A little one-shot I found on my computer while looking around and I reread it and thought it deserved to be on here. I guess...
I just couldn't sleep. I was up, reading a book for school and watching Soda sleep. He does look like a Greek God come to Earth. What was the Greek God of beauty? Balder? Wait, Balder is the Norse God of beauty. Either way, Soda is still really handsome. Even a year after Dally and Johnny's death. I remember their deaths clearly:
Johnny and I rushed into the burning church, Dally and that Jerry Wood character yelling at us to get the hell out. We go the kids out, then Johnny got me out. A piece of timber caught his back, Dally's fist caught mine. Then, Dally got Johnny out, gettin' burnt himself. We found that Johnny would be crippled if he lived. If. It was always 'if'. But he didn't make it. He told me that sixteen years wasn't long enough. It wasn't. He didn't wanna die at that moment. But he did. God took his life away from us.
Dally wanted to die. I watched him die. Suicide by police, was what Darry called it. I knew he wanted to die. But sometimes I wonder if in those last moments when the fiery bullets hit him, he wanted to seriously live? I was close enough to hear him mutter "Pony" when we got to him. Did he wanna live once he was on death bed, like Johnny? Or was his mind straight forward, he just said my name out of fear. Fear of me seeing the deaths of two friends.
One a hero.
One a hood.
Both greasers.
But now, a year later, we're all growing apart.
Soda spends more and more time with Steve. And Steve is drowning and taking my brother with him. Steve is drowning in hatred from his father, who kicks him out more often now-a-days. Soda is being dragged with him. After all, Balder was killed by his blind brother, only because of the prankster, Loki.
Then, Two-Bit, our wise cracker of the bunch, has stopped really caring for the gang all together. He's caring for his mother and little sister. He even got a job at his moms bar, he's almost twenty now and no one would care if he fixed their beer or Bloody Mary. Twenty-one is the real age, but who cares. He stopped coming by the house to visit, he kind of quit the gang all together. Two-Bit, the only reason, besides Soda, that Darry smiled, is gone.
Darry is still tough, he's twenty-one now, and he's on my case a lot too. I brought home a 95 on a test, he glanced at it and told me I could do better. True, a 95 ain't an A , but I'm trying as hard as I can, damn it! Darry isn't home much anymore, he'll get back at midnight and wake up at four. He'd leave, leaving me and Soda to fend for ourselves. He's now such a hard-ass after the funerals. He didn't cry. Actually, the last tear he shed was when Dally was shot in front of him. I'd tell Darry I was jumped and he said, "You ain't dead, go do homework" or something like that. I can't stand him no more.
Sometime's I wished I had really ran away. Without Dally or Johnny's help, so both would be alive and I'd be out in the country. I bet everyone would be happier, Darry and Soda being able to pay bills, Dally and Johnny alive and keeping Steve and Soda from drowning, and Two-Bit would be around to mess with Johnny and in the moment, mess with Darry. Darry would smile, Soda would joke, Steve would laugh, Two-Bit would kid, Johnny and Dallas would be together always, and me. I'd be in the country, watching clouds and sitting on the back of the Windrixville church. It'd still be there. I wouldn't drop a lit cigarette; it would be my home. I'd care for it and run off little country boys and chase rabbits and raccoons and deer. It'd be alone, a hobo if you want. I'd get a job in the little one horse store that Two-Bit could walk out of, carrying half of the store. I'd have food, shelter, entertainment, books... it's be paradise.
But how would Johnny feel? And Dallas? I'd be out hiding, and Dally and Johnny would be fighting to keep their lives. And a year ago, Dally said Two-Bit was ready to go to Texas to look fo me and Johnny. Would he be out looking for me? Or was it just Johnny he wanted? What did I really mean to the gang? Just a tag-along kid? Probably. Darry doesn't like me anymore, Soda cares, but not as much, Steve is Steve, hard and bad-ass, Two-Bit is gone, and Dallas and Johnny are truly gone. I wish that Soc didn't die. I wish I had run away without Johnny, and he and Dally would be alive. I would be out of their lives, and they'd be happy.
It's how it should be.
"I thought we lost you like we did Mom and Dad..."
Were those his true thoughts? Were those tears crocodile tears? An act for Soda? Was Soda acting for Darry? I'm not sure. Silently, I got up and shoved a few pairs of jeans and shirts in a bag and set it aside before lighting a cigarette. Taking a drag, I felt better. Slowly, I looked under my pillow and found a pocket knife I hid there a while ago and slid it in my pocket. I pulled on a coat and the bag was slung over my shoulder; I let out a sigh. I slid the window open silently and slipped through the crack before shutting it back. It was cold, but I could tough it out.
I made it to the lot and sat down, looking at the dirt and the holes in my shoes. I leaned against a wall and was close to going to sleep. There were footsteps and a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and fell backwards. When my vision improved, I looked at the guy, my eyes growing as I recognize him.
"Ponyboy, what are you doing?" he asked, rubbing my arm as he pulled me to my feet. "C'mon, you're freezing." He grabbed my wrist and led me to the main road. I saw he was taking me back to my house and I dug my heels in the ground, making him stop.
"Not, not home. Please, not yet," I begged the older greaser. He looked me up and down.
"How many outfits do you have?" he asked, pulling me closer. Being that close, I found he was shivering too.
"Three..." I whispered, leaning into his warmth.
"Tomorrow is Friday. Darry wont mind if you cut a day and spend the weekend with me, right?" he asked, which was more of a statement. I nodded, making him grin. "Alright, sleep-over it is." His arms wrapped around me as we walked down the street to his house, and I frowned, feeling guilty for not telling Darry I was leaving.
A familiar white house came into view and I forced a grin.
"C'mon, Pone, I'm shiverin'!" he yelped, picking up the pace. At his front door, he opened it and went in. "Shh, Mom and my sister are asleep. We can't pull out the couch bed tonight, so you can just sleep in my bed, alright?"
"Yeah..." I whispered as he pushed me to the stairs.
His room was a mess, like always, and I sat on his bed while he took off his coat. I realized why he was so cold–there was no shirt under his jacket. "How come you don't have a shirt on?" I asked him as he slid on an old T-shirt.
"I felt like something was wrong and kinda rushed out. I was surprised to find you in the lot on your lonesome." I watched him remove his jeans and sit down on the bed in his boxers. I took off my shirt and put it on my bag. I kicked off my shoes and laid down, trying not to take up much space. His bed was huge, mind you, but I felt awkward taking up a lot of space.
"G'night," I whispered, which I seemed to be doing a lot that night. I felt his hand on me and he pulled me further on the bed, then snuggled my back to his front.
"Take as much space as you need, kid," he told me, grinning, "cause you're no stranger in this household." I relaxed a little and let him hug me for warmth.
Suddenly, I felt bad about misjudging Two-Bit the way I did earlier. He just now showed me he still cared about my safety and was still the Two-Bit we all knew and loved.
"Thanks, Two-Bit," I said softly. I was hoping for an answer, but was greeted with a slight snore.
Isn't that just warm and fuzzy? There were no parings, even if it looked like it.