Epilog
Author's Note: As I said, here is the part where Ponyboy finds the envelope about two months later. It is in his point of view.
I picked up Johnny's old jacket, not sure why I was holding it. Why had I picked it up now, two months after his death? Maybe because I had a feeling, a need to think about him again, no matter how much it hurt. I didn't care.
I sat down at my desk and started to run my hands over the pockets and on the burned parts, the dirty parts, and so forth. I had taken it because I wanted to remember him by it, so he hadn't been buried with it. Noone cared. I think the rest of the gang really needed it, just like I did. Not that they ever touched it. I don't think they wanted to. It was badly burned, barely any part of it except the pockets and small non-burned parts had made it. I knew why. That church had really been on fire. That piece of timber that had taken my best friend's life was really on fire, burning and dangerous.
So as I felt it, I didn't know why there was a sudden lump in one of the pockets. I hadn't noticed it before, why was it there now?
And suddenly, after sticking my hand in there, I found an envelope, a heavy one at that, it seemed to have a lot in it. I turned it over, and found, in Johnny's hand writing, who it was addressed to.
To: Ponyboy M. Curtis
From: Your buddy, Johnny
I started breathing heavily. It was just like the time I had found his note in the book. Just this time, I didn't open it immediately. I just stared, wondering what was in it. And then I opened it.
Inside were about 5 pieces of paper. Each was written on front and back. I opened the first paper. First off, there was a note.
"'Ponyboy:
I know you probably found that other note a long time ago. I wrote that after I wrote these. I wanted you to know things that I knew. I wrote these because I had to. I was thinking about it in that bed, and I decided that I needed to write down my memories. So I did, because I thought you'd need to see them. There are many in here, and I suggest you don't do nothing but read them to yourself first. Then share with the others, Dally, Darry, Soda, Two-Bit, and Steve. You're my buddy, I needed to write these.
For one second, I stopped. What was I doing? Should I read them to myself first? I decided to anyway, because I needed to know what Johnny was talking about. Memories? That's weird, or kind of is, because I don't know why he would write them down. I guess that it's just how things are. I began to read them.
My first one is when I was a small child at the age of 6, and it isn't pleasant...
"'Johnny! Get here right now! You ain't gonna pretend that you didn't do this! Come on, come over here to your father!'" yelled my mother. She was a dark haired woman with an awful temper, at that time in my life, she was just mom, and nothing more.
I stopped reading. It was a horrible thing to read about this. I wondered why Johnny had written it all down. Then I realized that maybe it was something he had been doing in the hospital bed, dying and realizing that he wanted me to know these things and needed to get the word out about abusive parents, what a real life greaser is like, and how the Socs are just plain mean. I continued reading, promising myself and Johnny that I would read it to the others sometime soon.
My father stood with a piece of wood almost as big as me. It was the first time I would endure this torture and not the last at all...
Author's Note: So there you are. I hope you enjoyed it, that is the ending, ladies and gentle men, boys and girls! Please, please, please, review, review , reveiw!