Long chapter, every character gets a little section. The action is slow, but I hope you still enjoy.

Thanks


"Ain't that bad," Soda mutters, popping another piece of fried shrimp in his mouth.

I look down at my piece, trying to find the meat hidden underneath all of the thick, fried batter. Sure, not bad if you don't mind a triple bypass. "Hmmm, ain't that good either."

Soda shoots me a cocky grin, "Ain't exactly country club fare, is it, Dar? Damn, I still can't believe you and Cathy belong to a country club."

I shrug nonchalantly, though I'm feeling a bit defensive, "you want to get anywhere, you got to have connections. Besides, isn't like we belong to Southern. Now that shit, that shit is expensive."

I don't tell him that I hope in five years Cathy and I will have enough money to join Southern.

But the whole part about needing connections to get anywhere? It's the damn truth. I'm a hard worker, I busted my ass for years and still put in 50, sometimes 60 hour weeks at my company, don't see my family nearly as much as I want to, or should. I leave a lot of the day to day parenting to Cathy, sweeping in when my kids really misbehave or when I want to do something extra special with them.

But all the sweat I put into my business didn't count for anything until Cathy and I joined that country club. Just like that I got new connections, new leads and prospects for jobs. Business has been booming, and all because I know the right people.

I don a tuxedo, Cathy, an evening gown complete with the simple gold necklace I bought her and even though she told me that she's uncomfortable on the drive up, once we're there, we're both on our A game. She's vivacious without being annoying, friendly without being overly so, feminine and doesn't overshadow me, but a true asset and partner. I don't think I'd ever felt more proud to be her husband.

When we get home, I owe her a foot rub. As she lays in bed, eyeing the evening gown draped over the chair she looks at me, "I hate this Darrel, this isn't me, it's so phony. And those women, Darrel, did you see how skimpy their dresses were? If these are the best of Tulsa, no thank you." That's when I'll wrap my arms around her and whisper seductively, "but you're so good Mrs. Curtis, and you know what else you're good at?"

I can't be positive, but I think we conceived William that night.

"Why are you so interested, figurin' on joining TCC?" I josh.

Soda laughs, "Shiiit, them ol' rich biddies take one look at Mary at all her tats, never mind me and my tongue ring and they'd have to yank Marcus 'fuckin' Welby out of retirement to save 'em all from heart attacks. 'Sides, my woman don't exactly keep her opinions to herself, you know," Soda said with a pride in his voice.

That's for sure, I think to myself.

"How you convince Cathy to join TCC? She's way too nice to be a TCC chick."

"Convince her? I'm her husband, I told her we're joining," I cross my arms and try to look intimidating, but Soda just cracks up.

"Nah," I continue, "we compromised, I got her to join the club with me, and this summer..." my voice drops a whisper, "we're taking a his & her jazzercise class."

Soda is laughing so hard I'm afraid he's gonna choke. He slams his hand on the table and lets out a 'yahoo.' "God DAMN, I love your wife. Any woman who can force you to do fuckin' jazzercise has got some cojones," he hoots.

"It's just for the summer, I got her committed to the country club for life." Just so we're clear, Cathy didn't force me to join her exercise class, and I know I got the better end of the deal, in the long run.

Truth is, Cathy didn't object too much to joining Tulsa Country Club, she knows how important my business is to me, to both of us. She is smart, practical and determined, she has to be, otherwise I would have never married her.

Soda winks, "you gonna get a leotard? Green's your color, man. "and a one, and and a two, and move those hips!" Soda moves his legs and arms up and down and pretends to flip his hair back.

I shoot Soda the finger, which only gets him to laugh even harder. He's enjoying this too damn much.

"Yeah, keep it up and I'll beat your ass in two-second flat." I still work out at the same busted gym I did back when I was a twenty-year-old kid. I may live in a fancy neighborhood and belong to the country club, but damn if I'm gonna forget where I came from or who I am.

I'm still the only guy in my neighborhood who drives a pickup, and I'm the only guy in my neighborhood who worked with his hands and who knows the pride and pain of physical labor.

