"How To Save a Life"
A/N: This is a rewrite of my fanfic "Gone Forever". Recently, I was rereading the first few chapters I had written of this and I found that I really didn't care much for them anymore. Ever since starting "Gone Forever" nearly five years ago, my writing style has changed and improved, so I've rewritten the first four chapters of this story so they can match the rest of my story. Enjoy!
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They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
-"For the Fallen", Laurence Binyon
Ponyboy's POV:
It had started out like any other normal Thursday school day. I was worried about how well I had done my Math homework, and worried as usual for my older brother Sodapop. Almost a year ago, Soda had been drafted into the Vietnam War. That was when my endless worry had begun. The worry was gone now. In its place was inconsolable sorrow.
I couldn't stop the memories of the past afternoon any more than I could the tears falling down my face. I had gone to school just as I always did when suddenly, right after lunch, I had been called to the office. I think I'd left my stomach on the floor as I had walked through the halls, and the blood drained from my face when I saw my oldest brother Darry standing there, waiting for me. To anyone happening to pass by, he looked just as impassive and cold as ever—but I knew better. Ever since Johnny's and Dally's deaths and Darry and I became closer again, I became incredibly in-tuned to little changes in his expressions that broke the careful mask that hid his thoughts. As he stood there as still as stone, I was the only one able to see the frightening emotion in his eyes, the helplessness, and the miniscule tightening around his mouth that was the only sign I had to tell that something was wrong.
He didn't speak a word through the car ride home until we were standing facing each other in our living room. Once there, he told me the news that I had been terrified to hear, the news that already had me trying to hold back tears.
-"Soda… Soda ain't comin' back, Ponyboy."
I would always be able to remember how his voice had cracked something fierce as he had said it. Before he had even finished speaking, however, I was sobbing, my knees buckling. I was in shock—I couldn't quite grasp the idea that Soda was gone. I had loved Sodapop more than anybody, I had been closer to him than anyone else. To know that he was gone now shattered all of my control.
Sleep was not even a remote possibility. Too much had happened during the day, and my grief of Soda's death stabbed me in the chest with every heartbeat. I shivered in the surrounding darkness and tried and failed to not think about the fact that Sodapop would never again be there to comfort me if I had a nightmare.
Actually, the nightmares were one of the things that was keeping my awake—or at least the fear of them. I hadn't had a bad nightmare since Johnny and dally had died, and I didn't want them to start up now.
As the minutes dragged on, and I couldn't bear to look at the ceiling one more second, I kicked off the covers and sat up, wiping my face. I glanced at the clock—2:37 a.m. With nowhere else to go, I headed to Darry's room, knowing if I was finding it hard to drift off, it would be impossible for him. Sure enough, as I approached his closed bedroom door, I saw a light shining through the bottom crack. As silently as I could, I turned the handle and peered inside.
Darry was lying stretched out on his bed, a book in his hands. I could tell, however, that he was not reading a word of it. Exhaustion was evident on his face, and I could tell that I hadn't been the only one grieving.
"Darry?" I tried to keep my voice from cracking and was only partly successful.
He was silent for a long moment, looking me over, then wordlessly motioned me over. "Come here," he said finally.
There was no inquiry of "what's wrong?" or "what're you doing here?" Just a simple "come here". Almost frightened of somehow making Darry change his mind about allowing my intrusion, I opened the door and slipped through. I closed it swiftly behind me, not immediately moving, wanting to explain why I was there.
"I'm sorry," I managed to whisper; it was the loudest my voice could get. "I couldn't sleep."
But Darry merely shook his head, looking at my red eyes and flushed face, the tell-tale signs of my recent breakdown. "It doesn't matter," he said, and I thought I could hear a note of raw sadness in his tone. I went over and sat carefully on the bed, trying to control the upwelling of tears burning my throat.
Darry seemed to notice. Sighing just audibly, he motioned me closer. "Come here, kiddo," he said again.
Hating the fact that I was crying again, for the sixth time in two hours, and that now Darry had to comfort his crybaby kid brother, I nevertheless scooted over and I felt his arm wrap around my shoulders. Almost as soon as he touched me I started crying again, but this time I wasn't quiet about it; there was no reason to hide my tears at all, and all of my cell-shaking grief came pouring out until my throat ached and throbbed from my sobs. Darry sat through my fit, only stroking my hair and soothing me with barely-audible words. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember thinking about how strong emotionally and mentally he must have been to not break down right with me—that had been another thing I had taken a long time to realize and admire about my oldest brother.
