Things We'd Like to Say and Do
1
"So, Irene, wanna tell me what's on your mind now?"
I counted my thirty-third sycamore before it blurred away behind us. Counting the oaks and the maples and all the others we've passed, that made 267 trees that we had passed. I gave Dad a sideways glance that he couldn't see. "There's not much to say, really."
I could almost see his eyebrows furrow, even though I was looking at the back of his brown-haired head. "Not much?"
"Mhmm."
"Well, that means that at least something's on your mind."
"I guess."
"So?" Dad spared me a quick look back. The road was clear, so we weren't in danger of crashing into other cars. "What's on your mind?"
I didn't really want to say it. He knew how uncomfortable I was with moving. It was just his way of trying to get me to be more open. I appreciated and loved him for it, but I just didn't really like reaching into my brain and spilling forth my every thought and feeling. "Nothing important."
"Oh?" He pressed on. He seemed to be getting a little discouraged, judging by his tone. "So, nothing about us moving, or your mothe—"
"Nothing," I said firmly. My left hand, dangling out the window, balled up into a fist. I knew there was no avoiding that topic, no doubt. Dad would continue to bring it up until he got an answer out of me, satisfactory or not. I wished he understood that I wasn't ready to talk about Mom yet. I just didn't really feel like talking at all. I just wanted to hurry up and get to our new house and read or write. I needed to distract myself, and I was sick of counting trees.
Dad finally got the idea. He changed the subject. "How's the scenery? Do you like it?" He asked, leaning his head back past his seat a tad to carry his voice. "It's a lot different from Chicago, isn't it?"
I didn't answer, at least not immediately, and I looked up at the sky. Clear and cloudless as glass, blue as the ocean. Though, I didn't know if I could say that, seeing as how I've never seen the ocean before. I don't know why, but it feels weird to describe something and liken it to something you've never seen. "Yeah."
But Dad was certainly right. I had never seen so much grass and so many trees in one place before, and not to mention lone houses and small rinky-dink shops. It felt so open, and yet kinda cozy. Compared to that small apartment my parents and I were living in, this was ultimate freedom. It was strange, but not in a bad way, I didn't think. But the air did kinda make me feel a little lightheaded.
I rolled up the window, listening to the glass squeal over the wind before it slid up. Now my hair wasn't flying all over my face, and I could hear myself think. It was easier to pull my thoughts together now. I wouldn't have rolled down that window at all if Dad hadn't suggested it; I was a girl that valued peace and quiet. Maybe it was one of the reasons I was actually somewhat looking forward living here in Tulsa. I was told that the neighborhood we'd be living in was pretty quiet most of the time.
"So, how many bedrooms does Nanna have in her house?" I asked, running my hand over my short dark hair to keep it in place. I tried to remember where I had put my brush.
Dad's window was still up, so he almost didn't hear me. "Two, I think. Thank you for reminding me, too, I almost forgot to tell you, but—" The rest of the words were lost on me, stolen by the noisy wind.
I practically screamed, "What?"
The car slowed a bit as Dad tried to roll up his window. It wouldn't budge – it was jammed. "Damn window," Dad muttered, slapping the door in a half-hearted attempt to get it to work. "I just got you fixed last month, girl." He always talked to the car – my uncle's old Ford Crestliner Tudor – as if it were a woman. Sometimes, I would too, as a sort of tradition.
Eventually, Dad gave up on the car and settled on driving at a slower pace. I took to describing it as leisurely. I could focus on the view more, and pay attention to the trees and the town. "What I was saying was that you'll be getting the spare room, and I'll be having the living room floor. Maybe the sofa, but the general living room for sure."
I straightened in my seat immediately. "The living room?" I repeated. I tried remembering Nanna's house from when we last visited. Granted, I had been 5 then, so my memory wasn't the sharpest, but I could recall that living room being rather small and crowded. I only knew that because I remembered getting bumped into a table corner by Dad because I couldn't get out of the way, and getting a knot on the back of my head.
"Yep. I'll manage, Irene, don't worry. When we get to Nanna's, I'll rearrange the sofa to make it more comfortable." Dad said, trying to be reassuring. I could tell he was smiling from the way his cheeks hitched up on the side of his face that I could see. "I'll put it in the corner or something, so there's still space to move around."
I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to hold back my smile. "Oh, Dad. You can have the spare bedroom, I'll have the sofa." I said. I could almost sense him starting to object, and I added, "It's just a sofa, Dad. It's not like a slab of granite or anything, I'll be fine."
