Wham.

The sudden noise of the screen door slamming startled me out of my book. Judging by the heavy footsteps of old, dirty, leather work boots scudding across the floor, I could tell that Steve was the one who had entered the house so angrily. He stormed straight over to the kitchen table without saying a word and dropped onto the rickety wooden stool next to it. The older boy hung his head and ran his hands through those infamous curls he had always kept so tidy; I never quite understood how. He'd spend hours combing and styling his hair if he had to. In the next room over, Sodapop sensed the sudden melancholy aura that now cloaked the house and looked up from the show he had blaring on the TV. Immediately, his default cheerful expression changed into one of concern. My brother hated seeing anybody upset.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" He ran over to Steve and pulled up another stool. "Everything alright, Stevie?" Soda had always called him Stevie. Perhaps it was because he was the only one 'rough, tough Steve' would ever let call him anything else.
"Mngh." He muttered something intelligible through his hands, calloused from constantly working on cars. His shoulders quaked unsteadily, and heaved up and down. I could tell that controlling his emotions were more of a priority than telling us about the problem; Steve hated showing any sign of weakness. That was one of the things I disliked about him, his pure hatred for admitting that he would make mistakes, his refusal to show that sometimes, he, too, would mess up, and that sometimes he'd experience everything else that a human experiences. No, Steve constantly kept to himself. That really annoyed me. It reminded me of the way Soda had acted after Sandy left, he just wore a mask of happiness when he really was in a lot of pain. I didn't want anyone, no matter how much I hated them, to ever do that. I wish that people would just be honest to others about how they felt, unlike Steve.
Soda paused. After careful consideration, and a quick assessment of the situation, he quietly asked the poor boy, "... Dad kick you out again?" Steve emitted an odd, sorrowful, pitiful noise in response and his shoulders sunk a bit lower. I couldn't exactly see his face, but I was fairly certain that he was crying. Soda seemed to see this, too, as he reached over and pulled him over into a Pepsi-cola-Curtis hug, the very kind which he known all throughout Oklahoma for. Alright, maybe not... But all throughout our little gang.
"What's up? Do you know why? Or is he just being an ass?" Soda chuckled a bit, dryly, trying to lighten up the mood.
"... Mngh." Steve simply mumbled more gibberish and kept holding his face. Suddenly, Soda's eyes dullened as he realized something. Knowing that simply letting him sit there and ferment would be a bad idea, he lifted Steve's face up and looked at him pitifully. He simply gazed back with misty blue-green eyes, full of pain. Soda looked at him, and the sight of the two was nearly heartbreaking. They were both suffering, and knew it, but neither could do anything about it.
"... It's my birthday," Steve rasped, "It's been eighteen years... Eighteen years." The poor boy shook all over, tears silently pouring down his cheeks and falling onto the wrinkled, navy mechanic's jacket he worked in. It wasn't graceful, or beautiful, the way they fell. It was just plain sad. Books and movies never seemed to tell the truth, and I now knew it- people aren't peaceful when they're dead. They're not beautiful when they're sad. When you're happy, you don't glow. When you're upset, you won't admit it. That's just how it was.
Soda paused. Something told me that there was something going on that I didn't know about. As soon as thoughts of what that might be started passing through my mind, Stevie started sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled Soda closer and pressed his face into my brother's white t-shirt. Never had I ever seen one of us greasers so emotional ever since Johnny broke his back Dally went down under that streetlight. That was just a few months ago, yet it felt like ages. I wonder, what might Dally and Johnny be doing if they were still around. It was kind of a difficult thought; I tried before to tell myself that they're gone, yet it feels like one of the two would just crash through the door any second.
"Ponyboy Micheal, come 'ere." Darry quietly broke my train of thought, peeked around the corner and called me into the other room. It unnerved me; My full name usually meant he was going to yell at me or explain something that... That I didn't want to know about, I suppose. At least, that's how it had been the past few years. Ever since mom n' dad died, I guess. I remember my eleventh birthday more vivadly than I probably should. Reluctantly, nervously, I obeyed, knowing more harm than good would come if I hadn't.
"Sit down," Darry instructed, motioning to the other side of the great grey couch. Soft, yellow streetlights gently filtered through the dusty, broken blinds that dangled crookedly from the curtain rod. It illuminated the couch and highlighted all of the small rips and tears that had been worn through it after so many years. "There's somethin' you oughta know bout Steve, Pony."
I never really did know much about Steve and his personal life, even after all these years, but it never really bothered me. He was an absolute jerk to me, and I didn't like him. Not one bit. The only reason I don't holler at him to get out is because of Soda. I chose to ignore him.
"Pony, see here," Darry continued, "Steve's dad is always yellin' at him, hollerin' at him to git out, y'know?"
"Yeah, but why?" A sudden curiosity struck me like a bullet. All of those years of ignorance, oblivion and bliss caught up to me, and now I needed to know.
"Well, you see Pony... Steve's mom, she ain't around no more, just like Ma." He continued his speech, speaking as if I were a small child. I wasn't, I wasn't a small child, and it seriosly irked me that he was treating me as such. I was fourteen, for crying out loud- no no, I wouldn't let my emotions get ahead of me.
