DATE NIGHT
"Okay boys, we have two salisbury steaks and one turkey and dressin'."
Soda was pulling the tv dinners out of the oven, wearing Mom's old oven mitt. As he flung them on the table Darry and I both grabbed for the steaks despite it burning our fingers, leaving Soda the turkey as his only choice.
Soda swiped the dish rag from his back pocket and wiped his brow. "Christ its hot in this kitchen," he whispered to himself as he sat down to his meal.
"Aaah," he sighed with satisfaction. "Like Thanksgiving in July," and he filled his mouth with the fake, watered down version of mashed potatoes that graced all of our aluminum trays.
Seeing as he was eating at the table missing a shirt, I guessed my mom's rule of no "shirt, no service at the table" was out the window. Just like most everything else of her, I thought with a brief pang in my stomach.
It was a rare Saturday night that all three of us were home and eating together as a family and it felt kinda nice. Darry started asking me about my new summer job of umpiring for the little league games up at Crutchfield Park.
"I called one kid out at third and his old man started hollerin' at me like it was my fault, but other than that it was fine. Just hot as hell is all," I told him shrugging my shoulders and suddenly I remembered my shirt that I left in the backyard, which had been soaked by the time I got home.
"Are there any good lookin' girls working the concession stand this summer?" Soda asked from the floor, out of breath.
For whatever reason, he had chosen the middle of dinner to drop down and get in a few push ups.
Darry and I just ignored him and carried on our conversation while Soda grunted "fourteen, fifteen…," but nothing was unusual when it came to our brother.
When he counted off twenty he hopped up and explained as he flexed, "I have a date tonight. Just gettin' my blood pumpin' and my body in gear." Panting, he pulled out his rag again and wiped his face.
"If you're hurtin' at twenty push ups, little man, you got problems. You need to start liftin' and get those chicken wings of yours some muscle, " Darry fired off as he studied the brick-like brownie dessert.
"Naw," Soda drawled. "The ladies like me lean," and he slinked lazily back in his chair with the all the air of a confident cat.
"Who are you takin' out tonight?" I asked with little interest as I snuck in a bite of cobbler off of Soda's Thanksgiving tray.
Soda leaned forward on his elbows, eyeing both of us and with a devilish grin answered, "Betsy Bratcher."
Both Darry and I immediately zeroed in on Soda, our eyes as large as saucers.
"THE Betsy Bratcher, as in Joey Bratcher's older sister?" I asked, my voice cracking.
Darry put his hand up to halt all conversation. "You mean the 21 year old Betsy Bratcher I graduated with?" He couldn't hide his astonishment.
Soda sat up straight and nodded. "Yep. That'd be her. The one with the big jugs, " he answered while a brilliant smile slowly took over his entire face.
I felt my cheeks turning hot and I willed myself not to blush. I was fifteen for God's sake. I wanted to be in on their crude banter without feeling like some loser kid who would probably never even get the chance to feel a girl up. I felt sure Soda had never blushed a day in his life.
"She came down to the DX on Wednesday lookin' for a lube job," Soda explained as he went to the refrigerator to refill his milk. "And I made it clear to her I could provide that service in a few different ways, " he said with dancing eyebrows.
Darry shook his head and said, "You ain't right," though I noticed he was chuckling pretty hard as he got up to throw away his empty foil tray.
"Good dinner, Soda," Darry said to which Soda replied, "Y'all best be thanking me. Seein' as how I slaved all afternoon."
"Yeah, well the best part of this meal is no dishes," I added.
With dinner officially over Darry was headed for the garage to his weight bench. "Damn Darry, " Soda teased and grabbed Darry's bicep. "How big you tryin' to get?"
"I'm just maintainin' this fine machine, " he said with his husky voice. "Never know when I'm gonna need to kick your ass back into line." And with that he disappeared out the back door.
Soda asked me when I was gonna find a girl, so we could start going on some double dates, but I knew he was just trying to be nice and include me. He gave me one good swat to the arm with his rag and headed for the shower, leaving me at the table with my thoughts.
I was wondering why I had to be so different from my brothers. Why wasn't I born with the gene that gave you the confidence to come on to a girl? I was lucky if I could open my mouth to say sorry when I accidentally brushed by one at the lockers. How did Soda, even Darry, know exactly what to say and do? I'd be lucky if I ever got laid, which was pretty much all I thought about these days. I knew without doubt the girl would have to make the first move if I was ever gonna score. "Fat chance of that ever happenin'," I muttered to myself.
My brothers always tried to help by giving me advice. Soda's number one rule was "Learn how to dance, Pony."
