A Week Without Pony
By Megan Austinson
Written January 29, 2003
A/N: Hi y'all. I wrote this story after a conversation with my sister about The Outsiders. I first read the book sometime back in junior high, at which point I identified best with Ponyboy. That was a while ago though, and when I picked it up and re-read it last week, I saw things more from Darry's side. He's not that much younger than me, and I've often wondered what it would be like to raise my younger siblings. So here it is, Darry's side of things, from the fight that caused Ponyboy to run away to the night he finally came home.
Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to S.E. Hinton. Certain sentences and scenes are lifted almost exactly from the book, but that's what happens when you rewrite a scene from another person's point of view. Sue me if you like; I'm a starving musician and college student.
Chapter 1: The Fight
January 30, 2003
It was taking all the concentration I had to sit there in that chair, staring at the newspaper. I'd been reading the same story for the last half hour, and I still had no idea what it was about. A small sigh caught my attention and I looked over to where my middle brother lay stretched out on the couch, sound asleep. Sodapop stirred slightly but didn't wake and I found myself envying him. He got to sleep while I waited up, scared to death that our youngest brother wouldn't make it home.
I looked at the clock again. It was just about two in the morning. Ponyboy was supposed to be home at midnight. I knew he'd gone to the movies with most of the gang, but still, he knew what time he should have been back. I shook my head angrily. That kid brother of mine doesn't use his head.
I wouldn't have been quite as worried if it wasn't for the incident the day before. Ponyboy had decided to walk home from the movies alone and got jumped, surprise, surprise. The Socs had pulled a blade on him, and might have killed him if he hadn't been close enough to home for us to hear his screams.
Our parents had died eight months before, leaving me to finish raising my two brothers. Sodapop's almost seventeen, while Ponyboy just turned fourteen last month. I'm twenty. Thoughts were whirling through my head when the front door creaked open softly. I leapt to my feet, the worry dissolving into anger. He shut the door carefully and stood there, biting his fingernails like he always did when he was nervous.
"Where the heck have you been?" I fumed at him. "Do you know what time it is?" He shook his head silently. My kid brother was scared, scared of me, but right then I didn't care.
"Well, it's two in the morning, kiddo. Another hour and I would have had the police out after you. Where were you, Ponyboy?" – my voice was rising – "Where in the almighty universe were you?"
"I…I went to sleep in the lot," he stammered dumbly. I stared at him in disbelief.
"You what?" By this time I was shouting. Sodapop woke up and sat upright, rubbing his eyes.
"Hey, Ponyboy," he said sleepily, "where ya been?" We both ignored him. Pony looked up at me, a pleading look on his face.
"I didn't mean to," he pleaded with me. "I was talking to Johnny and we both dropped off…"
"I reckon it never occurred to you that your brothers might be worrying their heads off and afraid to call the police because something like that could get you two thrown in a boys' home so quick it'd make your head spin. And you were asleep in the lot? Ponyboy, what on earth is the matter with you? You haven't even got a coat on." I couldn't help it. Sometimes my mouth gets control and says things I don't want it to. I have a pretty bad temper, always have.
Tears were forming in his eyes and his face was flushed as he defended himself. "I said I didn't mean to…"
"I didn't mean to!" I shouted. He shuddered. "I didn't think! I forgot! That's all I hear out of you! Can't you think of anything?"
"Darry," Soda spoke up. I'd almost forgotten he was there. I almost never yell at my middle brother, but I was so mad by then it didn't matter who he was.
"You keep your trap shut! I'm sick and tired of hearin' you stick up for him." Both my brothers seemed stunned; I never yell at Soda. Pony was the first to find his voice.
"Don't you yell at him!" he hollered. I had been facing Soda, but now I wheeled around and without thinking, slapped him across the face. Hard. So hard that it knocked him against the door.
You could've heard a pin drop after that. Mom and Dad never hit us, and they never let us hit each other either. As far back as I could remember, no one in our family had ever hit Pony. I had the distasteful distinction of being the first.
I looked at my hand, the palm turning red. Ponyboy and Soda had frozen, both with eyes as big as saucers. A bright red handprint had appeared on Pony's face. "Ponyboy…" I managed.
In one swift movement, he had opened the door and disappeared through it. I heard his feet hitting the pavement as he ran down the street.
"Pony, I didn't mean to!" I screamed after him, but it was useless. He was gone.