Johnny

I remember it like it was yesterday: the first time I knew Mr. Curtis was more like a father to me than my real dad would ever be.

I was sitting in my sixth grade art class, putting the finishing touches on a painting we'd been working on the past couple of weeks. I'd painted a beach landscape, and I was fiercely proud of it.

Of course, I had never been to the beach. I've never even been outside of Tulsa. But I'd seen pictures of the ocean and had always dreamed of going. I don't know how to swim, but I could just imagine myself walking into the ocean, palm trees swaying behind me, the wet sand oozing between my toes…

I was trying to get the trunk of the palm tree just right when my art teacher, Ms. Simons, walked up behind me.

"Oh, Johnny! Your painting has turned out wonderfully!"

My ears burned with embarrassment as the entire class gathered around, admiring my painting. Ms. Simons made sure to point out how I'd used "pointillism" to make the sand look more realistic. She'd asked us to incorporate that technique into our painting, but I was one of the very few that had. It had taken me a while - dotting the page with different shades of orange, yellow, and brown - but the result made it worthwhile.

I was in high spirits, all the way up until the end of class. That's when Ms. Simons reminded us that it was Open House night. Open House night is when parents come to the school and walk around the classrooms with their son or daughter. Each classroom has some work set out that highlights everything the students have done that year. Ms. Simons said she'd be hanging up all of our paintings for our parents to see.

My parents had never been to an Open House night. Not once. Each year I asked them to come, but they turned it down, saying it was a waste of time. They send me to school for a reason - to get rid of me seven hours of the day. They said they don't care what goes on at the school as long as it keeps me busy. I guess them bickering and yelling at each other is more worth their time.

It's probably a good thing they always turn me down. I wouldn't want them there anyway. Whenever I'm with them in public, they always end up shouting at each other, and I always end up wishing the ground would just swallow me up.

So tonight I decided to not even ask them. I'd figured out by now that it was never going to happen.


"Well, I just think it's silly!" Mrs. Curtis's voice carried into the TV room from the kitchen. "High School Awards and Open House should not be held on the same night!"

I was over at the Curtis household, and we were just lounging around, watching TV. Two-Bit was over too, so we were watching the Mickey Mouse Club, per his request. Mrs. Curtis was fixing dinner and she was complaining to Mr. Curtis about the evening's schedule.

In addition to Open House, tonight was also the academic awards night at the high school. From what I understood, Darry was nominated for some pretty important awards. Mrs. Curtis and Sodapop were going with Darry to his awards night and Mr. Curtis was going with Ponyboy to Open House. Mrs. Curtis was just bummed that she couldn't go to Open House too.

I couldn't help but feel jealous of Ponyboy. He had two parents that wanted to go to Open House, and I couldn't even get one on board. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis didn't think Open House was a chore. They didn't think it was a waste of time.

"Dinner's almost ready!" Mrs. Curtis poked her head out of the kitchen doorway. "Johnny, Two-Bit, would you like to stay for dinner? We have plenty."

"No thank you, Mrs. Curtis," Two-Bit said, hopping up from the floor. "I actually told my mom I'd be home 20 minutes ago… so I should probably get going." He grinned at all of us, saluted, and then he was out the door.

"I swear, that boy…" Mrs. Curtis said, shaking her head after him. "Johnny, what about you, hon?"

"Um, sure, I'll stay," I told her. "Thanks, Mrs. Curtis."

"You're welcome, sweetie." To her sons she said: "Five minutes, boys."


I always liked eating at the Curtises'. Mrs. Curtis was a good cook, and more than that, I enjoyed listening in on their conversations. Between Soda's interesting questions, Darry's smart-aleck responses, and Ponyboy's enthusiasm, it always made for an entertaining meal.

"Johnny, are you and your parents going to Open House tonight?" Mrs. Curtis asked sweetly, setting some mashed potatoes in front of me as we sat down.

She always did that. She'd ask about my parents as if she didn't loathe their guts. She knew how terribly they treated me, but she rarely spoke ill of people if she could help it. But I knew she'd give them a right old beating if she could.

"No, not tonight," I mumbled, looking down at the table. "They're busy." I quickly took some mashed potatoes and passed them on.

Mr. and Mrs. Curtis exchanged a glance across the table that didn't go unnoticed by me. They did that a lot. They had this way of communicating without even making a sound. Boy, do I wish my parents could do that.

