Dallas was tuff. Tuff as in cool, you know that? Johnny seemed to think so, anyway. Heck, Johnny always thought it. He didn't have anyone else to think it about. Not Ponyboy, not Two-Bit, or Soda or Darry or Steve. Johnny Cade admired the hell out of Dally Winston, and that was a fact. Everyone knew it. The chap loved Dally more than he loved his own folks, if he loved his folks at all. The odds were against it, but what does it matter?
Johnny didn't tell Dally any of this, of course, because Dallas didn't love anything, or anyone for that matter. And who wanted to be in that position? It sucks, you know, when you love someone and they don't love you back, even if it's just some brotherly love. Shoot, Dally cared about Johnny, and you'd better believe it too, but he didn't love him. He didn't know how. He said that was what years on the streets does to you; it makes you hard and it makes you tough - so hard and so tough that you end up bitter and angry and all the rest of your life. But what was the point of living then, you know, after that rage gotta hold of you? Nobody knew the streets better than Dally, so nobody dared to argue his words. He always said it like it was a good thing, but who really knew what went on inside his head?
Johnny sighed, coming back down to Earth. He blinked and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans jacket, lit one, then stuck it in his mouth. It was a real nice night. Johnny was lying on his back in the lot and he was watching the stars, but at the same time he wasn't, 'cause he kept zoning out. He tossed the pack to the white-blond greaser sitting on the grass a foot away from him.
"Light up, Dally," Johnny said, and Dallas did.
The whole gang went to the movie house earlier that day, then goofed around for an hour or two until the sky got dark, and everyone had to head home. Johnny didn't want to go home; he never wanted to, partly 'cause he couldn't stand to hear his folks fight and partly 'cause he knew he'd get belted if he did. The gang went to the lot when they didn't want to go home, and sometimes they went to the Curtis' house, but mostly to the lot. Johnny liked it here better, anyway. He could look at the stars.
Dally, on the other hand, didn't care one way or another about whatever the hell was in sky. When Johnny started heading toward the lot Dally caught up with him: "You must be crazy if you think I'm gonna let you go off alone," he had said. "On a night like this? There'll be Socs this way and that." They had, indeed, encounter a group of nasty-looking Socs, but they scattered when they saw Dally. You'd be out of your right mind to pick a fight with Dallas Winston, and everybody knew it, too.
Dally threw the pack back to Johnny where it landed with a thud on the ground. Johnny looked at it for a moment and then but it back into his pocket.
"Shoot, you're awfully quite tonight, Johnnycake," Dally said, taking a drag on his cigarette. "Somethin' buggin' you?"
"No," Johnny said slowly. "Why d'you think that?"
"Golly, I dunno, kid," Dally said. Johnny didn't mind when Dally called him "kid." He hated it when it came from anybody but Dally. "I mean, you're a quiet one, that's for sure, but you're never this quiet. 'Specially 'round me."
"Shoot, Dally, I dunno. I'm just thinkin', that's all," Johnny said reluctantly.
"'Bout what?" Dally asked, but Johnny shrugged and Dally fell quiet. They sat in silence for a minute or two, smoking, but it just as well could've been years.
"I've never understood why some people get it so good, you know that?" Johnny said uneasily after a moment. He sniffed and threw a sideways glance at Dally, who was studying him.
"Yeah," Dally yawned lazily. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean, Johnny."
"It's not fair," Johnny went on. "Is it, Dally? It's not fair that we have to be greasers. Sometimes I hate it, ya dig that?"
Dally looked offended.
"Aw, shoot, Dallas, I didn't mean it like that," Johnny pleaded. "We're all pretty tuff; the whole gang is. I just -"
"Blast it, Johnny, don't go off talkin' 'bout wantin' to kill yourself again. I don't like hearin' that from you. You know we couldn't get on okay without you, don't you, Johnnycake? You know that, right?" Dally said anxiously, peering at Johnny and throwing his cigarette on the ground.
Johnny glared at his black tennis shoes, not wanting to meet Dally's eyes. He felt guilty.
"Listen, Johnny, I know you get knocked up at home. Hell, we all know that, don't we?" Dally scooted over and lied down next to Johnny. He gazed at the sky. "What I'm getting at is - you ain't so stoked with life, but that's just part of the package, kid. That's all part'a bein' a greaser. You can't help it, you know? But you're an okay kid, anyway. The gang needs you, Johnny. That counts for somethin', don't it?"
"The whole gang don't need me," Johnny mumbled.
"Oh, come off it," Dally said, sighing.
"I'm tellin' the truth, Dally. You don't need me. You don't need anyone. You're Dally." Johnny didn't know where he was going, and he didn't want to make Dallas mad. Dally didn't look angry, but he was a walking time-bomb. You'd never know when he was about to go off.
"Oh, man, Johnny," Dally ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end more than it needed to. "You know that ain't true. I've gotta have that tough exterior. I've got to. It's just who I come off as. I need ya, Johnny. I care 'bout you."
Johnny shrugged. "Sure," he said. But he already knew that Dally cared about him. Heck, he might've already known that Dally needed him, too. He just liked to hear him say it. But Dallas Winston didn't love him, and that was the hardest fact for Johnny Cade to face.
"What was it like, Dally, growin' up on the streets and all? You never talk about it. Does it really make you tough?" Johnny asked when Dally didn't say anything.
"Sure does, kid. There's always a catch, though, you know? It's not the kinda tough you wanna be. Makes you hate the world. Bein' back here in Tulsa softened me up a bit, but not much. I mean, there's some things you're gonna see spendin' three years in New York that are gonna stick with you your whole life, you know? And I'll tell ya, Johnny, you can get much farther with a nice word than you can with a heater. Always a catch."
"I'd take your word for it even if that wasn't the truth, Dally. You've seen everything there is to see," Johnny said, closing his eyes for more than a blink.
Dally nodded reluctantly. "Don't know why you look up to me so much, Johnnycake. I'm nothin' but trouble," - he chuckled - "the whole town knows that."
Johnny grinned. "You're the good kinda trouble, Dally. The trouble people go huntin' for."
Dally punched him on the shoulder playfully. "Sure am."
They lied in silence for a few moments, looking at the stars. Well, Johnny was looking at the stars, anyway, 'cause he still had enough feeling left in him to appreciate them. He hadn't ever seen a clearer sky.
"You wanna know why I admire you so much, Dally?" Johnny asked. "It's cause you're like family to me, you know? We get along better than everybody else. You're like the brother I've never had, if that makes sense," Johnny glanced at him briefly. "I love you like a brother, Dally. And I don't love much in this world. But I do love you."
Dallas looked stunned. He knit his eyebrows and stared at the sky, then at the greaser lying next to him. "Shoot, Johnny," he said, and for a moment Johnny thought he might yell, but Dally threw him a rare crooked grin. "I love you all the same, kid. And you'd better believe it, you hear?"
Johnny swallowed a lump in his throat with determination and smiled to himself. "I hear you just fine, Dally."
It wasn't exactly heartwarming - heck, neither of the two knew how to be heartwarming - but it was enough. Dallas Winston would always be enough.
For once in his life, Johnny didn't feel so alone.