1Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I went down to the cemetery today–to see Johnny. It was real early in the morning and the sun was just rising. I suddenly remembered that morning in front of the church, up in Windrixville. I remembered Johnny talking about the sunset, Robert Frost's poem. His tombstone looked so little and lonely, like Johnny had looked himself. It was weatherbeaten and the words were fading, but I could still make them out, mostly from memory.
In memory of Johnny Cade:
August 16, 1950 to September 23, 1966
A caring buddy, a loving brother
Steve had spent six months in prison for robbing the convenient store to get the money for Johnny's tombstone. They never got the money back 'cause he gave it to Two-Bit before they caught him; that had earned him an extra month to his sentence and a year's probation. Even with that though, we only had the money for a little tombstone and a small inscription. I thought about the funeral–how Sodapop had sobbed, Steve holding him back so he wouldn't throw himself at the grave like he did at Mom and Dad's funeral. I thought about how Two-Bit had cried, Two-Bit Matthews, the tuff greaser who had forgotten how to cry. He had lived behind a protective wall of immaturity and jocularity that had blocked out the harshness of the world, until it finally broke through with Johnny's death. My thoughts turned to Darry. He'd stood there, staring at the hole as they lowered Johnny into it. I remembered that night when me and Johnny ran away. Ironic, wasn't it, that the person I had run to for that little slap was the one that got beat up more than all of us put together? I thought about that a lot, especially since I wrote that composition for Mr. Syme all those years back. Suddenly a new face broke into my mind, a elfish face with blond hair and cold, hard eyes, filled with hatred and defiance of the world. I thought about the boy whose eyes those had been. The tough, mean hood that risked everything to help two scared kids. Johnny really was right, he died gallant, they both did. The wind was blowing as it had that night I met Cherry Valance in the park, when she wouldn't go see Johnny. I caught sight of another tombstone, not very far off. Slowly, I walked over to it, holding my breath.
In loving memory of Robert Sheldon:
A loving son, a good friend
April 29, 1948 to September 15, 1966
I remembered what Randy said, that day in his car. ". . .the best buddy a guy ever had. . ." And then what Cherry had said, ". . .I know I"m too young to be in love and all, but Bob was something special. He wasn't just any boy. . ." I blinked back tears as the memory of all these people flooded back, the memory of that week, when I was fourteen, when I was a kid. I took everything for granted then, Darry putting his life on hold to raise me and Soda, Dally risking jail to help me and Johnny, Johnny telling me to "stay gold", Dally crumpling under the street lamp, Darry the superman crying and hugging me because he thought he'd lost me. I had never realized how loved I was, how lucky. I had a home where I was cared about, good friends that looked out for me, a family that loved me...I thought about now, Curly Shepard dead and Tim in jail for life, Randy who had died from overdosing in one of those hippie houses, Darry who had a heart-attack and had to take to take it easy now, Sodapop honorably discharged from the Air Force with the rank of sergeant, Steve who had vowed never to drink again after his father killed himself...Things have changed since I was fourteen, since I was a kid. I knew more then, understood more. I saw things through different eyes, the eyes of a sensitive kid living on the wrong side of town. I learned a lot in my time on the East Side, but a lot of stuff I never wanted to learn. Like pain and loss. But I learned good things too. Like love, and friendship. I'm standing here now, staring at the sky as it slowly changes from gold to grey. I think about how that reflects my life and the lives of those dear to me. Faces float through my mind, young looking boys with large, frightened black eyes, tough towheaded boys laughing as the wind blows their hair back in a borrowed T-Bird, handsome boys swaying drunkenly on their feet, trying to drown out their sorrows with liquor. I remember sitting at that desk in my room all those years ago, writing that theme so I could tell the world about those boys. The day that got published, the day of my graduation, was on of the proudest days of my life. The look in Darry's eyes that day is something I'll never forget. He really reminded me of my dad then, smiling like he used to and so proud. There were tears in his eyes as he watched me go up to take my diploma. It was the same look he had when I graduated from college, something he'd always wanted for himself and had given selflessly to me. The sky is changing once more, this time to pale blue and I say aloud, "I did it Johnny. I did it for you. I stayed gold." The wind blows my hair as I take my last look at the cemetery. A black bird flies off from it's perch in the tree above Johnny's grave. It soars over the trees and into the clouds, reminding me of Johnny who finally found freedom in the end. I tear my eyes from the sight and walk off. I stayed gold, Johnny.