Chapter four—read, review, critique, etcetera. :]
Disclaimer: The usual, you know. I don't own The Outsiders or Brothers.
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The DX was within walking distance of the Curtis's home. It was a minor bit of a hike, but Steve managed it without huffing his way there. Once he arrived, though, he scrutinized the gasoline station without actually stepping within its perimeter. From afar, the DX seemed…harmless. It didn't look poisonous, but Steve had a hunch that if his steps ventured closer, there'd be some pain. Still, his curiosity tugged on his heartstrings, and he stalked nearer until he was, evidently, contained inside its range.
The first thing Steve noticed was the sign, rusted and battered, although it still shone evenly of its original neon coloring. The second realization that struck Steve was like a hard smack across his face—David, the boy who had replaced his job immediately after he'd undertaken the sickening "adventure" of Nam, was strutting out from the garage, crossing the cement of the ground and over to the convenience store. Steve vaguely remembered Evie's letter, the one that had told him of David claiming his position as mechanic shortly after he and Soda had gone. Steve had torn that note into shreds.
Forcing David from his head, Steve dug deeper into the depths of his mind. More memories of work. Steve was reminded of how he, unlike most other people, had enjoyed working at the DX from the very beginning. To him, and to Soda, as well, it was more hours in the day that were full of activity. Steve needed that. He and Soda had always been the type of people who required an outlet—one that could engorge their energy like a car swallowed fuel. Work had hugely been apart of that outlet.
Steve was also able to reminisce with dozens and dozens of other memories. Memories of him and Soda, goofing off while still being able to properly balance their work. Soda, who most usually held his place in the convenience story, pumping gas for a whole variety of people. Socs, greasers, and most anything in between. Steve also recalled the bitterness he had sometimes felt towards Soda—his best friend's ease with the girls had often been irksome to him, but he'd dealt with it, because Soda was his best friend. And jealousy and best friends weren't a pleasant concoction.
"Buddy—buddy, hey. Why're you just standin' there?"
Steve blinked and glared at the intrusion. It was David. He hadn't realized his trudging had continued as he thought, eventually causing him to end up at the border of the DX.
Steve eyed David, who was grinning with an infuriating sort of smugness. It was obvious he knew who Steve was.
"'Cause I want to," Steve grunted, incapable of producing a better answer. He was too angry with the boy standing two feet away from him for his quick-witted juices to flow.
"Yeah, well, leave. I'm packin' in early." David's smug grin faltered as he glared directly at the sky. It was clouded enough that the blue had become invisible beneath the cover.
"Why?" Steve demanded.
"Snow storm warnin'. Boss told me to close up before it starts."
The word snow triggered something in Steve. That's what the guy—the fellow soldier—had called the powdery white substance he'd given him. Heroine. That was the day Steve had been given an unplanned lesson in drugs—snow could apply to both cocaine and heroine. It was also the second time in Steve's life, aside from the day he'd made the "all brawn no brains" comment to Darry, that Soda had been utterly furious with him.
Chalky and pale, that was exactly the way Steve pictured the fine flaky essence a fellow fighter had offered him. He told Steve it'd help him loosen up during battle. He said he'd noticed that Steve was often tense when he fought, when he shot bullets across the battlefield, occasionally striking the enemy in his chest or temple. The man had said it would give him a high, ease the guilt of murder, and, although Steve had been well aware of the dangers of drug abuse, he'd still taken the heroine.
Steve inhaled it before his and Soda's encounter with the opposing side. The solider told him that the easiest way to consume the powdery heroine, rather than the liquid kind, was to snort it. So he did. He took brief stops every few seconds in between gearing up for the mission to draw it in. And he'd done so successfully, until Soda entered the room caught him in the act.
"Steve…" he muttered, his eyes wide and locked on the whiteness in Steve's palm. "Wh – what is that?"
Steve quickly clenched the drug in his fist and held it behind his back.
"Nothin', buddy. You all geared up?" He obviously was by the looks of it, but Steve was merely attempting to change the topic.
"Steve – was that…heroine?" Soda insisted, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. Steve exhaled sharply and refused to answer, so Soda continued on, and, finally, Steve admitted to it.
"All right, Soda. Jesus, it's heroine, okay?" He reopened his fist and watched as the remainder of his relief fluttered to the ground.
"Steve!" Soda might as well have exploded. His anger had already caused his frame to quiver. "Are you – insane?! Do – do you have any goddamn idea what that stuff – " Steve tuned Soda out as he continued his speech. Soda hadn't ever lectured him before, and he wasn't taking a liking to it. Besides, heroine wasn't all that appalling. The ease Steve had been promised was already beginning to settle.
"Steve – are you listening?! Steve…" Soda inhaled weightily, his tone softening. He hoped that if he lightened up Steve would hear what he had to say. "Listen up, Steve, those drugs ain't gonna help you…. They're gonna hurt you, buddy. Even I'm smart enough to know that." Steve groaned as Soda silenced his dialogue, waiting for his friend to remark. Mostly, over the years, Steve had held his tongue towards Soda's "stupid" remarks. Secretly, though, they had always irritated him. Soda wasn't dumb, and Steve was sick of him saying so.
"Steve…" Soda went on to continue when Steve did not comment, but the hotheaded greaser intervened.
"Soda, you ain't stupid. And I can do whatever the hell I want, ya hear me? And if I wanna do heroine—" Steve kneeled down, scooping up some of the substance he'd dropped to the ground and snorting it—"then dammit, I'm gonna do it."
"Steve—"
"Shut up."
"Steve, listen—"
"Soda, I said shut up."
Soda wanted to continue, and he would've, too, if it was not for the General signaling to them. Their time for battle had come.
The boys marched towards their destination side-by-side, but neither of them said any words. That was the last actual conversation the best friends had spoken.
The next afternoon, Steve and Soda had been taken captive in an enemy camp. That was the day Steve promised himself he'd never do drugs again.
"Hey, come on, let's go, buddy. Get outta here." Dave's eyebrows were etched into his forehead. Steve shook his head, fading slowly back into reality, then left without speaking.
The entire way back to the Curtis's, he wanted to cry. But he couldn't.