Numbers.

I had never been good with them. They were meaningless, empty, and I felt little importance in them beyond their everyday use, such as time, date, money, and so on.

But sometimes I wondered if numbers were greater than they appeared- if they had some sort of operation I had never considered. Did God believe in numbers? Did our wrongdoings measure equally to our punishments, and did our good deeds add up to the same amount of rewards we got?

No, I thought, surely not. That isn't God. That's karma. Forgiveness is a factor in his ways as well as reasoning.

I counted up in my head. Soda. Johnny. Dally. Mom. Dad. Fighting with Darry, keeping Darry from going to college, irritating Steve, putting Soda between Darry and I.

That was only four, and some were a stretch. It didn't add up. I didn't understand. But there is yet another factor, I noted in the back of my mind. The world doesn't revolve around me. I'm not the only one whose actions affect the world. Everyone's do.

So then I am left with the thought that it would be nearly impossible to have a perfect life. I couldn't control everybody in the world, after all. I couldn't control Vietnam or what our president decided to do about everything. I couldn't control the train driver who hadn't stopped in time. I couldn't control the kids who were in the burning church or the Soc's who tried to jump us that night in the park.

Helplessness made a pit in my stomach that threatened to consume me whole. There was nothing I could do to stop bad things from happening. Even if I was a flawless human being, bad things would still happen. Unexpectedly, a comforting translation shone through, putting me at ease. It wasn't your fault.

The phone rang to life, making me startle out of my thoughts and pick it up, answering without thinking. Darry greeted me and told me that if he worked late today, he'd have a better chance at being promoted but that there would be other opportunities, since he wasn't so sure about leaving me alone for another couple of hours. He asked if I had a preference.

I found it simultaneously funny and odd that my immediate reaction was fear. I had just realized the impact a simple choice could have, and I didn't want the burden that had just dropped on my shoulders, the power I had over the situation. I told Darry I didn't know, for him to decide. What if I asked him to come home now, and he got in a car accident? What if I said he could stay and he fell off a roof?

Something in me clicked.

"Darry?" I asked, after he stated that he was just going to come ahead on home, right before he was about to say goodbye.

"Yeah?" he replied patiently.

"I'll be fine. Stay there, okay?"

"You sure?" he questioned. I nodded, though he couldn't see me.

"Just be careful," I told him nervously, fidgeting with the loops on the telephone cord. He may have heard the strangeness in my voice, but I wasn't sure.

"I will. See you, Pone."

"Bye." I hung up, laying back down on the couch and pulling the blanket over me that we keep draped over the back of it.

Choices are everywhere, and we have to make them for every single move we make or else we will never move forward. I can't live in a stalemate my whole life, and I can't count every possibility in the world. I can't cheat life. No one can. The only thing I am able to do is help with what I can and hope for the best with what I can't.

I fell into a silent slumber, as I awaited someone to appear on our porch, hoping to myself that it would be Darry. Hoping it wouldn't be a state worker. Hoping it couldn't be a Soc. Hoping it wouldn't be a military man dressed in his garbs with a letter in his hand.

Hope.

Is that was what it was all about? Hope isn't tangible. Then again, most of the important things aren't.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders. Feedback is welcome and very much appreciated.

But I'm not expecting much, to be honest. I wasn't very satisfied with this one. Just seemed meh to me. I don't know. Nothing special, just seemed too much like a cheesy TV episode for my own liking. My others are better. Ugh. Writing sucks.