A Place Deep Within
First Chapter - My brother smells like cigarettes
November 5
He looks like hell, but he smiles.
"Hey!" He struggles to get up, so I put my hand under his arm, steadying him. He sways a bit when he sits on the bedside.
"Hey," I answer. Then I can't help myself. I hug him, hard, taking a deep breath. He smells different. Something's missing.
"Don't they let you smoke?" I ask, and he shruggs.
"Don't know." He scratches his head. "I don't think so." His hand falls limp back on his knee. I pick up my pack of cigarettes - it's almost empty. I've smoked a lot these days. He takes one, and I look over my shoulder, noticing the open door. No one's there so I flick up my lighter. He coughs at the first drag, but I like to see him smoke. I need to see him smoke. It's him. I know I'm selfish.
"Where's Darry?" he asks.
"Talking to... ya know, the doctor." I try to sound normal.
The answer comes quick. "Johnny's doctor?"
I shut my eyes for a moment. If there's a right thing to say, I can't grip it. Instead, I pat him on his shoulder as if he were a puppy.
"Come on, kiddo."
He looks uncertain. "Where we goin'?" His eyes meet mine, and I'm finally able to smile. Almost.
"Home. We're goin' home."
XXX
6 years earlier - autumn
He is small, eight years old but looks like he's six, and he is my little brother. Myself, I turned eleven just days ago, and even if I do love him, I'm a bit tired of playing with him all the time. We used to be tight, but for some reason, the three years between us has started to show.
"You're a kid too," Mom says when I complain about Ponyboy, and I groan.
"Not like Pony," I explain. "He's a little kid. I'm a big kid." She smiles at that, but then gets serious.
"I only asked you to bring him with you to the park today. I'm really busy. Please, Soda."
She says please, but she ain't asking. I know when she gives an order.
"Steve's not gonna like it," I say, rolling my eyes, and Mom frowns.
"You two boys take good care of Pony, Sodapop. No more arguing." She shoves me out of the warm kitchen. I grimace, but do as she says and walk down the hallway. Pony's in his room at his desk, and I walk across the floor to stand next to him, watching him as he draws a picture. He's good at it. Better than anyone I know.
"What is it?" I ask, and he points at the two kids on the paper, one at a time.
"That's me," he says proudly, "and that's you." We both have big, happy, red crayon smiles, and we're apparently holding hands.
"Oh," I say, and feel a bit bad for not wanting him to come with me today. But my Mom's words are still in my mind, and I force myself to speak. "Wanna come to the park with me?"
"Can I?" He brightens up at my question, making me feel bad. I've been avoiding him for a time and I know it.
"Yeah. Come on, get your jacket."
The sky is gray, the streets full of autumn leaves in colorful red, orange, brown and yellow. Pony smiles, kicks them around and jumps in them. He's happy, and I can't help but smile at his cheerfulness. I shove my hands in my pockets when we reach the park. Steve's already there. His face clouds when he sees my brother.
"Soda," he moans. "I thought..."
"It was mom," I say quietly so Pony can't hear. Maybe I don't want him with me this day, but I don't want to be mean and tell him the truth either. "She said I had to bring him with me. I can't do nothin' about it."
"Well, I won't play with him anyway," Steve grunts and kicks away a rock.
"He can play by himself, we just need to watch 'im," I try to convince my best friend.
"Soda, can we go to the swings?" Pony yells, his cheeks and ears are red in the cold air, his eyes shine green. He has forgotten his cap again, and I know I'll be the one to blame when we gets home. I'm the big brother, I should've noticed.
"Sure," I say, ignoring Steve's annoyed glare. Steve has no brother, and sometimes I think he's jealous of me. He rummages through his pockets while we're walking over to the swings, and when Pony jumps up on one, he finds what he's seeking for. It's a pack of cigarettes. Kools.
"Look what I got," he says. "Wanna try?" He takes one, lights it, and hands it to me before he lights one for himself. I hold the stick between my forefinger and middle finger and lift it to my mouth. The smoke burns in my chest when I take a drag, and I start coughing. But Steve has smoked before, I can tell.
"Soda!" It's Ponyboy, he's left the swings and comes running, halts in the slippery leaves just before us. "What are you doin'?"
"Smokin'," I say, holding the cigarette up for him to look at.
"I thought you were staying at the swings," Steve says, a bit harsh, but Pony ignores him, turning to me.
"Can I have one?" He looks so innocent.
"No," I say.
"Why not? I wanna try too."
