Author Warning: This story contains mature content in later chapters. The rating will eventually change to 'M' in order to reflect this.
Every person in the bar would be deaf by midnight. Elvis rock music pounded out of large speakers at such a loud pitch that the lyrics were unfathomable. Nobody came to listen to the lyrics anyway.
Except for me, I liked this song.
As a fourteen year old, I shouldn't have even been allowed to come in the first place. But we knew the bartender/bouncer, so I was allowed to be secretly ushered in.
"No thanks, I'll stay home." I curled my legs up under me and found my place on the page.
"You heard the kid. He ain't comin'." Soda ignored Steve and barreled on.
"Come on Pone. Two-Bit only turns nineteen once, and I want my baby brother there to help me properly celebrate. Plus, he can legally drink now."
Steve said, "He doesn't have to hide his beer from the fuzz anymore."
I knew the only reason Soda was pushing so hard was because he wanted me to get out of the house. Ever since Johnny's and Dally's deaths I had personified the very definition of 'homebody'. Once summer hit I did not have to leave for school and track anymore, so my new habit became blatantly obvious.
"If Darry comes, I'll come," I relented, not removing my gaze from the tattered play. Soda bounded toward the kitchen.
Satisfied, I prepared for a restful evening with only Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for company. There was no way Darry would ever go out to a party when he had to be to work at seven. And that, I thought, is that.
My ideal evening crashed down around my ears when Soda reappeared with a smug expression. He looked like he single handedly fought off fifty Socs on his own. Darry trailed behind Soda.
"No," I protested upon seeing my guardian.
"We're leaving in five Pone." Soda slapped me on my pecks before heading toward the bathroom where a grease tub waited.
"No. No way. No, no, no," I repeated to Darry. I slammed my book down on the water ringed coffee table. Darry crossed his unnaturally buff arms while I took on a similar (but embarrassingly less intimidating) stance.
"First off," I jumped in, "It is very irresponsible of you to allow Soda to go when he is still underage." I ignored the facts that a) Soda rarely drinks, and b) Darry knows there are worse things out there so he doesn't mind alcohol so much. "Second, I don't think the state will approve of me staying out so late in an unhealthy environment." It was a low hit, but I wouldn't have said it if I weren't so desperate not to go. Darry didn't get provoked liked I hoped he would. To my surprise, he even smiled.
"It's not a school night," he pointed out. "Second, it's hardly a dangerous environment for you when I will be there. Third, if Soda is going to drink like you say, once again it would be better if I were there to supervise him." Darry's smile widened. I knew what he was thinking… how ridiculous my point had been considering Soda didn't need alcohol burning his brain cells to let loose and the legal drinking age never had meant anything to anyone in our gang but to hide the booze when the police happened by. Darry's smile faded. "Most importantly, you need to get out of the house and be with people your own age."
Which is how I ended up at the Koko bar. A trashy bar/ dance floor in a trashier part of town where underage Greasers, Socs, and people in the middle gathered because the owner didn't care who showed up or who bought what as long as he got paid in cash.
I ended up holding up the graffitied wall next to the bar, feeling a perfect mix of lonely and lousy. Lousy because I knew that I should be trying to fit in but not having any desire; lonely because I felt acutely aware of who was missing.
Soda was hustling pool nearby amidst a crowd of pretty admirers. His buxom cheering section included both the pretty Socs and the the too greasy girls from our part of town. Jealous Soc boys eyed Soda, but Steve stood near Soda's back, carefully playing with a switchblade. A part of me wanted to go be with Soda, but I didn't want to be where nobody, with the sole exception of Soda himself, wanted a young kid around. I wouldn't be allowed in the crowd at all if Soda didn't vouch for me. Two-Bit sat at the bar, of course, schmoozing amiably with the bartender. Heaven knew where Darry disappeared to.
I wanted out of there. I slunk out the back exit into the muggy summer heat. It felt better than the press of body heat inside the club.
The first puff of my cigarette did little to soothe my nerves. It wasn't until about the tenth that I relaxed against a wood railing.
Because the music from inside was too loud even ouside, it took me a moment to pick out the upset screams coming ten yards away. Two shadowy figures scuffled on the pavement.
"Get away from me," the smaller figure screamed as she attempted to push the bigger figure away from her. The girl's nails dug into the man's biceps. He cursed and smacked her to the ground. The streetlight illuminated red hair and a facial profile before she scrambled up. My lungs choked on the smoke filling them. I would recognize Cherry Valence anywhere.
I immediately tossed my cigarette over the railing; Not even bothering to between stamp it out. "Get away from her," I shoved myself between their bodies.
"Mind your own business Greaser," a gruff voice commanded. Whiskey stench pervaded my nostrils.
"Get out of here," I shot back bravely.
Knuckles slammed into my jaw. Apparently this guy knew how to punch even when drunk. I stumbled backward into Cherry. Her small hands steadied me.