It's just that nowadays I'm just as comfortable chatting it up with CEOs over a fancy four course meals of duck stuffed with asparagus and thyme as I am chugging down a few cold ones with my buddies.

"Damn," Soda closes his eyes and rubs his lower back, "guess, I pulled something."

"Hmm, looks like you could use some jazzercise yourself, huh, bud?" Soda tries to laugh, but he winces. Soda has a high threshold for pain, and if he's wincing, he's in some serious pain.

"You okay, Soda?" I put my hand on his shoulder, my brother is tough son-of-a-gun and he works hard, real hard, too hard, to support his family. Never thought I'd see the day where my wildass kid brother is constantly pulling muscles. He keeps it up, in a few years he isn't going to be able to walk without a limp.

I decide to make my move even though I know what the answer's going to be. "You know Soda, you can always work for me. It's hard work but it ain't as bad as being a roughneck up in Stillwater."

Soda breathes in deep. When Soda is pissed he usually goes from 1 to 100 just like that, a human jitsu machine who's not afraid to hit below the belt when he feels cornered. But once he explodes, his anger will dissipate and he will go back to being his normal, affable, friendly self.

But now Soda adopted an anger tactic from me, the cold, detached iced anger. His anger and his temper, even his blows, both physical and mental, I can deal with, this calm anger, confounds me.

Soda's shoulders hunch up and he says flatly and without emotion, "ain't nothing wrong with being a roughneck, Darry. It's who I am."

"Yeah, it's also breakin' your back. You can do better Soda."

It's the truth. I'm treading on dangerous ice here, but I have my reasons.

"No Darry, I really can't do better. It's who Dad was, you ashamed of him, too?" His voice is soft as he twists the knife in my side.

It's my turn to slam my fist against the table.

"Fuck this crap Soda. I ain't ashamed of Dad and I sure as hell ain't ashamed of you. Fuck, you put me to damn shame with your work ethic, but you are stubborn as a mule, and if you continue working like this, in a few years, you're gonna be a crippled mule. I can get you a job that pays about the same as you're making now and you don't gotta take half the risk."

Soda shrugs, his tone and body more relaxed and open, "maybe the risk is half the reason I like it."

It's the truth, Soda almost 30 has never really outgrown his love of danger, if there's not a risk involved, it isn't worth it to him.

For all the times I wish Soda would be like he was before, this is one quality I wish he would outgrow. I thought married life would relax him, but just figure my brother ends up with the one woman just as wild as he is.

I love her because she's crazy about Soda and Soda damn near worships her, but she's out there.

Personally, if Cathy ever decided one day to don a feather headdress and a sequined bra and underwear, but not anything else, and perform a one woman chorus line dance on the counter of San Francisco's largest gay bar; my first move, after changing my name, would be to check us both into a mental hospital.

She did so in honor of her friend's "Tulip's," birthday. Tulip is a man. I guess if you're in the salon business, you're going to know a lot of gay men. Tulip, Mary proudly lets us know, was part of a theater group called "The Cockettes." Yes, COCKettes.

Listen, homosexual, heterosexual, it don't matter to me. Live and let live. Treat everyone squarely. My Uncle Pat is a gay man and I love him to death, but, I just don't get it.

With visions of drag queens dancing in my head, I turn to Soda. "I'm offering you a job in the construction business, Soda, not some namby-pamby office job. Besides you gotta wife to consider now. It's not all about you, Soda."

My size 12 boots go straight into my mouth. Soda is dangerously protective of Mary. You want to really get Soda riled up, tell him that he doesn't look after his wife.

I'm expecting him to explode, preparing myself mentally for the blows that will come my way, cringing when I think of how much Soda has drunk this night.

Soda looks hurt, not angry, his eyes wide, his lips slightly open. A wave of guilt washes over me. I start to apologize.

But Soda looks at me and speaks in a low voice, his tone erily even and calm. "I take care of my wife. I sure as hell don't need you buttin' in and offering me help. At least I support my wife with no one offerin' me any favors or having to join a damn country club."

