I would like to thank you for selecting this story to read. If the intro bores you, please feel free to skip straight to the part about the Original Characters. Please note, however, that I mention quite a few important incidents that will play a role late in the story. With that being said, please enjoy.
Mia woke with a sense of excitement and nervousness clenched in her chest. For over a year, she had been waiting for this moment to come. And today, well, today was the day. Outside her window, the horizon glowed pink, the sunrise just moments away. She tossed the blankets aside, standing up as the wooden floor boards creaked under her bare feet. Usually, she woke an hour earlier to feed the animals and milk the cows, but Uncle Paul had excused her of her morning duties at the request of Aunt Margaret.
Breakfast was served at 6:30 sharp. With that fact in mind, Mia began to dress herself as quickly and carefully as she could. The morning before, she had laid out her church dress, the blue one with the ruffles at the bottom, white socks with the lace at the top, and a pair of white shoes. She carefully considered the garments as she sat down at her vanity. With a skillful hand, she quickly unraveled her long, reddish brown hair from the rollers, choosing a blue ribbon to tie back her loose curls. She then quickly dressed. For a moment, she admired herself in the mirror. Her hair, she thought, was pretty enough and so was her face. But in the end, she considered herself as only a short, very skinny, flat chested girl of twelve.
She walked to the door, scanning the room where she had lived for over a year. It was barren now, all her wordly possessions contained in two suitcases at the foot of her bed. She grabbed her luggage, struggling with the heavy objects down the stairs.
"Ah, Amelia," Aunt Margaret greeted the girl as she walked from the staircase into the kitchen. "Put those down and have some breakfast. Hurry, now. We have to leave soon."
Mia nodded, joining her Uncle Paul at the breakfast table. Usually, grits or oatmeal was served with honey and dried raspberries. But today on the table, a small feast laid; sausages, bacon, eggs, freshly made chocolate chip muffins, and homemade bread, toasted and smeared with real butter.
All of a sudden, Mia lost her appetite. Anxiety obscured excitement. Around her, Aunt Margaret and Uncle Paul ate breakfast with gusto while all Mia stirred around her scrambled eggs. At home, she ate them with grape jelly, but Aunt Margaret, the prude, would not allow "that behavior."
"Aren't you hungry, Amelia?" Aunt Margaret asked as she took her place at the table. Mia shook her head. She felt bad denying the food in front of her; it was obvious that Aunt Margaret spent a lot of time on the meal, which meant a lot considering the old woman didn't spend a lot on anything these days.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Margaret," Mia said softly. "I'm just feeling a bit queasy."
"Do you want to stay home?" Aunt Margaret asked. "You don't have to go, you know. You wouldn't be hurting anybody's feelings. I could just phone your brothers and let them know."
Mia shook her head with vehemence.
"No," she said forcefully. "I want to go."
"As you wish," Aunt Margaret replied softly.
Last July, Margaret's niece and nephew-in-law passed away, leaving their four children orphans. The oldest child stepped up and offered to look after all of them. Margaret wouldn't have it, though. She offered to take the two youngest, of whom she considered the best and the brightest of the family. The older of the two, a boy of thirteen, adamantly refused to leave his brothers. In fact, the young girl, Amelia, then just a little thing of eleven, was more than reluctant to leave. But Margaret insisted, stating that a young lady couldn't possibly be rasied properly by a bunch of boys. The eldest brother agreed, handing his little sister of to their great aunt. Aunt Maragaret, who never had children, absolutely loved the girl. Things had gone just fine until about four months ago, when Amelia became listless and so thin, Margaret thought she would be carried away by the wind if she was reduced any more. More than concerned, she took the child to the doctor, who said absolutely nothing was wrong with her either than the fact that she physically and painfully missed her brothers. Though it pained her, Margaret had no choice but to send the child back to her family in Tulsa.
"Are you sure you're not hungry, girl?" Uncle Paul growled to Amelia. "It's a long way to Tulsa."
Paul had never liked children, which was why he and Margaret never had any. He was more than glad to send the child back where she came from. He couldn't wait to have one less mouth to feed.
"Well, if you're not going to eat, we might as well leave." Paul stood up, throwing his napkin down on his now empty plate. "Don't want you to be late now, do we?"
Uncle Paul threw Mia's luggage into the bed of his rusty, old green Dodge. Margaret took her seat to the right, Paul in the driver's seat in the left with Mia squeezed in the middle between the two. In her left hand, she clutched the brown paper bag filled with potato chips, a chocolate chip cookie, a ham sandwich and an apple. In her other, she held the little purse filled with dimes to buy cokes and and pay for pay phones just in case.
In It was an hour drive to the Greyhound stating in Dallas and the three sat in the roaring thunder of the car engine, each contemplating his or her own thoughts wordlessly. Finally, the pulled besides the large bus, already packed full of people, departure time only moments away. Aunt Margaret took Mia by the hand to the bus while Paul grabbed the luggage from the back of the truck.
"Excuse me," Margaret said, snapping her fingers to get the bus driver's attention. "This is my niece, Amelia. She's traveling for the first time by herself today. Could you watch out for her, please?"
