Soda said that. Him and Darry were in the doorway, dressed in dark suits. Same as me. The same suits we wore to Johnny's funeral a few days ago. The same suits we wore to mom and dad's funeral. Now it was Dally's turn.
I was sick of funerals.
"Pony?"
Our house was littered with trays of food covered in plastic wrap, extra chairs set up so people could come to our house afterward. Lots of beer in the fridge.
I got up and followed them to the truck. It was morning, the sky blue and bright. I still had trouble believing both Dally and Johnny were gone.
It was easy to see Johnny as a hero, and the minister mentioned that at his funeral, said Johnny died cause he saved those kids.
Dally, it was harder to see him as a hero, and I'd never really liked him much before, well, before this whole thing. He was mean. He jumped people. He stole things. The way he treated those soc girls at the drive in, it was typical. And as I had sat there listening to him I thought how I shouldn't be hanging around with someone like him. I didn't like him.
Out truck pulled up alongside the cemetery, and I saw motorcycles and other run down, dirty cars and trucks like ours. I saw lots of toughs and hoods dressed in second hand , ill fitting suits, some in dress slacks and shirts, jeans and tee shirts.
"Here we are," Darry said tiredly, and we got out, walked slowly to the little knot of people around the casket.
At Johnny's funeral I cried the minute I saw the dark casket and kept crying. Poor Johnny, little frightened Johnny who never wanted to kill that soc, who just wanted his parents love and attention, who could listen. Really listen, you know? Better than even Soda.
There was no headstone. They don't come in right away. My parents just got theirs. I looked at my brothers. They looked like they were handling this better than me, like they handled Johnny's funeral better.
I hadn't liked Dallas. But as that soc stiffened in the moonlight, his blood a black pool around him, and I screamed at Johnny, my whole world coming apart with an ease that was spooky, Johnny came up with the key. Dally.
"Dally'll get us outa here."
The minister had a black robe that flowed and shimmered in the slight wind. He didn't know Dal, of course. But it didn't matter. They just said sort of generic shit, anyway. He hadn't known Johnny, either. Just knew the nice little sound bite that Johnny died from saving kids in a fire.
There wasn't any nice little sound bite about Dallas.
But when we showed up at Buck's, shaken and scared and asking for help he helped us, no questions asked. He gave me clothes, the jacket right off his back. He gave us money, a place to hide from the cops.
The minister was saying things about life and death in a preachy sing songy voice, and I saw heads bent down. I was surprised to see Dally's parents. They looked stunned.
The wind ruffled our hair, the ends of the grass. I shivered and noticed the way the sun gleamed off his casket.
Soda was crying, kind of sniffling and wiping away tears. Darry just looked mad, the way he looks when he's upset. It was harder for me to cry for Dally. It was so easy to cry for Johnny.
It was hard cause I'd always thought of him one way, and it turned out I was right, but not completely right. Johnny had the other side of it, with his blind hero worship, I guess he was right, too.