"Drop it, Pony," I say, trying to be a responsible brother. I scowl and Pony puts out his lower lip.
"So-daaa..." he whines. I look at Steve for back up, but he grins.
"Let him." He flicks out his lighter. "He ain't gonna die."
I groan inside, squeezing my eyes, sighing.
"What ever," I finally blurt out. "But only one, Pone." It can't hurt him, can it? Every greaser I know older than thirteen smokes all the time, except Darry, but he's into football. I think his coach would kill him if he started that bad habit.
Pony looks almost green after a couple of drags. He drops the cigarette on the ground.
We didn't know it then, but it would take three years before he even touches the stuff again. This time it's his eleventh birthday, and he does it just because I was eleven when I started. After that day, he's like a chimney. And my brother always smells like cigarettes.
XXX
October 10
His nightmares are gone. I suddenly realize he's been sleeping well since that day in court. I had thought it would be otherwise, after all that happened, the murder, the fire, the deaths of our friends, would affect him at night. But it doesn't. At first I'm thankful. No trashing, no screaming, no kicking, no dark circles under his eyes and mine. I mention it to Darry, and he looks so relieved. We both have been worried far too long. If life can go on, we'll go. Soon it will be like it used to again. Almost. I think, with our two dead friends in my mind.
XXX
October 15- morning
I make breakfast and he comes out into the kitchen, small and lean. He looks around in the room, at the stove, the counter, the fridge, me.
"You hungry?" I ask.
"Yeah." He takes a seat. Then leans backwards in the chair, rocking it, making the front legs bump in the floor. Bump... bump... bump... His fingers tap the table.
"You want eggs?"
"Mhm."
I take it as a yes. He never spoke much before, but now we often have to drag the words out of him. I'm singing along with the radio in the living room, throwing quick glances at my brother. He just sits there. Waiting. The chair suddenly stops, and he catches the table-top with both of his hands.
"Where are they?" he asks.
"Who?" I reply, putting the eggs in a pan. "Steve and Two-Bit? Guess they're on their way..."
Pony rolls his eyes. "No, not them. Mom and dad."
I turn around, leaning my back against the counter.
"You know where they are, Pone," I say as smooth as I can. I'm just about to answer his question. They're dead. Buried. Gone. But he speaks first.
"They didn't come home yesterday," he says. "So where are they?" He discovers a loose thread at his t-shirt and plays with it. I'm silent so long that he looks up.
"What?"
"Pony, I..." I don't know what to say. He frightens me. I close my mouth again, wishing Darry was here. He could fix this, but he's at work. Pony's patient, and a lump in my throat begins to grow, making me unable to speak.
The screen door suddenly slams shut, and I jump at the sound. It echoes in the house, making the morning almost normal. Two-Bit sticks his head in.
"Well hell-oo, Curtis brothers!" he snickers. "How are we today? Ready for school again, kid?" He opens the fridge, rummages through it.
"I guess," Pony says. It's monday morning, and it was this weekend Darry decided Pony was well enough to go back. To school. To life. Well enough from the concussion, from the loss of Johnny and Dally. I want to scream. He's apparently not well. I'm suddenly scared. I don't understand.
"Two-Bit." I almost stutter at the short nick-name, but for some reason, it comes out all right. The redhead looks out from the fridge.
"Yeah?"
"Can we talk in the living room?" He doesn't have the time to answer before I grab his arm, dragging him with me. I push him down on the couch, looking anxious at the kitchen's direction. There are no doors to close between us and Pony's ears, and I throw myself down next to my friend.
"Soda, I'm hungry," he complains and tries to get up, but my grip is firm.
"Listen!" I hiss. "Something's wrong."
He ain't stupid. Maybe he cracks jokes all the time, maybe he has to repeat almost every school year in high school, maybe he's a kleptomaniac, but he ain't stupid. His gray eyes widen, finding mine.
"The concussion?" he asks, cause that's what worries him the most. Despite of what Darry and I tell him, he's still sure it was all his fault. I shake my head. I wish it had been the concussion. That I can deal with. Pony's question, his statement this morning, I can't.
"Two-Bit." I say his name again. Like he could save me. "He asked about mom and dad."
He thinks it over. He doesn't look so upset like I thought he would. Then I realize he doesn't get it.
"Is that bad?" he asks.
"He asked about them! He thinks... he thinks they went out yesterday." The words taste bad in my mouth. Two-Bit frowns. I look up. Pony stands in the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
I don't own The Outsiders
Beta-read by GoldenScorpio11 - thank you so much!