The bus driver, a thin older man, gave Mia a smile revealing his crooked teeth.
"Sure thing, Ma'am," he said to Margaret. He looked to Mia and said, "Come on, sweetie. You're the only one we're waiting on, I believe."
Paul handed Mia her things as Margaret shoved her bony arms around Mia's neck, giving her a strong hug.
"Please write," Margaret whispered. "I love you so much and we'll miss you."
With one forlorn glance to her Aunt and Uncle, Mia boarded the bus. There was only one open seat near the middle of the bus. Next to it, occupying the window seat, sat a man. He looked nice, clean shaven, clad in a pair of black trousers, a white button down shirt, a red tie, and a gray vest. He was young, perhaps three or four years older than her eldest brother. And, Mia decided, he was very handsome, brown hair combed neatly with a few strands making their way onto his forehead.
The girl awkwardly stumbled down the narrow aisle to the empty seat. She tried to place her own luggage in the overhead racks, but she was too short. To her pleasure, the young man stood up to help her.
"Allow me," he said pleasantly. He took the suitcases, expertly stowing them before sliding back into his seat. Mia slid in after him as the bus driver started the engine and began to pull onto the street.
"Hello," the man said to Mia once they both were settled. "How are you today?"
"I'm fine," Mia replied, blushing as the man spoke to her. "How are you?"
"Why, I'm fantastic. Were those your grandparents who brought you to the station?"
"No." Mia shook her head. "They're my great aunt and uncle."
"Well, I heard that this is your very first time traveling by yourself. I have a hard time believing that."
"Why?"
"Because you just seemed so very grown-up. How old are you anyway, twenty-two?" The man smiled as he teased Mia.
"No!" Mia giggled. "I'm twelve. I had my birthday last week."
"You did! Well, happy birthday, then." He paused for a moment before speaking again. "My name's Gregory. What's yours?"
"Mia."
They shook hands. Mia thought it was going to be a very pleasant six hour drive from Dallas to Tulsa.
Sodapop Curtis sat in his truck, waiting alone at the desolate Greyhound station. It was a quarter after two in the afternoon, and in any moment, a bus was going to pull up with his younger sister in it. He couldn't believe Mia was coming home. The last time he had seen her, it was last July, over a year ago right after his parents died. He remembered how his great aunt, Margaret, had insisted that she take Mia back home with her. She wanted to take Pony, too, but Darry would not allow that. He had petitioned all he could to keep Mia home, but in the end, Margaret won. His last memory of Mia was of her sobbing uncontrollably, one hand clutching Pony, the other Soda. Darry had clutched Mia to his chest, cradling her, before painfully handing her over to Margaret. They didn't call very much afer she had left; long distant calls were too expensive. And Mia's letters became so short and sporadic, after only a few months, they stopped coming at all.
Soda remembered last week when Darry received a rare call from Margaret. His eyes had lit up as he talked and as soon as he hung up, he excitedly regarded his brothers.
"Mia's coming home," he had barely breathed, excitement flushing his face.
In the past week, the brothers had cleaned endlessly, converting Soda's vacant room back into Mia's, stocking the kitchen with food. And then, yesterday, Darry had gathered Soda, Pony, Steve and Two-Bit into the living room, looking them all into the eye with a serious expression.
"Look, guys," he had said. "Mia's coming home tomorrow, which means that we all have to act like gentlemen. I've created some new rules. Rule one, we must all stayed fully clothed at all time. No lounging around in boxer shorts or without a shirt one. Rule two, after nine in the evening, it's quiet time. No rough housing or loud noises. Rule three, no profanities or any inappropriateness at all. Rule four, just be civil. Okay?"
A loud noise woke Soda from his thought. A large bus came creeping down the street, pulling into the dusty station. It came to a screeching halt and the door flew open. A few moments later, people began to pile out. All of a sudden, Soda became apprehensive. What if Mia missed her bus? What if something happened to her? With wobbly legs, he got out of the truck craning his neck to see. Then, he saw her, carrying two large suitcases. She was a lot thinner than he remembered her, but not much taller. She looked prettier, different, with her long hair curled rather than plaited. It was the same way their mother used to wear her hair.
Soda rushed to meet his littler sister. She spotted him walking. Immediately, she dropped her things, running with all her might to the teenager in the distance. She threw herself into his arms, and Soda hugged back, stroking her hair as she began weeping into his plaid shirt.
"You don't know how much I missed you," Mia muttered into his chest, her words muffled.
"Gosh, I missed you too," he replied. He kissed the top of head and hugged back as hard as he dared without crushing her.
After several long moments, the two pulled apart. Mia regarded her older brother. He seemed stronger, his muscles more defined. He seemed taller too, and... older, more tired.
"I should have never left," Mia said as she shook her head. Soda picked up the two bags and directed her to the truck.
"Why do you say that?"
"I just missed you guys. All of you. Even the gang."
Soda was silent for a moment before speaking again.
"Mia... do you know... I mean, did someone tell you... about... well, about how happened?" Soda stumbled over his words.
"Yes," Mia replied. "Darry typed up a copy of Pony's English paper."
