Pressure

I spare a glance at Curly. His face is thrown into relief as we pass under the glow of a streetlight and I can see kid's face clearly for the first time since we started walking. He looks so goddamn calm.

There's a lump the size of a damn baseball stuck in my throat, and my hands fidget with the small bag in my jacket pocket.

Shit. What the hell am I doing?

Curly pulls out a cigarette, and I grimace because it reminds me too much of what I'm about to do. He wordlessly lights it up and pushes it under my nose. The smoke swirls in the air and leaves a wisp of smoke between the two of us.

'For the nerves. You're shaking like a fucking leaf, Curtis.'

His voice is gruff and biting and reminds me a little too much of my oldest brother. I take the cigarette with a shaky hand without thanks and Curly proceeds to light one up for himself too. I wonder what Darry would say if he saw me right now, walking on the streets with a hoodlum's kid brother going to do what we were about to do.

I press the cigarette between my lips and mentally roll my eyes 'cause I know just what he'd fucking say.

'Ponyboy Curtis, don't you dare do that shit, you hear! You just don't use your head, do ya?'

Then the Sodapop I'm imagining in my head will lean against the wall and look at me real disappointed. I puff out a cloud of grayish smoke and watch it melt away in the darkness in front of my eyes. They didn't understand; I have to do this. Only Curly gets it. I try to convince myself a little more that my brothers didn't matter right now, but that little voice in my mind was actin' up again. What was it? Oh yeah. My conscience.

I shush the voice with another puff and this time I let it fill me up deep. It feels good and now my hands aren't shaking anymore.

The cold night air surrounds us and for the first time I notice that we're the only two people on this street. There's graffiti and garbage everywhere and I know if it had been up to me, we'd have steered right clear of this place. But I continue to follow Curly anyway, cause I know it ain't up to me. He turns down a dark alleyway where the glow from the streetlight hardly reaches and I follow, but not before checking over my shoulder. You never know. I feel like I'm in a damn horror movie, like the one I saw with Johnny the other night. I shudder; the gang feels so far away from me and from this place; I wish it were them I was walking with into this creepy-ass alleyway. Hell, I'd even take Steve over Curly right about now.

I keep my face straight and my eyes impassive as I walk down the alley cause greasers don't ever show when they're scared. We just don't, it's a matter of pride.

It's darker than I thought down this far in the alley, and for a short while all I can see is the bright orange glow of our two cigarettes bobbing up and down on their own, as if by magic. I pull my jacket impossibly closer and the fabric feels familiar against my skin. I take another drag of my cigarette and then flick the butt away because Curly and I have walked to the end of the alley and he's standing outside a door watching me closely.

I stare back at him with wide eyes and the night seems to only to get colder. I shiver involuntarily. He surveys me long and hard and his eyes are glinting with something I can't quite place. Annoyance? Disappointment? Definitely disappointment. He's disappointed 'cause he'd thought I'd have been tougher about it. I straighten my back and pull my head up a little higher. No way was I going to let Curly Shepard know that I was scared. No freaking way. Then suddenly he smiles. But if I know one thing, I know that he ain't being friendly or nothing, that smile is way too malicious and cold to look friendly. I can read him. He's saying, 'Go on, kid, jump into that shark tank.'

He cocks an eyebrow; Two-Bit never looked that mean when he did it. He thinks I'm chicken, and he thinks I ain't going through with it. Hell yes, I am.

'Do the honors, Ponyboy. It is your night to shine, after all.'

He's a hood. I'm just a greaser. Just a damn greaser kid wanting to be something more. I shouldn't do it. I really shouldn't, it would kill Darry and Soda.

But I have to, we need the fucking money.

I stare back at him one more moment and then reach my arm out and pull that door open in an easy swing. We walk into a small room.

It's almost as dark as the alleyway inside, and we make our way through the people and the stench, and I'm trying real hard not to barf all over Curly's shoes. He knows where he's going, who to look for, and I'm glad 'cause I can't see a damn thing. Curly nods his head towards a small room in the back I know that the time is almost here. I grip the plastic bag in my pocket just a bit tighter. I almost trip over a guy whose lying on the floor. It's real hot in here, and in a fleeting thought I believe I really am in hell.

Curly reaches the door first; his mouth is taut in a thin line. A new cigarette is tucked behind his ear and he shifts weight from foot to foot. He might act cool, but I know he wants to leave just as much as I do. He's just a kid, and so am I.

He looks over into the room and nods his head again. He shifts his penetrating gaze back at me.

'You know what to do, kid. Don't mess it up.' I nod my head and I can feel that the hair on the back of my neck is sticky. I'm sweating like a pig.

The man in the room is lying on the bed. He ain't asleep but I can't tell if he's conscious or not. I scuff my shoe on the floor and the guy shoots up at the noise. He looks at me, squinting through his bloodshot eyes, as if he's trying to remember me. Suddenly his eyes relax 'cause I know he remembers me now. The guy's shoulders are still tense though and he's fidgeting something awful. I play it cool, like I've done more times than I could count.

He shiftily looks around the room while wringing his hands together. I clear my throat and wildly wish for another cigarette.

'D-do you have it?' He's real nervous, probably more than I am. I don't let it show.

'Depends. Do you have the money this time or not?' If my own mouth hadn't been moving, I wouldn't have believed it was me. My voice was so cold and hard. It reminded me of Curly's.

The guy glares at me but pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket. I reach my hand out for it and I'm surprised not to see it shaking. He reaches forward from the bed and presses the money into my outstretched palm. I take my time counting it through, and then counting it again. He sure is fidgeting a lot, but Curly had told me to be extra careful with this guy, he was always paying up short. I count it one more time and it's exact.

I smirk at him. 'Looks like you didn't mess up this time.'

I put my hand in my jacket pocket and pull out the small plastic bag of white powder. He stares at it with his mouth slightly hanging open. I wish I could've had a camera with me right then, but all I did was throw the bag into his lap and walk out that door. I needed to leave, the smell was going to make me vomit. That, or the fact that I had just done what I did.

My hands were shaking again and I peered down at them. They felt dirty; contaminated, even. The roll of bills was shoved in the back pocket of my jeans and I wouldn't take it out until I got home and put it in the box with all my other earnings. Curly slapped me on the back as we left and said, 'Good job, kid.'

I nodded my head in mock bravery and said thanks. We walk the way back in silence.

It's 11:45 pm and I know I ain't making it home for my midnight curfew. I begin to think of my brothers and I start to feel a little guilty. I sigh.

What Darry and Soda didn't know couldn't hurt them.


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