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VII. Q&A with Everett and Ponyboy Curtis

*

"Hot dogs?"

"Check."

"What about the beer?"

"It's right here, Two-it." I point into the grocery cart. "Relax, it didn't run off."

Two-Bit wipes invisible sweat from his brow. "Praise ye lord." He eyes the pile of food in the cart. "We can't let Soda cook again this year. There's no way I'm eating charred burgers after buying this spread."

I smile, steering the cart down the bread aisle. "Oh, you're actually chipping in?"

"Pone, Ponyboy, kiddo…I work now. I roll in the dough. I'm a big spender." He ruffles my hair and sprints down the aisle only to knock into a display. The display wobbles and then crashes onto the ground, hamburger buns spilling everywhere. "Well, shit," he says, staring at the buns.

My face goes red as two old women shoot us nasty looks. "At least it's not glass," Two-Bit tells them, grabbing my elbow and propelling me and the cart down the next aisle. I barely have enough time to grab a package of hamburger buns off the floor.

We're now in the chip aisle. Two-Bit rifles around in the cart, shoving food in all directions. "Think we got enough stuff?"

"Shoot, more than enough. I don't know who Darry thinks is coming over. It's just us."

Tomorrow's the Fourth of July and Darry wants to have a BBQ. He couldn't get off work in time to go grocery shopping so Two-Bit volunteered to keep me company. Two-Bit pounds my back. "We're growing boys. We need all the nutrition we can get."

"Beer counts as nutrients?" Deliberating between a bag of corn chips or potato chips, I finally give in and get both, tossing them in the cart.

"Hell, yes. It counts as many things, Pone. Nutrition, salvation, education…"

I stop in my tracks. "Addiction…"

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow, following my gaze. A small dark-haired woman is choosing a bottle of the cheapest vodka while balancing a cigarette in her mouth. I feel my friend tense. "Kid, come on…" he says. He takes a few steps in the opposite direction, pausing to wait for me.

I'm turning to go with him when Johnny's mom – Martha Cade – looks up. She sees me. I'm not sure if she smiles or grimaces, but either way she's doing something unpleasant with her mouth. She puts the vodka back on the shelf and walks over.

"Lookit who's here."

"Hi, Mrs. Cade."

I haven't seen Johnny's mom since his funeral and even then I didn't see much of her. She and Mr. Cade had screamed at each other before the service took place and left right after. "I hate her," I told Soda, watching them drive away.

"No you don't," he said, trying to be comforting. But I meant what I said then and I still do. I hate Martha Cade because she hasn't changed. She didn't use what happened to Johnny to clean up and get sober or even just be nicer person. She wasted her chance. There aren't many people I hate in this world, but she's on my list.

She snorts. "I see you still got your manners." Her dark eyes make their way over to Two-Bit who's standing in the middle of the aisle looking lost. She makes a tsking noise. "And you're still taking up with this clown. You and him got my Johnny into a whole world of trouble."

"Funny," Two-Bit snaps. "I'd say the same about you." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go, kid." He shoves me away and I let him. Mrs. Cade watches us go and then goes back to choosing her vodka.

Ten minutes later we're in the truck and Two-Bit's knuckles are clenched around the steering wheel. He keeps swallowing hard. "Don't you listen to her, Pone," Two-Bit says. "You were the best thing that ever happened to Johnny. You were good for him."

"So were you," I reassure him. It's easy to see that Two-Bit's finding fault with himself.

He glances over at me. "Kid…sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday. Sometimes," he swallows again. "Sometimes it does feel like our fault."

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. "Yeah. It does."

*

Two-Bit and I say very little when we get back to the house. We unpack the groceries and then he takes off, saying he'll see all of us tomorrow for the festivities. But his smile is dull.

As soon as it's late enough to pass for a feasible bedtime, I excuse myself. Soda and Steve try and talk me into staying for the poker game. They know something is off since Two-Bit was all doom and gloom and I've been following suit. But they don't say anything, which I'm thankful for.

*

It's a funny thing when you know you're dreaming. Senses sharpened but dull; conscious and unconscious blended. I should wake myself up, scream myself hoarse for Darry but I can't. I hang onto the dream.

The woman writhes on the thin cot, frail arms reaching heavenward. Hair is plastered across her face. I can't make out who she is. White ghosts stand above her, holding something she wants. "No," she moans. "Please god, no."

She's crying that much I know. "Oh my god," she wails. "Oh my god!" The woman scares me. Then she screams and I scream and lights flood the room.

*

There's something I've missed. I've arrived to find Ponyboy Curtis shouting his lungs out while his jumbled brothers hover above him. This is not my vision that I've given him. It's his but I was able to see it as well. It was familiar to me but why I cannot recall.

I pace the small bedroom. I do not like surprises. I may be in charge of death but fate has her own plan. She's the one who throws a wrench in many of my supposed-deaths. And as fate knows, I'm not a fan of her. We've often butted heads but I believe I always have the upper hand.

I glance at the family. Ponyboy is holding his hand over his mouth. He keeps saying, "Oh my god," over and over again.

Soda kneels beside him on the bed. "What'd happen? What'd you dream?"

"Nothing," Pony whispers. The oldest brother stands in the corner, wondering if he will, after all, have to take Pony to the doctor again. Pony will hate him. It's a lose-lose either way.

"Oh my god," Pony repeats.

I sigh. I hate that word – and it's not why you think. People use it flippantly without concern for what it means.

"Oh my god."