"But that's my logic!" Dad exclaimed. "I think the sofa'll suit me just fine, until I find a job and buy another bed. But no matter what, you're staying in the bedroom. I'm not taking away that teenage luxury from you."
I stopped myself from answering. There had been two bedrooms back in the apartment in Chicago as well, but I had to share it with Mom and Dad. The second room had been my uncle's, and he was still living in there when we left for Oklahoma. I never had a room where I could hang up posters and sit and read or write or gaze out the window in. But I still wanted Dad to have the room.
"Why don't we share?" I suggested. I propped my elbow on the passenger seat and leaned forward, my chin on my knuckles. "Just like in Chicago. I could get the floor, you get the bed."
Dad looked at me with his slightly drooped blue eyes. "Irene McGill, you are seventeen years old," he said matter-of-factly. " You're a teenage girl, and you should live a little. That means having your own room and having more independence and privileges. Your own room will be a good start towards this."
I frowned. I had never had my own room before. And I never really had much independence either – my parents kept me under a watchful eye whenever I was in their sights, which was all the time out of school. I was lectured often about precautions and dangers and what I should do in a time of trouble. To have my dad suddenly turn around and start unraveling all of that right now came as a bit of a surprise to me, but then I forced myself to once again recognize that Mom had left. Dad was just trying to get me to be my age, something that Mom wouldn't allow.
"Don't get me wrong," I began carefully. "I like the idea, I do, but…are you sure, Dad?" I wasn't the only one who was affected by this. It was me and him now, and he deserved some new luxuries, too. We haven't had exactly the best luck these past years. I just wanted Dad to have some peace. "I'm perfectly fine with getting the floor, or the sofa—"
"And so am I," Dad interrupted stubbornly. "We can talk this arrangement over when we get to the house."
And that was the end of that conversation. Dad always killed off conversations that he felt where going nowhere, and I always had the tendency to keep them going as long as I could. I got it from Mom, apparently. I didn't like knowing that I got certain traits from Mom, but you can't avoid it. Knowing the traits I get from Dad tends to make me feel a little better, so I did that.
It wasn't until we passed the same diner twice when I realized we were lost. At first, I thought Dad was just taking his time to try and familiarize himself with the town once more (it had been seventeen years since he last came here), so I didn't say anything. Him slowing down and looking around confusedly was what had tipped me off. "Dad, are we lost?"
"Lost?" Dad repeated incredulously. "Whatever gave you that idea?" He turned right on an intersection, passing a barber shop for the second time now. "I'm just sight-seeing a bit. Nanna knows we're in town by now, she won't have a problem with it."
"But we've just been going in one huge circle for the past thirty minutes now." I said. I pointed at the windshield. "See? Look, there's that diner – we went right by it two times already." I wasn't sure what Dad had – an awful sense of direction or an awful memory. I myself had the latter, so I was pretty sure Dad did too. There was no way Mom was forgetful.
"Alright, alright, we're a tiny bit lost-"
"Tiny?"
"Maybe more than that. Okay, let's, um…let's see if I can get back on the track."
He took off into a more spaced out area, with a lesser frequency of shops and buildings. By now, I had abandoned my seat and had sprawled out as much as I could over the entirety of the backseat. There were several boxes stacked up on the floor and the left side of the seat. I had my feet propped up on the lowest box, and I leaned my head back to watch the tips of trees and buildings zoom by.
Suddenly, the engine slowed, as did the wind streaming in through Dad's window. I sat up to see why we were slowing down. It turned out that we were pulling up to a DX station.
"Hold on, gotta get some gas," Dad said, stopping the car completely and pulling the keys out of the ignition. He then stuck his head out the window and hollered, "Hey, boys! Mind filling up for me?"
I looked over and saw a couple of guys just hanging around, but two of them came jogging over. They were both in the uniform, or at least a variation of it. One of them had his shirt unbuttoned completely, showing his white T-shirt. The other had his sleeves rolled up real short, and I could see that he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath it. I couldn't help but admit to myself that they were rather handsome.
"No problem, sir," the first one replied in a polite Southern-accented voice. He motioned his friend towards the pump, and they proceeded to start refilling the gas.
"A '51 Crestliner, huh?" The shirtless one whistled and raised his brow. "Definitely seen its better days, I reckon."
