Things have been going fairly smoothly. Moving in with Steve had been easier than I thought it would be. I still get to see Ponyboy every morning and night. I don't look at anything else, other than Ponyboy, before I go to sleep. That way, he is the last thing I see every night. When I have nightmares about losing Dally, Steve isn't much of a comfort. He cares about me, but he isn't good at showing that he is a caring person. That's just not in his personality.
I've been working harder so I have less anxiety about Dally's death. The past year has been really stressful for me, but I don't want anyone to know how I'm feeling. I still go to Darry and tell him about how nervous and upset I get. He said similar things happen to soldiers returning from the Vietnam War. After they've lost their friends or family members, or watched others lose their lives, they aren't able to function as they had before. They relive painful events and have untimely periods of heavy breathing and nervousness. Doctors aren't aware of what to call this, they don't know how to treat it. When someone starts acting up, doctors just send them away. I hate it.
There was a girl that I was in class with in second grade. Her name was Suzie and she was always a little slower than everyone in the class. She had trouble listening to directions and I believe she was hard of hearing. Once, the teacher got so fed up with her inability to learn that she paddled her. The girl wouldn't stop crying, and the teacher dialed a phone number. The girl's mother came to pick her up and nobody in our class saw that girl again. I heard a few Socs say on multiple occasions that she was taken to some state school for stupid people. I don't understand why some people can't be tolerant. If someone has a darker skin tone than you, lower income than you, different tastes than you, isn't as mentally privileged as you, or is a woman, they are suddenly considered inferior. I'm too afraid to speak my mind for fear or being sent to one of those state hospitals or to prison.
For the past few years, we've been tornado-free in Tulsa. That changed two nights ago. Pony and I were walking home from school. I was ticking him off, fawning over the slightly-wrinkled James Dean poster that I had just purchased at the secondhand shop.
"Ponyboy," I teased, "I'm going to hang this up on the wall. JD will be last thing I see every night before I go to sleep. Isn't that great?"
Ponyboy rolled his eyes and smirked at me before giving me a slight (joking) push. The James Dean poster flew out of my hands and drifted into the street.
"Sorry, Dandy! I was just joking around, I didn't mean for you to lose your poster," Ponyboy apologized. "How about I go and get it?"
"Fine, just be careful!" I said. A powerful gust of wind blew the poster away and almost knocked me over. Ponyboy, of course, went after the poster.
"Forget it, Pony!" I called. "Help me up!"
As he walked back towards me, tornado sirens blared loud enough for you to hear them throughout the entire state of Oklahoma. The only other time there was a tornado in Tulsa (in my lifetime, that is) is when I was eight years old, so I don't remember it that well.
I was terrified, shaking actually. Ponyboy knew what to do, though. He always did, that sweet Greaser boy of mine.
"Darry prepared me in case a tornado ever came," he said. Without a second thought about it, he put his arm around my shoulder and we ran back to the house. Sodapop was already standing outside the storm cellar waiting for us.
"Daddy? Where are you? Sodapop, where's Darry?" I asked, frantically.
Sodapop kissed my forehead as he said, "Don't worry, chickadee. He called about five minutes ago to tell me he's at work. He's going to stay inside the roofing office. He's safe there."
"Come on down, Dandy!" Steve shouted from below.
"Yeah," said Two-Bit, "We've got plenty of beer to keep us going through the night!" His laugh echoed throughout the cellar.
I rolled my eyes and climbed into the cellar, Ponyboy and Sodapop followed.
We talked in there for a good three hours, then the lights went out and it was dark. Cold, moist, and dark. I snuggled up next to Ponyboy and he stroked my hair. I was desperately cold and needed him for warmth, plus it was dark so nobody could possibly see what we were doing.
That's what I thought.
I woke up the next morning on the disgusting, beer-stained couch at the Curtis household. When I opened my eyes, Sodapop was standing over me. He didn't have the happy-go-lucky look on his face that he usually did. He looked stern, sort of like Darry when Ponyboy is messing around.
"What am I doing here? Why is he looking at me like that?" I asked myself, then thought, "He must have seen Ponyboy and I. Oh God, what do I say to him?!"
"Dandy..." he started, frowning.
"Soda, it was nothing. I swear." I said, probably speaking too fast for it to seem like the truth.
"I wish you were telling me the truth, Dandy," he said. "I love you, chickadee. You're like a sister to me, but that doesn't mean I can't get disappointed in you."
I stuttered, then closed my mouth shamefully, not knowing what to say.
Sodapop started to walk away, but I grabbed his hand and my eyes pleaded with him.
"Please," I whispered. "No more lies, I promise I won't tell any more lies, Soda. Just promise me that you'll keep this a secret."
He looked away and nodded, then turned around. He began walking away.
I sighed, my eyes filling with tears, and walked seemingly without a purpose, back to Steve's house to lock myself in my room.