Mr. Curtis cleared his throat gruffly from the head of the table. "Well, Johnny, I'd love to see what you've been working on all year," he said. "You ought to come over with me and Ponyboy. You can show us around. It'll give Pony an idea of what to expect next year."

I lifted my head, unable to contain the grin on my face. "Really, I can come?" I tried not to sound too eager.

"Of course," Ponyboy said. "It'll be fun!"

So I accepted graciously. I couldn't wait to show off my painting.


Open House was about what I expected it to be - a crowded mess and parents gushing over their kids. But I have to admit, I was glad to finally be a part of it.

Mr. Curtis was thoroughly interested in everything Pony and I had been doing. In Math, Pony had learned long division and so his teacher had set up a "race station" where parents could race their kids at a problem. Mr. Curtis beat Ponyboy. He was never one to "let his kids win."

In my math class, I showed Mr. Curtis and Ponyboy my "dream house." My teacher had us design a floor plan, drawing it to scale on graph paper. It was his way of incorporating all of the geometry we'd learned that year into something fun. My dream house had a pool and a movie theater built-in.

It went on like this, going from classroom to classroom. We showed Mr. Curtis our book reports in English class, our timeline projects in history class, and we even showed him the gym. The gym teacher had an obstacle course set up, but we decided not to do it. It was too crowded. And Ponyboy didn't want to mess up his hair.

Mr. Curtis would stop and chat with our teachers, even mine. He asked them how I was doing in all of my classes, with genuine interest. I'd never had anyone do that for me before.

We saved the art room for last. Ponyboy and I loved art and Ms. Simons was probably our favorite teacher.

Ponyboy's grade made ceramic bowls, and Ponyboy had painted tiny horses on his. He was planning on giving it to Soda, I'm sure. That kid sure is talented at drawing horses. I was a little relieved that he wasn't in my grade, because I'm sure his painting would have been better than mine.

When we walked over to see my painting, Ms. Simons hurried over to talk to us. She knew Mr. Curtis wasn't my dad, since she'd met him on so many occasions having also taught Darry and Sodapop. So she said sweetly, "Filling in for the Cades, Mr. Curtis?"

"That's right, ma'am," Mr. Curtis said, squeezing my shoulders from behind me. "And I'm very proud of Johnny. He seems to have had a great year of school."

I smiled to myself. Mr. Curtis was proud of me.

"Well, if you think you're proud of him now, just wait until you see his painting," Ms. Simons said, directing him to my painting hanging on the wall.

Mr. Curtis widened his eyes at me. "You painted that?" he asked, clearly impressed. "Johnny, that's fantastic! Look at that detail!"

Ponyboy agreed. "It looks so realistic! Have you ever even been to a beach, Johnny?"

I shook my head, beaming. "No, but I've seen pictures. In magazines and books. I sure would like to go sometime."

"Tell them about the styles you used, Johnny," Ms. Simons suggested, before she left to greet another family.

So I went on to talk about pointillism, and shading, and my use of complimentary colors. I was so glad they liked the painting, and I was so glad that I came.

Before we left the school, I asked Ms. Simons for a favor. I asked if I could take my painting home with me. "Of course, Johnny," she said.


We met back at the Curtis household. Darry had won several of the awards he was nominated for, and we all celebrated with ice cream. Darry talked about his night and Pony and I talked about ours while we ate.

"Show them your painting, Johnny," Pony said excitedly, one we had finished.

"Oh yes, we'd love to see it!" Mrs. Curtis said. "Do you have it with you?"

I nodded. "I'll go and get it." I'd left it by the front door. I returned with it, holding it delicately out in front of me for everyone to see.

"Wow, I'd like to go there!" Soda said. "That's really well done, Johnny."

Darry and Mrs. Curtis nodded in agreement. "Beautiful, honey," Mrs. Curtis said.

I looked down shyly. "Thanks." Then I lifted my head to meet Mr. Curtis's eyes. "Mr. Curtis?" I handed my painting out to him. "I want you to have this."

Mr. Curtis frowned. "Oh, Johnny, I couldn't take that," he said gently. "Surely you want to keep it."

"I want you to have it," I said again, and this time he took the painting from me. "Thank you for letting me come with you tonight. I-It meant a lot to me."

"It meant a lot to me too, kiddo." He was examining my picture thoroughly. "You know... I think I have the perfect frame for this to go in."

And you know what? The next time I came to the Curtis's house, my painting, now framed, was hanging above Mr. Curtis's armchair. And it's been hanging there ever since.