From the time of their junior high dances, Darry and especially Soda made sure they knew every dance craze that came around the bend. Soda mastered every one, from all of the old dances of Motown to the newer, funkier style of today's moves. It wasn't very greaser like, and they caught a few snide remarks for it. But they didn't care, because they were laughing all the way to the dark corners, and later the backseats of cars, with all the girls those other Greasers would have loved to have on their own arms.
"Girls love to dance, " Soda would say, failing to mention he loved it too.
And boy did he! His moves seemed effortless, like his body was without bones. He was fluid and full of soul and it gave him the license to get so close to a girl you would have thought they were rolling in the hay and not in the middle of a high school gym. Even Darry in his day had taken a few ladies across the dance floor. I'd heard Two Bit laughing plenty of times when he'd retell how the principal had tapped Darry on the shoulder and made the sweaty couple pull apart to a more respectable distance. Darry's dancing was a bit too dirty I reckon. As for me, I would never even attempt it. Even as much as I'd like to put my hands all over a girl like Betsy Bratcher, I knew I'd never come close. Maybe it's easier when you look like Soda, or you're God's gift to football like Darry.
I was roughly pulled from my thoughts when Two Bit Matthews rolled in the kitchen, a beer in his hand and a swagger in his step. "Good evenin' Mr. Curtis," he said while tipping his bottle in my direction, like classy people do in bars when they "cheers" their friends. "Where's your big brother?"
"Gettin' ready for a date, " I answered, but I'd picked the wrong brother.
"Darry has a date?" Two Bit almost spit out the beer he'd just swigged, and worked hard at swallowing it down.
"No," I corrected him. "Sodapop's showerin'. The other one is in the garage liftin' weights." But I knew Two Bit was fully aware of who I'd meant.
"I said your BIG brother, not the ugly one," he said laughing at his own joke when he sauntered out the door and made his way to the garage out back.
I navigated through the hallway, thickly fogged with hot steam and the fumes of after shave.
I fell back on my bed and started mindlessly tossing up my tennis ball, well worn from all the times I'd swung my bat to it out in the street. A tennis ball goes a lot further than a baseball when you swing and hit, and it gave me a far more satisfying feeling when I would watch that sucker fly clear on down to Johnny's house. Johnny. My stomach dropped.
Just then Soda raced in the room and frantically turned up the radio. "I love this song!" he exclaimed. "A little mood music," and he proceeded to get ready while dancing to the Zombies' Time of the Season. With each provocative breath found at every measured beat of the song's opening, Soda was also letting out his own breathy aah, and the music carried his body over to his dresser where he combed his hair, and I rolled my eyes in disgust when he looked as if he was practically having his way with our furniture.
I threw my tennis ball at his back, but in his mirror he'd seen my arm raise from behind. In true Soda fashion, he swung around and caught the ball, then without hesitation flung it hard at the opposite wall, making it ricochet so fast I didn't stand a chance of preventing it from knocking me right on the head. It took many hours for him to accomplish this talent, one of many odd tricks that only brothers could acquire through countless competitions on long afternoons.
He eyed himself in the mirror and sang along with the Zombies into his comb, "What's your name? Who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?"
My own laughter bubbled inside when I watched him crack up completely. He was laughing almost to tears. I knew I would never meet another soul who simply enjoyed the hell out of himself the way Sodapop Curtis did.
When he sprayed his cologne down his unbuttoned pants and gave me a wink, that was my cue to exit.
"And I'm supposed to be the strange one, " I said shaking my head and I left him to his closet and his collection of shirts, his toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
Darkness had fallen when I sat on the porch to smoke. The heat lightening had started up, and though I loved the flashes, it was a false hope. We needed the rain to cool off this oppressive heat, but that was the kind of lightning that never carried through with a good storm. Its only purpose was lighting up the night.
I heard a loud burst of Darry's laughter coming from the garage and figured Two Bit was telling him some crazy tale. He was closer to Darry than anyone and I loved when they got together, because not much could get Darry going like that. By that I mean laughing so hard he struggled for air and begged Two Bit for mercy, to please just stop talking.
Soda emerged from the house looking like a million bucks. He grabbed my cigarette and said, "Just a puff," but he took two or three very long drags as well as swiping another stick out of my pack and tucked it behind his ear.
"It's almost too hot to smoke tonight," he noted. "Almost," and he flashed a grin.
"You sure you don't want me to drop you off somewhere so you can find some action?" he asked.
I knew he worried over me being a hermit. And frankly, I was worried too. I don't know why I had no desire to go out and hang with people. The only person I ever found myself saying yes to was Curly. And I think that's because there was zero chance he'd ever replace Johnny.
