The weather taunted. It mocked, cheerful and beautiful, yet remindful of days of pain. Alone in the cemetery, the young man endured the brilliant sun. Beating down on his back, it reminded him of his last visit—a funeral seven years ago. Now, twenty-one, visiting the grave of his best friend, a week away from leaving for some godforsaken delta in Vietnam, he was miserable and hopelessly lost. He expected there'd be sun in Vietnam, too. If he ever got un-lost, he decided he would hate it there.
But for now, he was left to wonder why exactly he was wasting an hour of his two-week leave in a graveyard. He was alone, clutching a bundle of flowers sent by his sister-in-law. Roses. He flashed back to the funeral, remembering the roses filling up the church, remembering sobbing as the coffin was lowered into the ground, remembering standing under the tree afterwards, next to the grave. Unable to stand it, he hadn't been here since. Everything had looked bigger, blurrier and darker from under the tall oak. He then realized that the same tree stood less than ten feet away. He turned towards the grave, too relieved to feel exasperated. Nearly running, he was there in seconds. For the first time in years, he read the words engraved in the stone; "Johnny Cade. 1948-1964." He didn't realize he spoke aloud at first. "Hey there, Johnnycake."
Settling on to his knees, he put a hand out, resting it on the words. Simple, plain, and slightly impersonal, they were in sharp contrast to the obituary that had run after his death. Realizing that he had paused, he continued softly.
"It's me. It's Ponyboy. I'm so sorry." He'd never said that to Johnny and hadn't meant to just now, but they'd slipped out. "I'm so sorry." He swallowed, tried to use a hand to wipe watering eyes, but remembered the flowers. He placed them on the ground.
"Holly – that's Darry's wife – sent these. They'll bring Julia some day but that'll be in a while, maybe when she starts school in a year. Soda's trying to convince Cherri to name the baby Johnny, but you know how she gets." He broke off smiling. His sister-in-law was against naming her child Johnny only because she was convinced it was a girl. She and Soda would spend hours talking about names. A thought occurred to Ponyboy then and his smile slipped away.
"If I die before next year they can name the baby Ponyboy. Oh my god. I could die." He trailed off, realizing that dead people surrounded him. "It's funny. I was the only one who got drafted. I'm the least suited for war. Well, not funny. More like … you know what I mean." He looked up at the sky again, the morbidity of the situation crashing down on him. Maybe sitting by the grave of a sixteen year old was getting to him. Or maybe it was a sickeningly beautiful day and he was going to die in a month anyway.
Feeling increasingly more bitter and cynical, he laughed. He wasn't happy, nor was his situation amusing. He was tired of the whole thing. Thoroughly miserable, he thought of a boy who'd jumped at shadows. A boy who'd watched sunsets. A boy who'd idolized southern gentlemen and wished for something better. A boy who'd told him to stay gold and now lay in front of him rotting underground.
"I didn't stay gold, Johnny." Broken, tired, he whispered the sentence. However inevitable growing up had been, he wished to go back to the time when everything was almost simple. He wished to be Julia's age again, carefree.
Settling into silence, he studied Johnny's name and dates. There was nothing else on the stone; they hadn't been able to afford much then, and now he regretted how little the stone said. It said nothing of the loving, caring person Johnny'd been to his friends. Someday, he would have a gravestone that said nothing. Maybe soon.
Ending the one sided conversation then, he lapsed deeper into companionable silence. It was quiet here; he could think. He remembered Johnny. He thought of his brothers, their family, Vietnam, and a night at a fountain in the park long ago. Staring at the headstone until the two words were bored into his memory, he watched the light change. The shadows became longer, and he became aware of just how much time had passed. He exhaled. For the first time since the draft, Ponyboy Curtis felt at peace.
The sun was setting. He found it appropriate and he stood watching for a while then walked away from the grave. He had a family and a week to spend with them. He had a chance that Johnny had never gotten. And after that week, after his tour, after whatever awaited him in the jungle of Vietnam, he could live his life.
With a last look at the headstone, now a few feet away, he smiled. He nodded. "I'll be back, Johnny. I'll come home."
This was written for English class. It may or may not be interesting, but I'd appreciate feedback. Anything anyone has to say would be greatly appreciated. Anything. That means grammar checks. And flames. Please and thank you.