The Glass Passenger
Summary: To a greaser, a rep is everything. But unfortunately for him, nothing could be deeper and darker than the shadow his brother casts over him.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders. The rights to the Outsiders goes to S. E. Hinton.
Chapter III
I stray off my neighborhood and head towards her house. It's a few blocks away from mine. You'd think that a fifteen minute walk wouldn't make such a difference in terms of neighborhood quality but it really does show. Me and Steve used to live deeper in the south side of town but then Mom and Dad were doing financially well. Then when I was about ten or eleven, we moved closer into a bigger house, closer to the other side of town. Now don't get me wrong, our house wasn't like the middle class kids' houses, but it was definitely a step above our old one.
I remember that before we moved, me and Steve were pretty close. I remember I accidentally knocked some neighborhood greaser's motorcycle down and he looked at me real steamed pretty much hauled me up and threw me and roughed me up pretty badly. But then Steve came along. The guy was maybe seven years older than Steve, but Steve didn't care, he was so pissed off. It ended up with Steve getting a black eye - which to him was more a badge of honor than anything else - and the other greaser got himself a broken nose and a source spot in his area. Considering the circumstances and that he got it from some twelve-year old kid down the street, the same couldn't be said true for him.
My leg was smarting something awful so Steve practically carried me back home. Dad was real worried when he saw the both of us, I asked what happened and I just couldn't give him an answer. Steve, however, he didn't bat an eye and just said that we were both real sore from playing a rough game of football with some kids 'round the neighborhood. He said that someone threw a football at him when he wasn't paying attention and it hit him directly in the eye. He also told Dad that his friends' brother, Darrel tackled me pretty badly which is why my leg was hurting so bad.
I guess you could say that me and Steve were pretty close at the time. Our neighborhood wasn't too bad but it was still miles away from being the safest place around. Our family was poor back then but we managed well enough.
But soon after I turned eleven years old, we moved. Mom and Dad hated the idea of living in our dirty neighborhood forever. But we (mostly Steve, obviously) knew a lot of kids around the block and hated the idea. He made a big fuss about it when actually did move. But again, we managed.
Steve started becoming a bit more distant as we grew, though. He was still hanging out with some of his old friends (which is fine and all) but they were blocks away so he would drive places with them. As for me, I made friends with some of the kids around us. That's how I met Sarah, Alex, and Christina - Sarah and Christina were greasy while Alex was middle class.
We were still a family; things were great, I guess. But something happened with Mom and Dad, I never figured it out, but Steve did. I guess that's when Steve was never the same.
I don't mean he completely changed just like that, he was still a bit of a jerk like he always was. Just different. It was more gradual than anything else.
I remember two summers ago, when I was asleep, Steve beat me down and tied me to one of the trees in the backyard and left me there. I think he had a good reason for it, though I can't say I remember what it was. Either way, I slept through most of it so it wasn't so bad.
But it wasn't to say that I was exactly happy to have Sarah and Christina find me alone in the backyard, tied-up and blind-folded, and in my underwear. I thanked God Sarah was there with Christina. It makes me wonder what would've happened if it were any other girl (or person) who found me in that situation (or if it was just Christina alone). It wasn't like the possibility wasn't there: Steve incidentally left the front door open he left so in some sense, Christina and Sarah didn't break into our house.
I knock at the door and await a response. Most greasers keep the doors locked in case someone tries to rob them.
The door opens to reveal a man in his twenties, in a stained tank top and jeans. He had pale green eyes, unkempt hair, a scruffy beard and a cigarette hanging at the edge of his mouth. His expression was cold, but not unfamiliar.
"What?" he says, notching his eye brows.
"Are you Sarah's brother?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm looking for her, is she here?"
"Oh." He scratched his head, half-way in between being uneasy and actually caring. He looks back inside the house. "Sarah," he calls out.
In the living room, I could see a tall girl wearing a blouse with some tight jeans - they were the kind that guys would wear. It reminded me of the time my cousin, Lucille or just Lucy, came to visit us last summer. I remember my aunt to got real mad at Mom for buying her Levis. Aunt insisted that only grade A sluts were to wear that shit.
"She ain't here, 'member?"
He turns back to me. "Uh yeah, she left somewhere."
(No kidding.) "Do you happen to know where she went?"
He shakes his head. "Nup, can't say I do, kid."
I then turn around but before I left, he put a hand on my shoulder. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"Probably not. You might know my brother, Steve."
"You're Steve's brother?"
I nod.
"He's a cool guy."
I stagger a little bit and held a faltering smile as I faced him and then left. "Isn't he?"