"No thanks, I'm good," I told him and he handed back my cigarette and bounded down the steps two at a time.
Soda may have acted like he was unaware of his looks, but he sure knew exactly what he was doing. From his rolled jeans that revealed those bright white socks all the way up to his popped collar, he had it going on. But you couldn't fault him for knowing how to work it. He played the part and overall he used his beauty mostly for good.
He climbed in Darry's truck and immediately leaned over the front seat to crank down the window. "Don't wait up!" he shouted and the engine roared to life as did the radio. "Hot town, summer in the city" was blasting out of the speakers. His tires squealed away and he was already gone before he even left the curb. I watched the truck until it disappeared, engulfed by the night and the lightning. Why did I suddenly feel so small? Or was it left behind?
Sandy was a distant memory now and we were all relieved. Soda took the loss hard but rebounded very quickly and I admired him for that. My brothers' ability to take hits and then bounce back was something I lacked.
I admonished myself again for not being like them. I had always been the sensitive one. They still laughed when they told the story of how I had to take to the bed after I watched Old Yeller when I was little. My mom had to turn off the lights in my room and rub my forehead with a wet washcloth. Now whenever it comes on tv, everyone laughs and pokes fun. I guess it was kinda funny when I think about it. I was a weird child I suppose. Still am.
But I still make my point that Soda was the weirdest of all. Mom used to say she couldn't calm him down once after he found a picture of my parents holding Darry. Soda was mad he was left out, despite the fact it was years before he was even born. Mom tried to explain this to him, but he kept on bawling, rolling on the floor and kicking. She finally had to hide the photo. As easygoing as Soda can be, he was prone to tantrums when he was small. Poor Darry. Stuck with raising two head cases.
As Two Bit was leaving the garage I heard him ask Darry to come have some beers with him over at Pauly's Bar. "C'mon Darry. Like old times. Cathy's hot cousin is in town, the one you liked, from St. Louis. What's her name? Donna? Bonnie?" He was snapping his fingers trying to remember. "Or hell," he continued, "I'll drop Cathy like a sack of potatoes for the night and it'll be just us." He was practically begging Darry to join him.
I heard Darry say, "I think I'm gonna hang with Ponyboy tonight, " and I felt like such a heel. I wished so badly I could just hurry and grow up, so I wouldn't keep holding Darry back.
They said their goodbyes and Two Bit was walking away down the gravel path of the alley that connected all of our houses. He'd made it several yards and then I heard his loud voice ring out of the dark, "See ya tomorrow Ponyboy Curtis!" He had left without telling me goodbye and I guess felt bad about it. He was thoughtful that way.
I reached out and grabbed a lightning bug, let it crawl over my fingers and I smelled in that grassy lightning bug smell before I let him go. Then I figured I'd go in the house since I heard Darry come back in.
"Hey," he greeted me as he carried our dirty clothes bin on his hip. I noticed right on top was my wet baseball shirt that I had left in the backyard. He had picked it up on the way in. I couldn't believe he had been picking me up really, for over two years now. I watched him load the washer. His back was to me, so I could read "Curtis" on the back of his old football shirt. He was measuring the detergent. Figuring out which clothes belonged where. Sorting colors. Always working. I almost felt like crying as I watched him. We had our fights, but grown much closer than we would have if the accident hadn't happened. Instead of feeling stronger over time, I was really just becoming more dependent on him. Maybe that was what I was supposed to be feeling. It was a sign that Darry was doing a good job filling in for my father. It was a sign that I was still only a kid and wasn't that all I was supposed to be right now? Maybe this process Darry and I had going on was actually working. Maybe I was actually being "raised up right", by a brother who was a far better father than any of my friends had.
I pulled myself together and fell on the couch, trying to get into the tv. "Hey Darry," I called. "Gunsmoke's on next."
He was walking to the kitchen. "Alright," I heard him call back as he shuffled though the pantry. "The thing about them tv dinners is they don't do their job of fillin' y'up. I'm gonna make popcorn. I think I bought some Jiffy Pop the other day"
He returned with a bowl and a napkin tossed over his shoulder and joined me on the couch instead of sitting in his usual chair. That way we could share the popcorn. I stared at him until he finally looked at me. "What?" he asked.
All I could offer was simply "Thanks Darry." And it didn't even come close to what I really wanted to say. Not even by a mile.
A/N: The songs Soda was listening to: Time of the Season, by the Zombies and Summer in the City, by the Lovin' Spoonful. SE Hinton wrote the Outsiders.
Forgive me for yanking Time of the Season out of 1968, since I'm feeling my story is more 1967 at most. But I had to go with it. The bedroom scene wouldn't have it any other way. Thanks for reading!