"Just get back inside Ponyboy," Cherry murmured. That threw me.
"But he… you wanted…"
"Scat Ponyboy." Sharper this time. The tone did not match her distressed face.
"It's your funeral," I muttered as I retreated to my place on the porch. Cherry joined me a few minutes later. She held out a bottle of beer toward me like a peace offering. An open bottle was already clutched in her left hand. I took the unopened one from her and popped the bottle cap off using the railing. I did it expertly, like I drank all the time, which I didn't; not ever. However, I didn't want to appear too young or inexperienced to Cherry. The cold perspiration of beer felt good against my overheated skin.
"Who was that?" I asked into the silence.
Cherry gulped a swig of beer. "My boyfriend. Lewis." I hoped it wasn't just my imagination that made her voice self-conscious.
I said shortly, "Nice guy."
Cherry sighed, rubbing bruised wrists. "He's only like that when he's had too much to drink."
"That's right, you love the dangerous type."
"Don't judge me." She swung around to glare at me with her pretty green eyes.
"I'm sorry." Together we stared into the pitch of night.
"Aren't you going to drink that while it's cold?" I forgot I held a beer. Hastily I sipped it. Gross! Not wanting to nurse such a taste, I chugged the whole thing down.
Cherry didn't comment. We watched a guy stumble out of a building farther away. He was so smashed that he kept having to stop his uneven walk north so that he could consistently blow vomit chunks into the gutter. I assessed myself. Perfectly sober, I deduced. It would be humiliating to be even a little tipsy after only one serving. Cherry trapped a gecko under her hands.
"So how've you been Ponyboy?"
"Not too great," I admitted. One delicate eyebrow raised. "I'm trapped, my brothers are trapped, my friends are trapped. We're all kept down and we all keep each other down. The American dream is impossible when you got no breaks. We all know we're going nowhere far in life." I leaned closer as I confided, "There's just no making it."
Cherry's lips twitched.
"What?"
"You're not much of a drinker, are you? After only one beer you're feeling pretty chatty." My ears burned.
She laughed. I watched her finally allow the gecko to escape. We leaned on our elbows. I was aware of our extremely close proximity. I wanted to kiss her, but inexperience made me shy. Heck, simply being shy made me shy. I guess the tiny allotment of liquor gave me an extra push of stupidity. I leaned in for my first kiss ever. My lips were intercepted by a soft hand.
"I have to go," Cherry told me softly. She pulled her fingers off of my mouth, finished her drink, and pulled car keys from her purse. "Bye Ponyboy. You're a good friend." Wasn't it just like me to want something that I couldn't have. Greaser girls were ripe for my picking, and all I craved the less harsh beauty of Soc women.
"You're not planning on driving drunk are you," I snapped, partly out of hurt and partly out of agonizing memories. Not listening for an answer, I marched back into Koko.
A fight was going on. I checked, but my gang wasn't involved, so I didn't have to get involved. Hard hands gripped my shoulders from behind. They turned me around so I faced relieved ice-blue eyes. The relief had replaced the previous worry.
"Where were you?" Darry demanded.
"Having fun," I shouted over the loud fight and the louder music. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
I think Darry's worry for my psychological well being overshadowed how annoyed the old Darry would have been at my impertinence.
"I just lost track of you kiddo."
I shrugged out of his grasp. My life was so frustrating. Too bad there was nothing I could do to soften my despair. Despite my trepidations from earlier, I trudged over to the pool table my other brother leaned at. Darry watch me go.
Soda bit his lip before knocking two solids into the corner pocket. If I didn't already know he was an expert at pool, I would have bought Soda's surprised expression.
"What a lucky shot!" he gasped with wide eyes. People who bet money against him (hoping for easy cash) fidgeted nervously. Soda threw an arm around a blonde next to him. He dazzled her with a smile. She giggled. "You must be my good luck charm," he announced and kissed her boldly. She giggled even harder.
"It's still your turn," Soda's opponent said.
"It is?" Soda asked with confusion.
"He's putting it on a little thick." Two-Bit appeared beside me with a pitcher of beer. I nodded agreement. Soda leaned back over the table and lined up an easy shot. He glanced up as the cue went back. Handsome brown eyes met mine. He missed the ball by a mile.
A random guy near me jeered, "So much for beginner's luck." Soda's opponent came up for his turn. Soda, meanwhile, rounded the table to reach me.
"What's wrong?" he asked before he even stopped. He knew me so well. I wondered what new emotion he read in my expression. He already knew about every angst and fear up to tonight.
"You can't just leave me alone just once Sodapop!" I took a step back. Soda looked hurt. He just wanted to understand me; A fact I normally loved him for, but resented tonight.
"Your turn again," a girl said to Soda. She pressed her body against his. Still watching me, he pushed her away. I slunk into the crowd when Soda reluctantly turned back to the game.
What the hell was wrong with me? I needed to do something drastic to pull myself out of this deep funk. And not only for my sake.
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