Dad smiled. "Yeah, but I don't mind. It's been in the family for a good while, and I can't afford to get another car right now. She's pretty much all we got nowadays."
"We?" The first boy looked up from the pump and at my father, and then they finally noticed me in the backseat. Instinctively, I pressed myself against the seat, blinking profusely. I was never used to getting attention from boys at school, even though a couple had asked me out on dates before (I ended up saying no, though.) . I was always terribly awkward around new people in general, and I usually kept my mouth shut unless I had to speak.
Dad didn't seem to notice. "Yep. My daughter and I are new here. We're moving in with my mother until I find a steady job and can afford our own place," he said. I often considered Dad's friendliness to be both a strength and a weakness. Sometimes, I admired his skill to just talk to people (but I guess just being a grown man helped, since you grew up enough to learn about people) and sometimes I just wanted to clamp my hand over his mouth to shut him up. Especially right now.
The first boy's eyes widened, and a friendly smile grew on his lips. "I was wonderin' why I hadn't seen you before," he proclaimed. "I could at least tell that ya'll weren't from West side of town, that's for sure."
"Yeah, and that's just from looking at this piece a' metal here." The second boy grinned as he slapped the hood almost affectionately. I took a bit of offense to it, seeing as how I practically grew up with the car, but I had to agree that it was definitely a little worse for wear. "If you two were from West side a' town, y' wouldn't have been there for long!"
The two boys shared a chuckle, glancing at each other for their little inside joke. Of course, I didn't get it at all, but somehow I knew that there was something about the other side of town that I would have to watch out for. It must be the wealthier side of town, I thought. So there was a rivalry here. I never saw much of a rivalry in the part of Chicago where we lived. I didn't really know what to think other than the fact that it was definitely going to take some time getting used to this place.
Once the car was filled up, we were offered to have our windows washed and our tires checked. I was about to tell Dad that we should be going, but he agreed to the window washing. I pinched the bridge of my nose as Dad went on to talk to the boys.
"So, where ya'll headed?" The first boy asked as he wrung a dripping soapy rag over a bucket. His friend had already started on the windshield.
Dad told them our street, but thankfully he didn't say the address. The first boy broke out into a smile. "That's not too far off from where I live. Guess we're gonna be neighbors."
I almost died inside. Knowing that these two would be near me was just too much. I was absolutely horrible at talking to boys, in case you didn't know by now. I was kind of hoping that they already had girlfriends, but another little voice in me thought it would be nice to have them as neighbors. The people in my old apartment building were mostly old people who didn't like kids that much.
"Is that so?" Dad gave me a look, and I wanted to just curl up into my arms. "Well, I'm sure Irene here would appreciate that. She didn't have much friends back where we used to live."
"Dad!" I burst out, feeling my cheeks starting to burn. The two boys started laughing, and my face started burning.
"We could take her around town, show her the sights. Right, Steve?" The first boy said to the second. Steve half-shrugged.
"Long as it ain't tomorrow. Evie and I are goin' to a game."
I noticed that Steve's friend's face fell. He quickly composed himself. "Oh, yeah, right! Sorry, must've forgot." He turned back to us. "I can take her to meet some friends of mine, and we can all go out for somethin' to eat at Dairy Queen. "
Dad looked at me excitedly. "Oh, Irene would love that! Wouldn't you, sweetheart?"
I knew Dad meant it innocently – he always meant no harm with me – but sometimes I just wanted to tell him to at least be considerate with what I thought. Or maybe he thought he was, but wasn't doing a good job of it.
I didn't want to hurt his feelings and get into another argument, especially in front of these two guys. He just wanted me to be a teenage girl. So, I just nodded. "Sure. Yeah, that sounds good," I said quietly.
Dad lit up more than ever, happy that I finally agreed to something. "Sounds like a date!" He announced, laughing. I closed my eyes so he couldn't see me rolling them.
Thankfully, he quieted down after that, allowing the two to get to washing the windows. Through some small talk, we found out that Steve's friend's name was Sodapop, or Soda for short. At first, I didn't believe him. Dad did, even before he claimed that it was on his birth certificate. To be honest, it was really hard to tell whether he was lying or not, so I just accepted it as much as I could. But I couldn't help but wonder to myself, Who in the world names their son "Sodapop?"