Now I'm pissed as hell. Soda, without even raising his voice, knows how to hit my sore spot. "You think I didn't work hard as hell to get where I am? Fuck, Soda. I'm tryin' to offer you a job but all this defensiveness ain't getting you nowhere. Grow the fuck up."

Soda looks chagrin, and even though I'm pissed, I feel for him. This Soda; defensive, bitter, on edge, ready to jump to the worst conclusion and take everything you say out of context: this all because of that damn ass war.

Soda's face winces with guilt and he gives me a somber smile. "I know. I'm sorry Darry, it's real nice of you to offer, and don't think I'm not grateful, because I am. Man, I would love to be able to provide better for Mary. Cathy is real lucky, I hope she knows that. But, all in all I'm happy doing what I'm doing. Really, I am. The guys are good to me. In a few years I can move up to being a derrickhand or even a driller. Besides, I feel closer to Dad you know? Walkin' in his footsteps."

He gives me half-hearted grin. He's already forgiven me for every unintentional insult I've hurled his way. Soda always forgives.

I grin. I know if Dad is looking down at us from heaven he's be proud of Soda, not only for being so hardworking but overcoming all the crap of the past decade. Me? Sometimes I wonder what he'd think of his boy, his oldest son, his namesake, joining a country club, taking expensive vacations to Hawaii, having friendly dinners with the Mayor, and living on the Southside?

I know he'd be proud of me, he bragged on me, telling everyone that "my boy, he's going places," but sometimes I wonder if he wouldn't tell me to slow down, to spend less time at work and more time with my family. That I already 'made it' that I don't need to conquer the world.

But I do. I'm proud of all I accomplished with Curtis Construction, but I'm still not satisfied. I know I can do more, it's not about the money, it's about being the best and until Curtis Construction in the top construction firm in Tulsa, I can't rest. I'm fortunate that I have a wife who shares my vision.

Funny, isn't it? I'm 33 years old and I'm still worried what my dead ol' man thinks of me. I still miss him more than anything, still yearn for his approval.

Pony comes back from talking to Randy, looking like he's seen a ghost.

"You okay kid?" Old habit. He may be a husband and father but he's always going to be 'kid' to me.

Pony nods, unconvincingly, and sits down, he looks the empty platter.

"I was gone for what? Ten minutes? How the hell did y'all eat all that food?" He eyes us suspiciously.

Soda shrugs, "big appetite. Here, I'll go over the bar and get more food. Don't want my brother starvin'," He pats me on the back and squeezes my shoulder. He shoots us a wide grin and his eyes light up like neon sign.

Though he's trying to hide it, I notice he has a slight limp when walks.

And he winces once more in pain.


I've been actin' like one motherfuckin' asswipe. Darry was only trying to help out, sure he ain't exactly Mr. Subtle but he always means well. How do I repay him? By acting like a jackass.

The bartender, a middle age man, leaves and is replaced by a young woman who looks way too pretty for this dive. I straighten up and try the old Curtis charm, hoping she'd give me a deal on a meal, because I'm broke as fuck.

Otherwise, I hope Darry and Pony like pretzels and cheese sauce.

I can't really picture Ponyboy Curtis in a place like this. You know how sometimes you can just feel the dirt in the air? That's what Lucky was like. It fit me perfectly, but Pony? Nah, he should be in a place with large windows that looked out onto the mountains, and what's that word he used, ambiance? Yeah, ambiance.

This place feels like stale piss at the bottom of beer can.

They didn't even have a decent jukebox. To my mind, a place don't have some good music, it might as well not exist.

Mary and me, we love music. Whatever extra money we have usually goes towards records. We both dig the Stones, Johnny Cash, CCR, Jimi Hendrix. I'm big into The Band, J.J Cale, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers.

But Mary she takes music it to a whole other level. You see her closing her eyes, lifting her arms up to God and swaying to an Aretha Franklin gospel album and you think you got her all figured out; but then you blink and there she is shaking her firm little ass like a tambourine, her titties moving up and down like maracas, her hair flying like a kite in the sky as she's sweatin' up a storm rockin' it out to Joplin or The Sex Pistols.