"Why did it have to be him?' I croaked awhile later, talking into Darry's now-soaked shirt. "Why did it have to be him?"
I felt Darry's hand rubbing my back in a slow, soothing motion, much like Soda used to. Somehow, it calmed me down more than anything. He was silent for a long moment, clearly thinking about an answer, until finally he murmured, "I dunno, Pony. Sometimes things happen that we don't have an answer for."
I sniffed. "But I miss him," I whispered, and I could hear my voice waver again. By sheer force of will I managed to keep from crying.
I felt Darry nod. "I know," he said, and his own voice cracked a little bit. "I do, too." He reached up and stroked my hair again. I looked up at him; he was staring at the opposite wall, his brow furrowed. He took a deep breath, seeming to think about something. "But he won't be totally gone, Pony."
"What d'ya mean?" Somewhere, I understood what he was talking about and I knew the answer, but I was too tired to try and think of what Darry meant as I wiped my face.
It seemed to take Darry awhile to answer. Seeing that he was finally calmer, he got up and took his shirt off and then pulled on another. As he turned back to me, though, he met my gaze and said slowly,
"I ain't a philosopher, Pony, but Soda won't ever be totally be gone unless we forget about him." He smiled suddenly, sadly. "'Sides, I don't think he'd want his two brothers blubbering like babies."
I managed a rather weak, shaky laugh, but it was a laugh and it made me feel better. I meant to say something, but instead I yawned, my exhaustion literally making my eyes ache.
Darry got back into the bed, this time pulling the covers over. "Time for bed, kiddo," he murmured. "He turned the lamp off, plunging the room into near-darkness, and put an arm around me, holding me close the way Soda always had. We both stayed awake for a while after that, but I think about three-thirty I dropped off.
Like I was afraid of, I had a nightmare. I didn't scream, but I was sweating something fierce and I couldn't stop shaking. Darry was still awake, though, and he merely rubbed my back until I drifted back into sleep. To this day, I'm not entirely sure how Darry was able to help me get through my own troubles when he had his own grief to process.
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Darry's POV:
I watched Pony drift off to sleep, relieved that he had finally been able to. I had suspected that he wouldn't be able to sleep in his own bed for tonight, but I hadn't had the guts to say he could come to my room if he needed to—he wouldn't have. Approaching me like this tonight took a lot for him, a remnant of our period of friction two years ago.
I shifted slightly, but still kept my arm around him. Even asleep, he wouldn't be completely safe from the grief and horror of the past few hours. Pony felt things a lot easier than I did—he was a lot more sympathetic, more compassionate, more caring… 'Sides, he had shared a close bond with Soda.
I supposed Pony thought I hadn't been hit as hard as he'd been by the news. He hadn't been home during the afternoon. I hadn't had had to work, and I had been reading The Carpetbaggers again when the doorbell ringing caught my attention. I suppose I'll never understand how, but as soon as I heard that godawful sound, I knew it was with ominous news. Opening the door to find two Army officers standing there, I knew what had happened. It was only after they had left that I had allowed myself to cry like I never had when my parents died.
It hurt. It hurt like hell to know Sodapop was gone, that Ponyboy and I had lost another person we loved. We had already lost Mom and Dad. What had we done to deserve such a bad lot? Was it because we were greasers and considered the dregs of society? That we had a hard life and fate wanted to make it even harder? It was an answer I didn't have.
Ponyboy, if he'd thought about it, might have been able to come up with a skeptical answer of "why", but he saw things from a different angle than I did. He was so much more dreamy than I was, always in his own world.
I still didn't understand that about him. But I was trying to. Pony and I were different in temperament, in personality, and we always would be. We would never be as close as Pony and Soda had been.
But did we really need to be? Or would it be enough just to know we had each other? Again, it was a question I didn't have an answer for—all I knew was that I was terrified of losing Pony. I couldn't lose him, I wouldn't be able to handle something like that. Would pony feel the same way? Probably, I hoped, especially with his whole empathy thing he seemed to have. I was just glad he had come to my room for the night. I needed him for comfort as much as he needed me.
I didn't sleep that night. When Ponyboy had a nightmare, I comforted him, calmed him down, but all I was focused on was one question.
How the hell were we going to get through this?