The boys finished quickly, and Dad marveled at how clear the glass was as he paid and said that they were professionals. The complimenting continued until a group of girls in a bright blue Corvette pulled up to the station and shouted, "Hi, Soda! Hi, Steve!" in really high-pitched and giggly voices.
Steve nudged Soda's side with his elbow, giving him a knowing smile. "Looks like business hour's rollin' 'round, ain't that right?" He murmured, half-waving to the girls. They came over, and I could see that they were all gorgeous and were wearing really nice clothing. I couldn't help but look at my hand-me-down skirt and the over-sized button up shirt that used to be Dad's.
Soda smirked and playfully slapped Steve right on the tattoo of a bird on his arm. "Anyways, I'll talk to y'all later. There's a vacant lot in our neighborhood. You can meet up with us there at around 2, if that's alright." He was talking to me now. "Sound good?"
I nodded, not knowing of what else I could do.
Soda smiled. "Nice meetin' you, Irene. And it was nice talkin' to you too, Mr. McGill. See ya tomorrow!" Steve waved as well.
Dad waved as he pulled out of the DX, leaving room for the girls to hurry over and talk to Soda. They probably knew that Steve already had a girlfriend, so they gravitated to Soda more. When I thought about it, I realized that I didn't know whether he had a girlfriend either. I told myself not to wonder about that, seeing as how it was sort of rude and all.
Dad wasted no time in jumping into a conversation. "Those were some real gentlemen if I haven't ever seen any!" He exclaimed. "They were so nice. I almost didn't believe that Sodapop agreed to taking you around town with his friends. How incredibly nice of him!"
"I wonder what kind of parent names their child after a fizzy beverage," I wondered under my breath.
"Hey," Dad said warningly. "Be nice, Irene."
"I am! I was just wondering, that's all."
"Really, though…" Dad looked at me. "He seems like a keeper."
I blinked, my mouth failing to form coherent words. "I…I, uh, don't really th-I don't think…" That was all I could say.
There was a pause before Dad started laughing. "Oh, I was just joking. I'm not trying to dictate who you end up dating and when and where and all that. I was just playing around."
I looked at the back of his head warily. "Are you sure you're just kidding?" I asked, suspicious. I was being playful as well, but I was also really embarrassed at that comment. "I mean, he probably already has a girlfriend. Just look at him."
"Look at you," Dad retorted, looking at me for extra measure before turning back to the road.
I was speechless for a few seconds before my lips pressed together into a small, pleased smile. You know that it's your parents' duty to always make you feel good and special, even if you don't think they mean it all the time and they're just saying it to make you feel better about yourself. I knew that my father pretty much always meant whatever he said, so knowing that he truly thought of me as pretty – which I really don't think I am, I'm rather plain – made me feel like I was glowing. I tend to be easily impressed sometimes, and right now was one of those times.
"Thanks, Dad. But I really don't think I'm cut out for a boyfriend or anything like that. And I'm not saying it's because of my looks. I'm just…not really good at talking to boys. Or just people, for that matter."
"What?" I heard Dad scoff. "Come on, you…you're…"
I raised my brow at him. I was waiting for him to admit the truth. But his voice fell quiet. "Just admit it, Dad." I sighed. "I'm not very good at social interaction."
I saw Dad's shoulders flinch a little. "Well, it's…I mean…you're just quiet by nature. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that," he reluctantly said.
Don't get me wrong, I like being complimented by my dad. But I also like hearing him acknowledge my faults. It gave me the sense that he truly understood me, and that he wasn't always trying to make me feel really good about myself. I liked being grounded to reality, and sometimes Dad doesn't. I know he's just trying to be the best father he can, because he's all that I have left except Nanna, but sometimes he takes it a little too far. He likes flying in the sky and I like walking on the ground.
"But don't worry, we'll fix that. That boy Sodapop'll surely help, no doubt about it," he said in a chipper voice.
See?
It didn't take long for Dad to find our new neighborhood. By then it was afternoon, and I was starting to get real hungry. I tried distracting myself by looking at the houses and trying to memorize them so I would have a way of navigating around the place. We passed a rather lonesome looking park with a small fountain that was switched off at the moment. It wasn't before long when we drove past a large abandoned field; it was the vacant lot I was told to meet Soda and his friends at. I noticed there were beer bottles and cigarette butts strewn all over it, and I really hoped it wasn't from them.
I had been looking up at the clouds and imagining what they felt like when the car jerked to a stop. I immediately sat up and looked outside to see a worn one-story house in front of us. I recognized the Ford in front of us against the curb, and I figured it to be Nanna's.
