved into it. (The furniture, I recall, had been 75% off at the time, and Soda still worked himself to the bone to pay for it.) I had painted it white and varnished it. A powder blue rug I had crotched myself with yarn from the Dime Store 3 blocks from the house lay on the hardwood floor I had varnished. My bed, with its cozy white comforter with the blue edging and blue, white-edged sheets and pillowcases, sat neatly made in the corner of the medium sized room. I sat down on the little white swivel stool in front of the neat white vanity and began to comb my hair. I motioned for Ponyboy to sit on the bed, as I had to use the vanity stool as the chair for my small, white desk. "Alice," Pony began.
"Mmm?"
"Do you know why Soda got so upset at you for pullin' your blade out to slice that apple?"
"Uh-uh." I replied distractedly.
"Alice, this would be so much easier if I could talk to you, not your reflection. Your hair's just fine, baby."
I got up from the vanity and sat next to Ponyboy on the bed.
"Why did Soda have a cow when I used my knife to slice the apple?" I asked earnestly.
"Well, Soda's kinda afraid of knives. So am I." He said.
"Why? I've taken my knife out before in front of the both of you, and neither of you ever reacted poorly to it before." I replied.
"Well honey, it goes something like this..."
"And today was a bad day to take your knife out because it's the basically the anniversary of when Johnny killed Bob the Soc." Pony finished an hour later after relating to me the tale of how he and Johnny had been on the lam for a bit after Johnny killed Bob, and how all the trouble had started from that one switch blade that Johnny had carried.
"Oh." I said, shaken. I knew Ponyboy, Soda, and Darry, (when he was alive,), all got kinda gloomy-like when I asked about Johnny or Dallas, and I had never understood why. Now, I knew, and I felt horrible about upsetting Soda like that.
"Soda! I'm so sorry!" I sobbed in a startled Soda's chest. My voice came out muffled, but I could tell he understood what I had said, because he peeled me off from his shirt, dried my eyes, and told me it was all right, and that he was glad that I understood why he had gotten so upset. I gave him a watery promise that I would never, ever take another knife out in his presence, or out of it, for that matter, again. Soda laughed and Ponyboy started dinner and we all went to bed smiling.
Later that night, Ponyboy came in and sat with me, and I woke up at around two in the morning to find him snoring loudly with his arms around me in a sort of hug. I snuggled deeper into the blankets, inhaling deeply of Ponyboy's scent, a sort of mixture of soap and the smoky scent of the weeds he smokes so much, and relished the fact that tomorrow would be a glorious Saturday, with nothing but fun, fun, and more fun. Or so I thought.