A Walk In The Yard

It was nearly the end of halftime when monstrous storm clouds drifted over the afternoon sky, showering everything and everyone that turned out for the school football game.

"Dammit," Dally murmured under his breath. He took off his black pleather jacket and covered his head.

The cold rain hadn't put a damper on the tension simmering in the lower bleachers, where Ron Bradley and the Patton brothers were arguing about a bet they'd made at the start of the game. Steve, Soda and Pony watched the argument with interest, while Two-Bit chewed gum and rested on the bleacher behind him with his elbows propped up, and Johnny closed his eyes as the rain poured over him.

"Deep thoughts, Siddhartha?" Two-Bit asked sarcastically between chews.

Johnny shook his head. "Nah."

"You have no jacket or nothing?" Dally said, frowning. "You'll catch your death."

But Johnny shook his head. "No, I'll be okay. Really." Dally and Two-Bit shrugged and turned their attentions to the fight's prelude. Johnny stood up.

"Where're you going?" Pony asked.

"For a walk," Johnny replied vaguely.

A line of concern rimmed Pony's forehead. His friend was acting weird today, though it was unfathomable, and Pony knew better than to ask something that wasn't his business. (Steve's fists had taught him that.) And if Johnny wanted to keep to himself now he had every right to do that. "You coming for dinner?"

"Yeah. I'll come. See you later, Ponyboy."

--

Johnny walked through the school lot in the rain, which now had drenched his clothes so heavily that they clung to him closer than his own skin. He liked the rain, even if it was cold and he only had a t-shirt. jeans, and tennis shoes to keep him warm. Once, after a bad fight with his father, Johnny ran out the house in the middle of a thunderstorm. It sounded like heaven was fighting a war above his head, but even as the thunder clashed and the streaks of lightening seemed to claw around him, Johnny felt at peace. All his anger was released. He felt cleansed.

Now he felt the need to cleanse himself. For some explicable reason he didn't want to watch the rest of the game or see the fight, whose noise was so loud he could hear it brimming yards away. He just couldn't miss this opportunity to be alone and be thoughtless.

A girl rushed past him with her head down. Something splashed on Johnny's leg; he looked down and saw that she had dropped a small box made of red plastic and shaped in an octagon. Instantly he visualized a stop sign.

The girl didn't notice. She moved past him so fast and so quietly he wouldn't have noticed her unless she dropped the box. Her pace was so hurried she was obviously upset. Her head hung low and her shoulders were hunched. Something was wrong. Johnny picked up the box. It might be important, he thought. He ran after her.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!"

The girl turned around. Johnny held the box out to her. "You dropped this."'

"Thank-you." She spoke in a quiet tremble of a voice. Her hands were cold when she took the box from him. Johnny didn't recognize her, and though she was pretty she looked as inconspicuous as a transparent ghost. The rain soaked her shoulder-length, wavy dark-brown hair in skin-clinging strands that framed her long face. She had full lips that might have been beautiful if she smiled. She wore a faded burgundy summer dress over hunched shoulders. And her eyes, though swollen and pink, were a startling shade of light gray, almost like silver, almost like the rain falling around him, transparent so that he could see in her a soul that was not unlike his. It could have been the rain, but she might have also been crying.

She hurried away. Johnny stared after her. She looked very upset. He didn't want to bother her; after all, his friends hadn't bothered him when he wanted a private moment in the rain. And maybe today cleansed her the same way it cleansed him, but it also felt wrong not to offer help.

Johnny ran up to her. "Excuse me, miss." He felt nervous. "Are you okay?"

"What do you want?" she demanded, wiping her eyes.

What a dumb question to ask, he berated himself. Despite his unease Johnny tried to speak calmly. "Name's Johnny," he mumbled, offering his hand, but she just stared at it. "Johnny Cade. Uh…I'm sorry, I look crazy now, but you look upset. I can give you help if you need it." She sniffled and eyed him suspiciously, but he kept speaking. An idea came to his mind.

"Do you want some ice cream?"

Now she looked taken aback. "Ice cream?"

"Yeah. D'you like it?"

"Yes…" she said slowly.

"There's a Dairy Queen over there." He pointed down the street. "I'll get you one, whatever you want."

Her expression hardened. "I don't need your charity."

"It's no charity at all, I swear, honest," he said, waving his hands. Johnny swallowed the nervous swelling in his throat.

She walked past him. "And I don't date either."

He followed her anyway. "But it's not a date. I just wanna help. I got an extra quarter right here. It's just a quarter for two scoops…"

The girl stopped. Her expression was uncertain, but Johnny felt that she just might give in. Finally the girl said, "I guess--I guess it's all right."

--

While the girl sat at a booth by the window in the Dairy Queen, Johnny ordered their ice cream cones--he took two pistachio scoops, while she asked for banana and strawberry. He paid for them and walked over to the booth, and they started talking.

"If I was stuck on an island," Johnny said, "I'd bring a whole ship of this stuff with me."

The girl chuckled. She looked a little cheerful now, though she was still shy. "Me too."

"You like sherbets?"

"Mostly." She asked tentatively, "And you like just pistachio?"

"It's my favorite. But chocolate's good too."

"Yeah. Especially with cherries."

