So now I am older

Than my mother and father.

When they had their daughter

Now what does that say about me?

June 20, 1973.

It really blows your mind when you think about how you're twenty-five, because you could have sworn you were eighteen just last year. Then you get to thinking about how all of your friends are gone for one reason or another, and you just feel sad. Tonight is one of those nights where you just feel sad and old, and you've found yourself drowning your sorrows at Lefty's. It's a hell of a way to spend your twenty-fifth birthday.

Everything about north Tulsa is different. The people, the popular hangouts, and who lives in which house. It's all different, but you've stayed the same. You can't put a finger on when things started to change, but you guess it was around the time that Johnny and Dally died. Johnny's parents split up for good not long after he passed, and their house has stood empty ever since. Everyone looks at you funny when you tell them this, but you're convinced that it's haunted. After that, things started to slowly but surely unravel. Sodapop Curtis got drafted for Vietnam, and Steve enlisted. You have to hand it to them; they really were best buddies. They were together until the day Sodapop died. Steve came back with a heroin addiction, and while all his other old friends tried to get him to kick it, you knew that he had no desire to stop. A year later, he was dead too. You like to think that he and Sodapop are still together, getting their kicks in the afterlife. It helps you sleep at night.

The remaining two of your old friends, Darry and Ponyboy Curtis, are gone now too. Ponyboy never was the same after Sodapop died. He tried to go to college in Stillwater, but he flunked out after his first semester. He ran off to Canada and started writing really dark mystery novels. He's something of a sensation now, and no one believes you when you say that you grew up with him. It doesn't matter. He probably wouldn't recognize you if he saw you. Darry has the life that you always imagined for him. He's married and has two kids. They live in Texas now, and he has a contracting business. He also coaches a recreational football team. He told you that his door is always open, and you'd be lying if you said that you didn't think of going there every now and then. But you can't taint his perfect lifestyle.

You had other friends, like Tim and Curly Shepard, but they're both in jail now for different crimes. Even your other friends who you barely hung out with, like David Lester and Alex Sherman, are either dead or in jail. Kathy is long gone. She got tired of you when the two of you were twenty-one. You wouldn't stop drinking. You wouldn't commit. You were everything that she didn't want, so she left. She's married to a nice middle class boy now, and they're expecting their first child in a couple of months. You're happy for her, but you also resent her. You honestly don't know what you want, but the life she has doesn't sound half bad.

You're as good as alone. You still live at home with your mom and your little sister. But even your sister isn't so little any more. She's eighteen now, and you know that soon she'll be married, or she'll at least have kids of her own. Your mom is getting older. She goes on dates here and there, but it never turns in to anything serious. You know that she is getting old. She was your age when she had your little sister. Eighteen when you were born. The years of drinking and smoking and just generally growing up too fast are starting to catch up with her, and you know that you'll lose her too one day. It's starting to seem like it will be sooner rather than later.

You have people at Lefty's who know you and who you talk to, but you wouldn't consider them friends. The bartenders know you, and they always have your usual drink waiting. There are the men who work in the factories and the cowboys who pass through. You're always willing to talk to them, and they always talk back, but you wouldn't call them friends. They're just people who are just as lonely as you, and for a few hours each night, you fill the missing place in each others' lives.

But there is someone special. Someone who is always there for you to talk to. Someone who makes you feel less empty than the other patrons.

From the minute you met Mary Alice Collins, you knew you loved her. She made you feel things that even Kathy didn't. At first, she wouldn't even talk to you. You couldn't really blame her. You were absolutely plastered that night. But she started to warm up to you. She talked to you, and then she let you buy her a drink. You were in love and couldn't wait until she showed up at the bar every night. You didn't know how she felt about you, but she would always drink with you and talk to you. It wasn't good enough. You wanted her to be your girl, but you didn't push it. She was only twenty-one. While it was only a four-year age gap, it felt like a lot more. You'd seen a lot more than her. You felt ancient, and she was still so young and innocent. Maybe that was what drew you to her.

XXX

She's late coming in tonight, but you don't care. You're just glad to see her. By then you've drank a few too many beers and done tequila shots with some of the other regular patrons. You seem to have forgotten the old phrase, "beer before liquor makes you sicker". You're vaguely aware that you aren't making sense as you talk to her. The last thing you remember is putting a hand on her shoulder and saying, "'scuse me", before you threw up in your empty beer glass.

XXX

You wake up shaking and whimpering in a bed that isn't yours. You glance at the clock and realize it says 3:45 AM. You don't remember leaving the bar. You don't remember going to bed, and you sure as shit don't know whose bed you're in. Someone presses a glass to your lips and whispers, "drink", in your ear. You're still drunk and you just woke up from a nightmare, so you comply.

XXX

The sunlight streaming in through the window hurts your head. You groan and cover your eyes with your arm. Your head hurts and you're more nauseous than you have ever been in your life. You can tell this hangover is going to be a bad one.

What feels like a pair of lips presses against your forehead.

A voice murmurs, "you're warm."

You know that voice. You would know it anywhere. You don't bother opening your eyes.

"Ice," you moan. "And Aspirin."

You knock back the Aspirin without a second thought. It's not until you have the ice pack on your pounding head that you realize you'll probably just throw it back up in a few minutes. But you don't care. For the time being, you're as comfortable as you can be. You've kicked the covers off, you have your ice pack, and the window is covered up with towels and blankets.

"Mary Alice," you say.

Her hand tangles in your hair, and you can't remember anything feeling better.

"Shh," she soothes. "Go back to sleep. You're sick."

You know that you're not really sick. You're just hung over, and you never can sleep when you have a hangover. But she must have slipped a sleeping pill in with the Aspirin or something, and you're out again within minutes.

XXX

July 4, 1973

You and Mary Alice sit on her porch. You talked about moving closer, but you have a good view of the fireworks from here. You have your arm wrapped around her shoulder. She gently nuzzles your neck, and you sigh contentedly.

You don't know what the two of you are. All you know is she took you home from Lefty's that night a few weeks ago and got you through your hangover. You haven't slept at home since then. Some nights she brings you to her house when you're drunk. Some nights you show up at her door stone cold sober. You think that she just feels sorry for you, and you're a little surprised at how much that doesn't bother you. But you would give anything for another night curled up next to her. Back in the day, you would have been worried about how this would make you look. But now you don't care. There's no one around to trash your reputation now anyway. And you don't have much of a reputation to trash.

You stay out on the porch long after the fireworks stop, just looking up at the stars. It reminds you of Ponyboy Curtis, and you think that you should write to him one of these days.

You turn to Mary Alice, cup her face in your hand, and gently kiss her. She kisses back, and part of you is surprised.

"What is this?" you ask when you come up for air.

"Shh," she soothes. "It's late. Let's go to bed."

She offers you her hand, and you take it. She leads you to the bedroom. The two of you lay down, and she wraps her arms around you.

You're in love, but you know that, just like all the other nights, there will be no sex. She'll wake up, get ready, and go to work. You'll roll out of bed, walk the few blocks to your house, sleep for a while longer, and then meet her later that night at Lefty's. The two of you will go home together, and the process will repeat.

You don't know what you are to her. You don't know if you'll ever have the perfect life with her that you want. But the two of you have developed a routine, and that's all you can ask for in your crazy life. Beggars can't be choosers. You'll take what you can get.