"Whew! I never thought we'd get here!" Dad yawned as he stretched his arms. He stopped the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition before pocketing them. At once, he exited the car and I did the same. He jogged up to the porch and knocked on the door thrice.
I had been getting one of my boxes out of the car when I heard a squeal, almost like an excited pig, and a screen door slamming shut. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard, "Oh, Georgie!" For some reason, I kinda started to panic, and I ducked down so Nanna couldn't see me. I hadn't seen the woman since I was a little kid, so I was rather nervous about having to see her. It didn't matter if I had already met you before – I would still clam up around you until I miraculously got to know you, and vice versa.
Nanna must've seen me before I hid, and she ran over. "Irene! Come here, come here, let Nanna get a good long look at you!" She hurried around the side of the car to meet me, and my shoulders instantly hitched up in a futile attempt to shield my face. She placed a hand on my shoulder, and I turned around.
"Oh, Lord Almighty," she breathed. "Look at you. Look at you! Oh goodness, sugar, look at you!" At once, Nanna drew me into an embrace, which was surprisingly strong considering that she was barely 4'11. "You look so beautiful. I was sure you had your father's eyes when I last saw you, but now I can definitely see it."
I swallowed, not sure if I could handle her flattery. Simple reassurances like my dad's were nice, but Nanna was just laying it on thick. Smothering me, if you will, but she had good intentions. This was the first time she had seen me since I was five years old, so I couldn't blame her. I wondered how I would be as a grandmother one day, almost having a seizure over my grandchildren and remarking how wonderful and beautiful they were. I could only hope they weren't like me, and that they didn't think I was smothering them. Or better yet, I was just a grandma that didn't smother her children at all.
"Th-thanks, Nanna," I said. I gave her a smile, and it felt partially true. I was really glad to see her, I was –she was one of the only people I had left now – but I kind of just wanted to go inside and maybe have some lunch. "It's really nice to see you again."
Nanna patted her hand to her heart. "Oh, bless your heart. What a gentle soul you've grown up to be." The smile on her face was wide and warm, and my own felt just a bit more genuine. "It's nice to see that George has raised you well. I always had faith in that boy."
I noticed that she hadn't mentioned Mom. I suddenly felt very tired.
"I'm going to go bring my things inside. Is that alright?" I realized it was stupid to ask if it was alright if I could bring in my possessions into the house that I'm going to be living in.
Nanna grinned. "Oh, yes, go right on ahead! But you shouldn't be carrying these by yourself, oh no. Let me help you out." She began to reach for one of the boxes.
I almost dropped my own box trying to stop her. "Nanna, please don't," I quickly interjected, scooting myself over to block the car. "I'm serious, I've got this. I don't need any help, it's okay. Some of this stuff is pretty heavy."
Nanna looked at me funny, doubting me. "What makes them boxes so heavy?"
I shrugged. "Books. Journals." I said.
Nanna gave me a surprised grin. "And she's creative, too! Oh Lord, Georgie-boy raised you just fine." She cupped my cheek with her hand and looked at me with her warm brown eyes, Her eyes and Dad's were different colors, but they still had that same drooped, but kind look to them. They seemed like the eyes of a person who could your mind and soul and know what you're always thinking, and always had something good and relevant to say about them. She had said I had my father's eyes, but I didn't think so. I looked at them in the bathroom mirror often, and they seemed to be too narrow and suspicious. Mine looked like they always looked at something and always had a thought to think about it. It could be self-deception, but I just usually took to thinking that I just had my mother's eyes.
After much convincing, I finally managed to get Nanna back inside the house so I could take my things inside. I tried putting them against the living room wall, but Dad looked at me before looking over at the room at the back of the house. I tried to stare him down, but staring contests were always something that he never failed at. He took great pride in his skill while watching me sulk and complain (jokingly, of course). For a guy like my father, he sure knew how to look intense. Like that moment, when with one single look he made me move all of my stuff to the room that I had now begrudgingly accepted.
But I wasn't taking that bed. I would still take the floor, as we (read: I) planned. Dad would have the bed, because he deserved to sleep in a bed, yet one small enough so he could look over at his side when he woke up and not feel sad in the morning when Mom isn't there beside him.
As I was hanging my clothes in the closet, I overheard Dad and Nanna starting to talk. My natural curiosity kicked in, and I listened.