"Or even better--spread between two pieces of bread. Nutella," he explained when she fixed him with a confused expression. "It's the best thing around."

"What is Nutella exactly?"

"Like chocolate butter, call it."

The girl smiled. She had a really pretty smile, Johnny noticed, and when she was cheerful it was hard to recognize her as the same weeping girl walking past him with her head down and her shoulders hunched. "I'd bring my music on the island too," she added shyly. "Do you like music?"

"Yeah. I like Elvis."

"Who doesn't? Have you ever heard 'A Devil In Disguise'?"

They talked more about music until Johnny remembered something. "What's your name?"

"Adrienne Dubose," she mumbled. "I know," she added, "it's an ugly name. You say the 'e' at the end…"

Johnny shook it's head. "No. It's nice. What year are you?"

"Sophomore. And you?"

"Same here."

Her eyes were raised. "You don't look it." She wiped her lips with a napkin.

He flushed, feeling stupid. "I know, people always say that…I wish I looked sixteen." Johnny bit into his cone.

But Adrienne said, "I was gonna say you seemed older." There was a trace of sadness in her voice when she said, "Most of the kids at school act younger, even if they're older."

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. It was true. "But I've never seen you at school, I don't think so."

"I keep to myself. You seem like you have a lot of friends. You're not boring like me."

Johnny told her, "Nah, I'm real quiet too. It's the best way to be; nobody gets in your face, and I have a good gang too. It's not what you think," he quickly added, when her expression obviously showed she had only known unfriendly greasers. "I didn't mean 'gang' in a bad way. Like my friend Ponyboy. We almost never speak but I understand the guy like my twin, and we don't look nothing alike. And his brother Soda--all the girls like him, you hafta know Sodapop. Do you?"

Adrienne's cheeks flushed. "The blonde one?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh yes--he's your friend?"

"Yeah."

"And he's a good guy?"

"A real good guy. They have an older brother Darry, and he's the smartest guy I know. Two-Bit's a drunk and he steals but he don't mean no harm at all. Steve--he can be mean, but he's got a rough break at home. I get that," he added quietly, remembering his own rough home life. "And Dally's supposed to be the meanest greaser out there. But he's my brother. They're all my brothers."

A note of worry rose in her voice. "Dally, huh? I think I know him."

Without even knowing how Johnny understood; Dally's rep for trouble ran high and low, far and wide. But he assured her, "Those guys…they're more my family than my own flesh and blood. It's true."

Adrienne nodded sympathetically, though she said nothing.

"Adrienne. If you want, you can tell me what was bothering you if you want. Just to get it off your chest."

She said nothing, but suddenly the cheer was gone from her face and she couldn't look at him. Her eyes were the color of pepper now, soft and gloomy, and they looked away in shame. Johnny glanced at her hand on the table and tentatively put his over hers. Her fingers were cold and clammy.

To his surprise she whispered, "My home's not so good."

"It's okay," he murmured softly. "I got a rough home too. My parents fight all the time…sometimes I feel like I've got nowhere to go but some very dark places I don't even wanna be in."

Adrienne's eyes blinked back tears. Her lips were parted, but she said nothing. Johnny felt useless saying, "It's okay." This girl had nobody to talk to. At least he had a small group of friends he would do anything for and vise versa. He had a family.

"Um, I…. I…" Adrienne's lips began. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Go on," Johnny said softly.

Her hand trembled beneath his. After a few moments, she withdrew it. "Thanks for the ice cream Johnny," Adrienne whispered jerkily. "I'll just be on my way."

And with that she disappeared from the Dairy Queen altogether as though she'd never been present, back in the storm, which swallowed her in a mist of raindrops.

--

Mixed terror and excitement coursed through Adrienne's veins and made her lips tremble, such that she could not the cold air chilling her skin. She went straight from the Dairy Queen to her sanctuary in the back yard--an old white shed, protected with three rows of locks--to which only she could open. Adrienne entered the shed, which housed years of artifacts: old honey jars, a row fishing hooks, a bookshelf crammed on one side of the wall that had everything from Dickens to Steinbeck; there was a cheap porcelain figurine of a china doll stamped Made in Japan, next to an old cot folded over a few paint brushes, a string of brightly colored buttons, a broken typewriter, playing cards, a cracked hand mirror, brushes, shoe polish, a torn bridal veil, and shiny black Wellingtons; then her favorite possessions: a beanbag seated next to a small shelf under the window that kept her record player and a mini-library of records stored in a cardboard box. Adrienne threw herself on the bean bag and absorbed the events of the day. She put on some music--Frank Sinatra's "Somewhere".

Johnny Cade was something else; Adrienne hated people, and most of all, the male race, for the stinging afflictions it had caused her, but Johnny was friendly and she could almost trust him. He made her feel almost as though nothing wrong had happened. And he was nothing like other greasers who used girls for dishonorable purposes. After all, they weren't so different. But she couldn't trust him, and even with his kindness, her mind returned to one thing--the thing that bothered her all day, so much that she wept in class though nobody noticed her (as usual). Her pain could only be relieved by a razor, and she must not let herself go without chastisement when she knew what a corrupted, sick individual she was.

Her hand groped inside the basket next to her and she found the sharp object.

Adrienne's cries were drowned out by the storm outside.