And she gets me so hot that it takes every bit of self control I have not to fuck her right then and there, feeling her rockin' roller heart beat next to mine.

She introduced me to musicians I ain't never heard of before: Iggy Pop, New York Dolls, Moby Grape, Patti Smith, Parliament Funkadelic. Most of those guys ain't really my bag, but Mary digs them. Her main squeeze is Patsy Cline. She's crazy 'bout her.

Even has a little shrine dedicated to Miss. Cline in our home, said Patsy helped her overcome some real tough times growin' up.

She can't stand Elvis though. How someone don't like Elvis is crazy, although I'm more of a Jerry Lee Lewis guy myself.

She once told Two-Bit that Elvis was an 'overrated mama's boy who stole music from black musicians,' and I thought Two-Bit was gonna have a fuckin' aneurysm.

She did cry watching Elvis's funeral on T.V. Went through every damn Kleenex box in the house. Loud crying too.

"You're about to wake up Elvis from the dead there with your crying, my darling. Thought you hated Elvis, and here you are weeping like a half-crazed banshee." I teased her.

She looked at me, all red-eyed and sniffling "I'm cryin' cause a man died ,Soda. And for his poor baby girl, just think Soda, that baby isn't going to grow up to know her Daddy." She blows her nose hard, and mumbles under her breath, "His music still sucks." Ah, my baby, she doesn't keep her opinions to herself.

I grinned, "if you're this busted over someone's death that you don't even like, I'd hate to see how torn up you're going to be at my funeral."

She laughed, "well that depends babe, how cute is the funeral director? We could be havin' a wedding and a funeral all in one. Deluxe package." She winked at me.

I chuckled, "yeah we could get you one of 'em reversible dresses a funeral dress on one side, wedding dress on the other. Use the same priest for both my funeral and your remarriage. Save money."

She laughed at me and wraps her arms around me, pressing her hands against my chest and kissing my neck. "Now you're talking!"

But a minute later, her hands still pressing into my chest, Elvis funeral Kleenex at her feet, her voice unsure and vulnerable, she tells me, "if something happened to you, I don't know what I would do. I don't know who I am without you."

I didn't know what to say, it was both one of the most moving and scariest things I've heard. To know that someone depends on me that much. Truth is I don't know who I am without her. I told her things that I've never even told Ponyboy. She knows every speck of sticky dirt that lies at the bottom of my soul, and she still loves me.

More than that, she likes me. She thinks I'm a good person. Ain't she out of this world?

I don't know what that says about her, she's either a saint or a fool, but I know what that says about me. I'm lucky.

"Don't ever go, Soda." Her dark eyes look into mine.

And me, the man who has broken so many promises, tells her, "never."

She still can't stand Elvis, though. I still think that's crazy. When she pisses me off and I want to annoy her, I serenade her 'Jailhouse Rock', complete with hip-shaking and lip curling.

She don't bite though, she just yawns and offers to get me singing lessons, "at least Elvis could sing in tune," she'll say with a smirk.

I walk up to the bar and start making small talk with the pretty bartender. Unlike Darry who is as straightlaced as they come, I ain't above employing a little friendly flirting here and there to get what I want. But, that's all it is, flirting. Means nothing to me.

Her name is Nea, business is going okay and she's worked at Lucky's for the past three years. She leans towards me, I flash her a grin and, I ain't trying to sound all conceited or nothing, but I swear she made a sound like she was having an orgasm. A very tiny one, but still.

I lean right towards her, laying my accent on thick, cause chicks seem to dig the wild Southern thing I got goin' on.

"Where are you from? Texas?"

I rest chin in my hand, and my elbow lands right in a spilled puddle of beer. Well, this is sexy as all git-out. I laugh it off. After all, ain't like this shirt cost more than $5.00. I've had this shirt for years.

As I wipe my elbow, I tell her, "close, Oklahoma. Up here seeing my brother. His name is Ponyboy..."

Her eyes light up. I mean, genuine light up. The full lights on the Las Vegas Strip and all that.

"Ah, your Ponyboy's brother! He's a sweetheart."