"So, there was this boy at the DX station we stopped at –a couple of them, actually – and they were really nice. Prompt, on time, quick, the whole deal."
Nanna chuckled. "You don't have to recommend me to them, George. I'm already a regular there. They have good service, and they're polite. They know how to mind their manners."
There were some clattering plates; probably them getting something ready to eat. I had mentioned a couple of times to Dad that I was starving.
"Yeah, and there's this one boy, about Irene's age, maybe a little older, named Sodapop—"
"Ah, Soda. I know the boy. He's a nice one. Popular with the girls, too. Half the customers that come by are his little fans. Lotsa them come in all the way in from the West side of town. Don't blame them." Nanna laughed again.
Dad went on, his voice steadily rising with excitement. "And he and his friend and I were talking, and he agreed to take Irene to the town with his friends!"
There was a pause. It didn't go by me unnoticed, and my arm froze before I could hang up one of my skirts. What had happened?
"That's awfully nice and all, George, but you've got to be more careful," Nanna said in a voice I could barely hear.
"Careful?" Dad was curious as well. "What for? I thought you said Sodapop was a nice boy?"
"Oh no, he definitely is. It's just that he and his friends…tend to hang out with the wrong crowd."
"The wrong crowd? Are they hoodlums?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. Not as bad as that, though I'm not really sure how bad it really is. But they aren't hoodlums. They're greasers."
"Greasers?" Dad shared my confusion. If there had been greasers in Chicago, I wouldn't have known. Which was most probably the case, considering I almost never went out with friends or anything.
"Mhmm." Nanna was probably nodding. "They style their hair with that hair grease stuff. There's a good bunch of them here in the East side of town. Some of them live in this very neighborhood, or at least come visit it."
"They don't do anything bad, do they? Like murder or anything?" Dad asked, suddenly concerned. "Is Sodapop one of them?"
When I had recalled, I did remember seeing how shiny their hair was – or at least, how shiny and styled Steve's was. Soda's had been wearing a hat, and tousled bangs flopped out from under it. I could tell it was slicked back underneath that hat, though.
"Oh, nothing like that." Nanna said. I was sure she was shaking he head. "Soda's one of them, but he doesn't do any of that murdering or stealing. None of the greasers stoop to the level of killing people, good Heavens no. But they do like to cause trouble around town by stealing and fighting and whatnot. Soda doesn't do much of that; he and his little brother would be put into a boys' home if they did."
A boys' home? That got me wondering. Why were he and his brother in danger of being put into foster care? What was with their parents? They probably weren't abusing them or anything, otherwise he wouldn't be trying so hard to stay with them. It was a mystery, and I rather enjoyed mysteries, but I didn't want to get to curious. I don't like being too nosy if I can help it, but sometimes I just can't. I couldn't help but think of Sodapop's cheerful demeanor and then compare it to whatever family life he had at home.
"Well, what's the problem with him, then?" Dad asked. "Why should Irene be careful of him?"
"She doesn't have to be careful much with him. His brothers and friends aren't too bad, either, but she just needs to be careful with the rest of them. If you don't look around carefully in these parts, bad things could happen."
My eyes were wide as plates. Bad things happened back in Chicago all the time; I wasn't that isolated from everything. But I was in the safety of my own home, so I didn't have to see them or experience them. But here I am, in a place where you could get mugged just only two blocks away from your own house. I was pretty confident that Sodapop and his friends weren't dangerous, if Nanna was anything to go by. She was the only one of us that had been living here for the past thirty years of her life, so her word had to be reliable. But I definitely knew that if I was smart, I wasn't going to be going all over town without a watchful eye.
Dad gave a half-laugh. "Irene'll be fine. She didn't ever get into any trouble back up in the city, so I have faith in her to not get mixed in with the wrong crowd. She's a smart girl."
Little did they know that I was currently planning on staying up all night so I would sleep in and miss meeting up with Soda and his friends. I knew I was being irrational, but I didn't want to just suddenly get up and roam around town with greasers. I knew they were apparently good guys, but I really doubted that I would fit in with them anyway. What would a quiet introvert like me want to do with a bunch of rough guys who fought and drank and smoked? Dad couldn't be this desperate for me to fit in.
Then I remembered when I tried making friends back in 9th grade. I tried hanging out with these girls in my class, but I somehow already knew I didn't fit in with them. They were the really girly girls, the kind who wore makeup and did their hair all pretty. They spent their time going out with their friends to buy clothes and to go out with boys. They were the girls that guys went for.
