1965- TULSA, OKLAHOMA
As I made my way to the source of the voices, I saw where they were coming from. Several males, probably late teens or early twenties, dressed in preppy clothing (wait, WHAT?) were attacking a boy, probably in his mid to early teens. The boy was begging for mercy in between swearing at his attackers. I was quite unsettled and a little frightened by this scene. So this is what Oklahoma is like, I thought. People beating others senseless for no apparent reason. Honestly, I love a good fight, but I didn't like this. So I decided to shut it down.
"Hey! I see that most of you are probably over eighteen, and it really takes someone with great cowardice and a tremendous lack of moral stamina to think that is fine to harm a young teen. Unless you want me to enact worse on you, I advise that you step away from the boy and leave as soon as possible."
All of them turned to look at me, and their eyes widened and their faces paled. Suddenly, they took off running, leaving the teenager being attacked out in the open and sitting on the pavement. I walked over to him and crouched down to look at him. He had dark auburn hair and green-grey eyes, and was rubbing his face from where he was struck. The boy looked at me and spoke.
"Thank you for saving my ass. I'm pretty sure they would have killed me if you didn't show up."
He seemed very grateful. As I looked at him, I noticed some things that seemed like red flags. For one thing, his clothing style resembled what I'd seen of the greasers in the magazines that Hedwig would show me, Also, he wore quite a lot of hair product in his hair, from what I could tell. A combination of curiosity and nervousness welled up inside me. Did I save a degenerate without knowing? Treading carefully, I asked the question.
"Hold up. Are you, by any chance, one of those greasers?"
He had an odd look on his face, one of slight fear and anxiousness, almost like he was frightened to answer the question. He then spoke again, carefully if a bit reluctant.
"Well, yes, I am which is why-"
"So you are one of those damned greasers I've heard so much about."
I grabbed him by the shirt collar and drew him up to full height. He was a little taller than me, probably by a few inches. He had fear in his eyes, that he thought that he was saved, only that he was about to get hurt again. My hands were clenched tight around the collar, my fingernails digging into the fabric. I was thinking about what to do to him, and I smirked and shook him slightly.
"Look, I'm going to beat your ass. Don't worry, it will only hurt a lot!"
I was just about to shove him to the ground when I heard footsteps, and I heard someone shout.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing to him?!"
I barely jumped away when someone backhanded me across the face so hard I went stumbling backwards and I fell to my knees. You know how when you get hurt, the pain only comes after the initial impact? Well, the searing pain came quickly, and when I put my hand to my face, it came back covered in blood. My nose had started bleeding. My vision was blurry and I was seeing stars. Then, someone walked over to me, grabbed my wrist, and stood me up. They held my wrist suspended above me, and then someone else with an even harder grip grabbed my hand and pulled it up. I was about to try and break free when a gleaming switchblade held by a hand passed by the corner of my eye, and then I felt the cold steel of the blade against my throat. A deep voice behind me then spoke.
"Boy, if you move, I'll slit your throat."
That's when I became really scared. So this is how I die, I wondered dimly. I lifted my head a little straighter, and my heart sank when I saw I was surrounded by five greasers, including the one I saved from being attacked. There were seven in total, with two holding me hostage. I didn't get a good look at the ones behind me, but I could guess that their ages ranged from mid-teens to early twenties. One of them, the oldest looking one, who appeared to be about twenty, stepped forwards. He had cold, hard eyes, and his jaw was set in a straight line. He reminded me of the samurai in Akira Kurosawa's films, and I wondered if this man was the one who struck me.
"I'm going to be very clear and straight about this. What the hell where you doing to my youngest brother?"
Struggling, I spoke. "You're a damn idiot," I spat, "You're a bloody idiot and a son of a-"
He struck me once again. My vision swam, and the searing pain spread across my face. I tasted blood- the slap must have split my lip, too. Blood was dripping down my chin onto my shirt, where a larger bloodstain was present. I was trembling badly, and whoever was behind me pressed the switchblade harder into my throat.
"So you're going to have an attitude now and talk back? Dallas, show him what happens when you do that."
Dallas, the one with the switchblade, spoke in his deep voice again. "Darrel, you want me to slit the son of a bitch's throat?"
That's when I freaked out and finally came to my senses. Before Darrel could respond, I shouted "I'm a female! A female! You wouldn't kill a sixteen-year-old female, would you?"
Suddenly, everyone went quiet, presumably trying to figure out what to do or what to say. Darrel was about to say something when another one of the greasers, who looked about eighteen shouted "Let's rape the bitch!" and made a grab for me. For a split second, I was pretty sure I was going to die, but then the boy from earlier called out.
"No! Stop this! This is madness! Spare her, she was only bluffing! She had no intention to hurt me!"
Darrel looked at the boy, who I remember he said was his brother. He sighed, and spoke once more. "Dallas, Sodapop, release her."
As soon as the grip on my wrists were released, I walked over so I was facing all of them, and I took out my butterfly knife, but did not unfold it. I looked at them all, and I started to talk.
"First, I'd like to thank you all for not killing me, although you did harm me slightly, and second, I'd like to thank you, Darrel, for allowing me to be released, but I'd really like to thank you-" I gestured at the boy vaguely "although, what's your name?"
"Ponyboy. Ponyboy Curtis." he said. "Also, that's my oldest brother, and that's my brother Sodapop," he gestured to the one who was holding my left wrist.
"Well, Ponyboy, I'd like to thank you for advocating on my behalf, as you really did save me. Also, I'm very sorry for threatening you. I wouldn't actually attack anyone, I was just messing around."
He smiled slightly, and said "I accept your apology. I'm sure you're a decent person. Shall I introduce you to my friends?"
"Yes, please do. I would like to know."
Ponyboy stated gesturing to the others. "The one who had the knife at your throat, that's Dallas, the one who tried to rape you, that's Two-Bit, that's Steve, and that's Johnny," gesturing at the very innocent-looking black-haired boy.
Darrel spoke again "Pony, I think we better get going..."
Ponyboy straightened himself out and looked around. "Well, if I don't see you, it was nice meeting you. You never gave your name?"
"Selene, Selene Griffiths." I said.
"Yes, Selene, if we don't see you, it was good meeting you, and we better go."
"Good-bye, I guess I'll see you... tomorrow."
He smiled. "That sounds about right."
They walked away in the opposite direction from where I came from, and I started walking. When I got home, I looked in the mirror, and received a nasty shock. My face was covered with blood, and so was my white collared shirt. I washed the blood off my face, and I tried my best to remove the stain from the shirt. I ended up having to bleach it. I went upstairs, changed into a clean shirt, took off my Dr. Martens, and went to lie on my bed.
Did I actually just make a friend, even though I kind of tried to beat him, and then I got attacked by his siblings and friends? It was a bit of an odd way to become friends, but this Ponyboy Curtis seemed like a good kid. I guess I would be seeing him tomorrow. For the first time in a long time, I felt something like a glimmer of hope that maybe Oklahoma won't be so bad.