"So you know?"
"Yes."
"How do you feel?"
"I don't know." She sighed heavily as she sat down in the truck. Soda started the engine and began to drive. "I knew Johnny and I knew Dallas, but not like you guys knew them. I'm sorry they're gone, but..." She picked at the hem of her dress for a moment. "I do have one question, though."
"Yes?"
"How come Pony didn't mention me?"
Soda thought about the question long and hard before speaking.
"I don't know," he replied uneasily. "I thought about that too. I think it's becase... I think that was his way of protecting you."
"Of protecting me?"
"Yes." He nodded thoughtfully. "You see, his essay was all about the bad stuff in the world. And if you didn't exist in the bad stuff, that means you only exist in the good stuff. Does that make sense?"
"I guess." She shrugged wordlessly and looked out the window. The world of her childhood began to roll past her: the public pool, a movie house, the public library, the drug store, the five-and-dime. She felt comfortable, the most comfortable she had felt since her parents died. In Texas, she lived in a small, rural town. Poverty was more widespread than wealth. Even though her family wasn't very well off, they did better than more than the half of the people, who lived in shacks on a spot of land, cutting wood or working on someone else's farm to earn a living.
"Here we are!" Soda cried cheerfully as they pulled in front of the house. Mia had forgotten how sorry the neighborhood they live in looked. Most of the houses were in disrepair, the yards overgrown with weeds, chain link fences rusting in the summer air.
But who cared about looks? Gosh, she was home.
She let Soda attend to her bags as she ran to the door. It was open, as usual. She walked in and smelled the deep, rich smell of home. The rich scent of chocolate cake and cigarette smoke filled her nose. But there was something missing in the mix. She thought about it for a moment before she realized what it was: the smell of her father's aftershave. Before she knew it, tears welled up in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Soda set the bags down, looking towards his sister with concern.
"This," she sobbed, "is the first time I've been home since they died. It just doesn't seem right without them."
Soda didn't have to ask what she meant; he already knew. He wrapped her in another hug, and they both wept with abandon.
Twenty minutes later, Mia sat in her old room, the room she had known since childhood. Soda had claimed it for only a small time before he moved back in with Pony. She considered the walls, a pale yellow color, the curtains, a pretty white, the bedspread, the color of snow with bows the color of dandelions. Life with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Paul had not been bad. She received all the things she needed, all the food, all the clothes, all the school supplies. But Uncle Paul, like the old adage, believed that sparring the rod would spoil the child. Uncle Paul owned a small farm, and Mia had been expected every day to raise at 4:30 in the morning to do her chores. Doing them wrong or in an untimely fashion or even wearing the wrong clothes would result in what Uncle Paul liked to call "discipline." This happened about one out of every two times. Other transgressions included making too much noise, making a "B" on a report card, wasting food, etc, etc. Honestly, the list went on and on.
On the other hand, Margaret, if not somewhat cold and strict at times, was an ally in the farmhouse. In an earlier life, she had been a concert pianist, and she and Mia had spent hours at a time in front of the piano. Margaret had been a very patient teacher, starting Mia with the most basic scales and arpeggios, slowly building until they got to Bach, Beethoven, Motzart, Tchaikovsky. Mia became so good that she even played the piano for her school's annual musical.
Through the walls, Mia heard the front door open and then close. She abandoned her room, running into the living room. There, Ponyboy stood. Soda had explained to her earlier that Pony had taken a job tutoring some stupid rich kid in math for five dollars an hour. That was where he had been earlier. But now he was home.
They stood for a moment looking at each other before Pony rushed up to her, gathering her in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles gently over her perfect hair. She feigned anger before they embraced, laughing in happiness and exaltion before letting go.
"Nice to see you, kid," Pony laughed. "It's been way too long."
Mia regarded Ponyboy. He was taller by a good three or four inches, his voice deeper, his body more sinewy, thinner. There was a look in his eyes, a look that hadn't been there before, something that told the world that he had been to hell and back, a slightly dangerous look that commanded a sort of fear and respect.
Pony regarded Mia in much the same way. She was much, much thinner than when they last saw each other, which wasn't good, because she had only been a slight, little thing then. She now stood with her elbows and knees and wrists sticking sharply through her skin. She resembled a porcelain doll, delicate, fragile. But at the same time, her eyes held a hardened look that told the world she was no longer a child.
For a few hours, the three siblings talked of pleasantries, of school, of books, of life in general. They indolently cooked a meal, baked chicken, potatoes, homemade rolls. Darry worked late, and they hoped to have dinner on the table before he came home.
At half past six, they had just put down the last of the food when they heard the door open and then shut. Before anyone could move, Darry appeared in the kitchen doorway, work shirt unbuttoned to reveal a wife beater, skin shiny with sweat from late summer work. Before she had known she had even moved, Mia found herself in her eldest brother's arms. Darry did not cry often, but tears of joy streamed down his face.
"I missed you so much," he whispered, hugging her so hard her feet left the ground. "Please, don't leave us again."
"I won't," Mia promised, echoing Darry's soft timbre. "I won't."