I only tried to socialize with them because Mom and Dad (mostly Mom) pushed me to do so. I was the kind of girl who liked reading books of all kind, unless they were history books because they usually bored me most of the time. I liked writing little stories inspired by all the adventures and characters I read about; islands, conspiracies, time travel, that sort of stuff. I liked climbing trees, especially at night so I could study the constellations. I wore pants and shorts whenever I could. I didn't add up with those girls and boys. I was the puzzle piece that couldn't fit, because I was from an entirely different set.
Now, I was in 11th grade, and I still hadn't found a group of people to call friends. I hung out with a couple of people, but they ended up moving. Only three boys had ever asked me out, but only because they pitied me. I wasn't really pretty like the other girls. I was okay-looking at the most, despite Dad's constant compliments. I just didn't really belong with those people.
I remembered a phrase I once had heard. I like to be alone, but I don't like being lonely. That fit me real well. But I was usually alone too much to bother to go out and not be lonely. I realized that now, this was my chance to try with a new, albeit different crowd and try to find some place to fit in. Maybe these guys weren't so bad. Soda and Steve sure weren't. They were really nice and good-looking. Soda even made an actual effort to get to know me, and not because he always saw me sitting alone at lunch or during free period. Maybe I could actually try to be social with them. Sure, they were associated with a bunch of guys that could pretty much be described as hoodlums, but if Nanna was right, then they couldn't be that bad.
"Irene, what do you want to eat for lunch?" Dad called out. I snapped up, alert and back in reality. Out of surprise, I dropped my coat.
"Anything's, uh, fine!" I replied, bending down to pick up my coat. It was a heavy winter coat made of dark blue wool. It had been Mom's, and had been given to me for my 16th birthday. I wasn't sure how I was feeling about Mom lately, but I still considered the coat as a special possession of mine. When I wore it, I felt like I was sitting in front of a fireplace. Truth be told, I really had never sat in front of a fireplace, but wearing the coat almost felt like I had once.
I scooped up the coat and started patting it out so I could hang it up when a small slip of paper fell to the ground. Curious, I knelt down to the floor and picked it up.
It was a picture of Mom. Goodness, she looked stunning. It was an older photo, probably from when she was in high school or college. Her dark hair was done up really nice, and her eyes were twinkling. She had a gentle smile on her lips, as if she had a secret. She looked happier.
I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. No, that wasn't Mom. Couldn't be. It was probably her long-lost twin sister or something. Mom was always quiet and unhappy and always picking a fight with Dad over the littlest things, and blaming him for everything. She left the house often and came back and didn't pay attention to us for days. I exhaled quietly and flipped the photo over. Something to remember me by. I couldn't tell whether it had once been meant for Dad, or it was meant for me. I didn't care, and I just hid it under a box full of books.
Lunch wasn't ready yet, and I didn't really feel the need to unpack my other things, so I just flopped back onto my new bed. A rogue spring attacked the lower left of my back, and I yelped in spite of myself. I pushed the spring back down as much as I could, but to no avail. Oh, well. I'll just have to learn to avoid it. Just like I'll have to learn how to get used to this house, this neighborhood, this town.
But a new life wasn't like a spring in an old bed that wouldn't stay put. It wasn't something I could just avoid. I was wary, but I would have to live with it and find out how to make it comfortable for me.
Little did I know that doing so would be both a lot harder and a lot easier than I thought.
Good God. I have to learn to trim down on my chapters. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that I may have (most probably) made.
But yes, I'm trying out The Outsiders. I'm such a huge fan of the book and the movie, and I really don't like the TV show. I know it's canon and all, but it's kinda jarring, y'know? So, I guess that this makes this fic an AU.
Anyways, I'm sorry that there isn't a lot of interaction with the greasers here. This chapter is sort of the exposition of Irene's character, and reveals a bit about her and her family and backstory. I don't want to make this a full-on romance where the entire thing revolves around the character or anything, and that everyone is absolutely in love with her or anything. There will be a romance, but (and this is why I put "kind of" in the description) there's definitely going to be a plot with the greasers and the Socs, don't worry! It's just that Irene happens to be stuck right in the beginning of it.
I hope this turns out alright. Wish me luck, and don't be afraid to drop me a review to let me know how I'm doing! I would really appreciate it!