I decide to put a stop to this. At the exact moment that Darry Curtis commands, "Wake up, Pony!" I touch the light switch. The lamp near Ponyboy Curtis flickers. He draws back, eyes wide. Finally, he looks over at Darry. "Thanks."

I tip my hat. "You're welcome."

*

"En guarde!" Two-Bit screeches, running through the back door, brandishing a spatula. Soda is soon to follow, holding a long serving spoon. Before I can get out of the way, Soda whacks Two-Bit in the back of the legs and Two-Bit drops to the floor, sliding into the fridge.

Wincing at the clang of metal on bone, I spill the bowl of chips. They land like confetti on top of Two-Bit. I look down at him. He picks a chip off his chest and eats it. "Hey kid."

"Hey, Two-Bit." I help him up and then turn to my brother. "Soda, you're not cooking are you?"

Soda laughs. "We're dueling for the grill."

"Well, while you two jackasses are running around the house," Darry says, entering the kitchen, "Steve's taking over the job." He gives me a relieved smile. I nod, remembering the last disaster. Not only had the burgers been inedible due to the charcoal and grass on them, but Soda had ended up spilling lighter fluid on one of my books that had been lying around on the porch. When I went to light a cigarette while reading a flame exploded out of my book.

"So much for independence," Soda says with a grin. "Football while we wait?" he asks Darry.

Darry unveils a football from behind his back. "Only if you want to take a beating…"

Two-Bit flexes his biceps. "Anytime Superman." While Darry's attention is focused on Two-Bit, Soda reaches out and grabs the football. He fakes a pass to Two-Bit and then dashes outside. The screen door clatters again as Two-Bit follows.

Darry rolls his eyes. "I swear, give them a day off work and a beer and they're nuts."

"Make that four beers." I pick up the empty chip bowl. "'Sides, you could take lessons." To prove my point, Darry opens the fridge and cracks a beer of his own. He takes a drink.

"You up for playing?"

I gesture at the chip-littered floor. "I'll clean up and then be out."

Darry shrugs. "That can wait."

"What? Are you feeling ok?" I pretend to stumble back against the counter.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." Darry looks both annoyed and amused at his hard-ass reputation that he's worked so hard to build. Apparently, a relaxed Darry is confusing for both of us to trust. He leaves and I go into the basement to find the broom.

*

Ponyboy's rummaging in the corner when I approach. I'd prefer not to do this in the basement as it's musty and smells like gym socks but I shall cope. I place a hand on his shoulder.

*

Youngness fills his face. I blink, unaccustomed to being caught off guard. "Hello," I say.

He's unsure. "Everett?"

I stretch my legs from Darry's recliner. "Correct." Ponyboy's sitting in the middle of the floor, his hair mussed, his eyes brighter than ever. "You listened to me," I point out. "That's very good."

"Yeah…you said I wouldn't die." He frowns, remembering. "That was weird."

"Correct again."

Ponyboy runs a hand through his hair, paling. "But…how did you know that? Who are you?" I keep quiet, letting him put the pieces together. "No," Pony says finally. "I don't believe any of this."

I fold my hands together. "Why not?"

"Because…this is a dream. It's…not…"

"Real?" I put in. "Oh, but it is. Haven't you been dreaming – seeing – your friends? You listened to me the other day. You took a chance and survived." Pony's shaking his head. "Your memo was very clear, no deliberating that. It's not something to be afraid of. In fact, we can do it again if you like. Roll the dice." I rub the brim of my hat.

He's so still I wonder if he's breathing. Finally he says, "Tell me what happens to me."

"Can't do that. Against the rules."

"Do you always follow the rules?" he snaps.

My hand freezes on my hat. Very slowly I remove it. A memory jumps inside. "Very much so." Liar, his gaze says. And he's right.

"So I die." He says this with as much emotion as a person asking for someone to pass the salt.

"No. Not yet," I promise. "You will one day. You were supposed to at your birthday a few weeks ago but you were fortunate." He doesn't smile so I continue on. "But not in the immediate month." This is the truth; I see his month and his memo and while dangerous they're both in the clear.

His voice is very small. "Well, um…do you think I'm going to die in the near future? Because…that would…Darry and Soda they'd…" He swallows, looking more broken up about his brothers' feelings than his own possible death. Love is a curious thing.

"I can't be sure."

"Swell," he mutters, standing up. Ponyboy backs up into the black. I shout after him.

"Haven't you wondered why you're lucky? Why you live?"

He's gone for a minute, and then he's striding back to the center of the room. He cannot leave unless I let him. When I see his face, I know I've hit a nerve. He thinks about it all the time – why he's lucky, why he lives and – Darry's favorite – why he just doesn't use his head.

"Don't you know? You're death."

This upsets me; I'm not omnipotent, I just do my job. I wave a finger in his face. "No, no, no. That's why I'm here. You have to show me the how, the why…because I don't know either. You have an influence that's rare."

Crestfallen, he sits back down on the floor. "I don't want an influence. I'm sick of this." His eyes blaze. "I don't want you here. You killed my parents. Johnny. Dal."

I stand up as well, frustrated that the conversation is going poorly. I don't want the child to think me a murderer. "I did not kill them. I merely took them. I'm a conduit."

"You sure have a lot of excuses for being dead."

I sit back down in Darry's recliner, exhausted. I'm beginning to understand how Ponyboy's brothers feel when he argues with them. But I'm not his brothers. I can't lecture him, only threaten. I stroke my hat. "I'm not leaving until you give me what I want."

"I don't know how to give it to you. I don't want to."

"I'll wait. I have all the time in the world."

He smirks. "I bet you do."

*

I hope this story is not dragging. Please review. Pardon any typos.