"I know, I know, git on with it!" I whimpered.
"Patience, Pony, I'll tell ya! So, where was I?- Oh yeah. Steve's mother, she died. Eighteen years ago today- Pony, I have no softer way to put it, but she died giving birth to him. Steve an' his old man always pinned it to the poor guy, though it wasn't his fault, an' that's why he's always comin' here beatin' on himself, because of his pa. Called him things like, 'Stupid, good-for-nothing child', ' worthless, no-good, dumbass kid,' and always lashed at him. Wadn't his fault, Soda there always trys an' tell him that, but Steve won't listen. He's stubborn as a donkey, that one, and he'll stick to what he believes- and well... Today is his birthday. It's the eighteen-year anniversary of the day he was born, and the day she died."
Darry finished up explaining everything about Steve that I had never known. I could tell he was sorry that they'd never told me before; it upset me that they thought I was such a child and he knew it. I considered hollering at him. It'd teach him a right lesson, not to treat me like some dumb kid. However, I took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye and said, "... He gonna be ok?" Anniversarys are hard to take if they ain't good (like when ma 'n' pa died, every year there's one day we don't speak nothin') and I assumed Steve would take it poorly. His dad criticized his childishness, (which explained why he didn't like me, takin' after his pa and all), an' it really bugged him. Poor guy, I could never imagine living such a life. At least I didn't have my parent's deaths' weight constantly on my shoulders.
Steve had dragged this dead horse around his whole life an' never spoke a word of it. He simply dealt with it and carried it round, like it wasn't nothing. In a way, I had a sort of admiration for him now, but I pitied him even more, too. Felt bad for Soda, who had to try an' keep ol' Stevie in line, keep him alive, when he himself struggled with Sandy's leavin' too. Here I was, on my high horse, whining about Darry an' how we didn't get along, when everyone else around me had it so much worse.
Dally, his parents never gave one bit about him. He even ran off to Oklahoma, they didn't give a hang. One night he just hopped the 3 o' clock train and took off, they never bothered to send police after him to look. To them, he was the invisible child. He was not a delinquent by choice, but because he craved the attention that his parents never gave him. He didn't care if it was negative or positive, which got him into a whole ton of trouble.
Johnny's parents beat him mercilessly. He'd head home after playing football in the lot and come back the next day covered in bruises. He always said that he liked it better when they beat him, at least they knew he existed. Johnny always had this aching sympathy for Dally, they both had an unspoken mutuality that bonded them so. Never had to talk bout it, they just knew.
Soda loved Sandy. He loved her more than anything, ever, and she didn't love him back. A terrible feeling it is, to love someone and have them act as if you never existed. He'd have given his life for her, always talked about the big plans, bout how one day they'd be married and have a little girl who'd be exactly like her ma, but she didn't want that. Sandy didn't care for Soda. She never did.
Dreams. Darry was full of them. Soon as mum 'n' pa died, they were all crushed. Torn apart, slowly and mercilessly, until he any and all sorts of dreams. He didn't dream or wish bout me goin' to college, he knew. He knew, for a solid fact, I'd go to college. That was his ultimate goal in life, and he'd failed. I knew he hated for me to be off in my own world because of this, he didn't want the same to happen to me. I always ignored his desperate pleas. Darry didn't hate me, he just wanted to protect me. I always took it as he didn't care. He was just looking out for me.
Now, I never known Two-Bit to have any problems, but I was sure he did. I was sure, that somewhere, deep down inside of him, it killed him. It killed him to know that his pa didn't care enough about him to stay. He never let us know bout any problems, but I was sure that they were there. And here I was, moping around, whining that my life wasn't perfect, when in fact, I was surrounded by loving, caring family who all had it much worse than me. They never complained, or whined, they simply supported me and I knew they'd give anything for me too.
At that moment, I decided that I'd never complain about not being loved or cared about ever again; I was. In fact, at that moment, I was the most loved, cared about person in the world. It felt great.
"Pony? Yeah, I'm sure Steve'll be fine, he just needs to... Cool down." Darry reassured me that it would be ok, that everything would be ok, even if he knew it wasn't gonna be. Like Ma would've.
Suddenly, a huge crash resounded down the hall.
"S-Steve?! What in the sam heck do you think you're doin'?! Steve, issokay! Everything's fine!"
"It's-" smash. "My-" crash. "FAULT!"
Darry and I ran in to find Soda desperately trying to comfort a hysteric Steve, who was slamming himself into the wall and punching it repeatedly. Blood was smeared throught it, and his knuckles were both split open from smashing them against the drywall.
"Everything! Everything that ever goes wrong! It's my fault! Everything is my fault! I'm a no-good, worthless coward! I deserve to die! Pa was always right! You goddamned LIARS! There is no reason I should still be here! I don't mean anything to you, Soda, you can just admit it. I don't mean anything to ANYONE! NO ONE!"
Steve finished up his rant. Shoulders heaving, he sobbed and sobbed, in total panic and frustration. Soda slowly approached him and hugged him. Softly, he tried to comfort Steve.
"You're here because we love you, Stevie... Don't you ever forget that."

Author's Note:

this is kinda bad. sorry, doll, i don't know what i'm doing anymore.

just wanted to get my ideas out there.

i might finish it later, the rest was real bad so i'll need to rewrite it.

constructive criticism welcome!~

thanks for reading.

-rob 3