I'd never seen anyone hurt as bad as Johnny was that day in the lot. And I'd seen plenty of fights, I'd seen rumbles, I'd seen people pummeled to the ground. I'd seen a lot, living on the east side. We all had. But I'd never seen anything like that. I had to admire Soda. He went right over to him, helped him up, wiped the blood off his face, spoke to him so softly. I wouldn't have. It wasn't because I didn't care about him, he was one of the gang, he was one of us, of course I cared about him. But I wouldn't have gone near him like that and I didn't because I was scared. I was scared he was dead or dying, I was scared of how bad he looked, I was scared of all the blood. I wouldn't have touched him.
Johnny woke up a little and talked to Soda, and I watched, still scared. His face was so swollen, all cut up and bruised, there was blood running down from that gash in his cheek. His T-shirt was splattered with blood. But I thought he might not be dying since he was talking to Soda, sort of. He was kind of rambling and not really making sense and then he passed out again. Everyone was there by that time. Two-bit was there, he'd come out of nowhere, and I thought it might have been one of the only times I'd seen him without that smirk on his face. He looked so serious, even more serious because he usually didn't look that way. Dally and Darry, on the other hand, were always serious. Dally looked like he might be sick, he was green. I couldn't quite figure it out. Me being all upset and scared was one thing, but Dally had seen so much more than I had. He'd lived in New York City and the things he told us about would raise the hair on the back of your neck, and now he couldn't handle this?
I was glad Darry was there, though. Darry was able to make decisions and take care of things, and it seemed like he was the only one of us who was capable of it. Soda held Johnny in his arms, and he was definitely unconscious, and his breathing was kind of funny. He was gasping a little. I looked on wide eyed. Maybe he wasn't out of the woods yet.
Darry looked at him in his critical way, but right now it was the best way to deal with things. Sometimes Darry's cold reasoning came in handy.
"He needs to go to the hospital," he said, and that was that. The decision was made.
"Ponyboy, you're coming with us," he said, leaving Soda to tend to Johnny for now while he ran to get the car.
"Me?" I said after him, but he was already gone. I turned back to Soda and Johnny, and he hadn't woken up again. Soda was lightly brushing his hair away from his face.
"Soda, you go," I said, but Soda shook his head.
"I gotta work tonight, Pony. You know we can't afford for me to miss work,"
Darry had pulled up to the curb with the car by this time, and they carried Johnny to the car and laid him in the backseat. He moaned in pain when they moved him, pushing them away from him as they tried to get him into the car. I got into the front seat with Darry and he took off for the hospital.
Hospitals were one of the things Johnny hated. He hated cops, teachers, hospitals, his house. But he ended up in the hospital more than any of us. It couldn't be helped, I supposed. Johnny has had several broken bones, concussions, stuff like that. He ends up in the hospital. His parents have even brought him, lying to the doctors that he fell down stairs or whatever.
He was waking up a little by the time we got to the hospital, and he was able to be kind of half carried, half dragged into the ER. Darry left him and me sitting in the chairs in the waiting room while he went to check him in. Johnny's eyes were closed and he had his arms guarding his stomach, kind of curling up in the chair, and I saw tears on his cheeks, mixing with the blood.
At least this time we could tell the doctors the truth, that Johnny got beat up. They'd never believe it was socs. They'd think it was other greasers, since they thought we were scum and the socs were so wonderful and law abiding.
After too long waiting they finally called him, and Darry and me walked him over to the exam room, and at that point the hospital staff took over. I saw them try and talk to him and he didn't really answer them, and I saw them start to undress him and I saw Johnny fighting them, too hurt and out of it to know what they were doing, and then they told us to wait in the waiting room.
I knew Darry had to get to work, too, but I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to feel responsible for Johnny or for anything. It was easy to let Darry do it, to carry that burden.
It was taking too long, and I knew Darry was gonna go. He stood up and I watched him.
"Ponyboy, I have to go to work now. Listen, stay here until they let Johnny go home and then call Two-bit to come and get you. But if they admit him stay with him so he's not as scared, alright?"
I nodded, sitting there glumly waiting for somebody to tell me what was going on. I figured they were doing tests and x-rays on him and it would take awhile. I was too upset to read. Too upset to do anything. I couldn't believe those socs. God, they could have killed him, they wouldn't have cared if they killed him or not.
It took so long I was almost falling asleep in that waiting room, and then I figured maybe no one was bothering to tell me what was going on, then I started worrying that he really wasn't okay at all, that they'd had to rush him into surgery for internal bleeding or something like that.
I went up to the desk, feeling out of place, not even certain how to ask about him. The secretary or nurse or whoever she was looked all busy, too busy to deal with me.
"Uh, excuse me," I said, and she looked kind of annoyed. I swallowed hard and went on.
"I was wondering if you could tell me how my friend is, we brought him here a while ago-"
"What's his name?" she said.
"Johnny Cade, uh, John Cade,"
"Alright, I'll check,"
She went into the ER and left me standing there waiting. I shifted from one foot to the next. He was obviously admitted, it had been too long, they would have let him go by now. After an interminable amount of time she came back.
"Your friend, they admitted him," she said.
"Can I, can I go see him?" I said, feeling like I was gonna cry. This lady, this secretary, she seemed like she was generally pretty mean, but maybe something in my expression made her decide to be nice for once.
"Yeah. He's in a room on the second floor. Go up there and ask someone at the desk what room he's in,"
"Thanks," I said in a shaky voice.
I made my way up to the second floor. I couldn't stand the smell of hospitals, that weird alcohol and Lysol smell, that smell like the inside of a swimming pool. It didn't matter how much I didn't like it. I had to go and see Johnny, maybe he'd feel better seeing me if he was awake.
I crept to the door of his room, peeked in. He was in bed, lying still. I wondered if they gave him any pain killers. He needed them. I saw a bandage on his cheek, I saw I.V.' s in his arms, I saw the bruises on his face. He was wearing that shapeless hospital gown and I wondered where his clothes were. Lost, or maybe thrown away.
"Johnny," I said when I was next to the bed. I saw how black his hair looked against the white pillow case and white sheets. He didn't respond and I thought maybe he was on pain killers and just knocked out, so I was gonna find a chair and sit there, waiting for someone to come along and kick me out. But then he stirred, his eyes opened a little and he looked toward me.
"Ponyboy?" he said.