I don't know what to do when someone calls my kid brother a sweetheart, but I nod, "yeah he's a real good ki, man." And I'm not trying to pry, but I'm curious, "he come here a lot?" Like I said, this place is pretty dank and bleak and it worries me if Pony is spendin' all his time here.

The minute I ask, I feel guilty. If I want to know what Pony is doing, I should just ask him, not bother some stranger for facts about my brother's life.

She shrugs, "every so often. Mostly keeps to himself though. He's quiet, but it's nice change of pace. The girls try to flirt with him, but he just ignores them. He's very nice though. Last month a guy started getting fresh with me and Pony is no uncertain terms told him what would happen if he didn't leave me alone. He can be pretty intimidating, when he wants to be."

I nod, but Ponyboy Curtis, intimidating? It's amazin' how you know someone for their entire life, but then a stranger will shine a light on them and you'll see them in a whole new way. I couldn't imagine my sunset watching brother as intimidating, but lookin' at him through the eyes of a stranger I saw how he might come across, he's a big guy, got muscles and heft, his eyes, which I dunno always look rather young and innocent to me, can look weighty and severe when he wants them too.

I'm not surprised that Pony helped out Nea when she was in a jam. That's Pony, he'll do anything to help someone in trouble.

In the end it was the fact that I was Ponyboy's brother, not my half-ass flirtin' which got us a bucket of hot wings for half off. Ponyboy is always surprising me, in the best way possible.


My stomach feels like it is about to drop through the floor and land in the core of the earth. It feels as heavy as a stone ball.

Before he gets up to get us food, Soda leans over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder, "you okay, Ponyboy?" I nod, or at least I think I nod.

He shrugs, I can tell he doesn't believe me, but I make a crack about the lack of food and he laughs and offers to buy us more.

Honestly, I don't know how I reacted. I'm still trying to digest what Randy told me.

Darry, is staring at the back of Soda's hair with an intense expression. In a small voice, or at least, small for Darry he tells me in a monotone, "Soda's back on the crap."

I'm jolted out of my stupor.

Shit. How did Darry know? I feel ashamed for thinking this, but part of me is envious that Soda might have told Darry that he was back on cocaine before he told me. Cacti of disgust prick the back of my neck.

Darry is still looking directly at Soda's backside, there is no emotion or expression in his face.

"He tell you?" I sit up in my chair and stare at Soda.

Darry shakes his head, "no, Two-Bit saw him..."

What?! Christ how did Two-Bit Mathews get dragged into this mess?

"Shit, Dar, Two-Bit ain't..."

Darry turns away from Soda to give me a pretty impressive side-eye, "Lord no Pony, Two-Bit? Man, you know him boozin' in his only vice. No, Two-Bit saw him doing a bunch of coke at some bar called Scar's."

I have so many questions, like why the hell Two-Bit is caught up at Scar's? Scar's makes Lucky's feel like a country club in comparison.

Darry's eyes raise slightly, "you don't seem that surprised?"

I shrug and part of me was thinking of keeping Soda's secret, but at this time, it was all out of the dime bag anyway. "He told me."

Something flicks behind Darry's eyes, and for a moment I think, let's not go through this again. Let's not fight each other or give into envy. "He didn't tell me about Scar's, or give any details."

Darry sighed and almost to himself, mumbles, "I guess Two-Bit was telling the truth." He lets out a rueful chuckle, "you know Pone, when Two-Bit told me he saw Soda at Scar's doing coke, I wasn't exactly receptive to the news."

I groan. Darry isn't hot-headed like Soda, or I reckon, I can be under certain circumstances, but he can be very, um, 'candid' at times.

He looks at me and he looks as lost and as scared as he did the night Soda broke down in the lot. "Why, Pony? Why does he hurt himself like this? He was doing so good." Darry looks up at the ceiling at the dimmed light bulb and closes his eyes.

In that moment, our roles have changed. I'm trying to rationalize and comfort him. "He's not doing it on purpose, Darry. He seemed real remorseful when he told me. He told me he only did it one time." Granted, he didn't tell me that inhaled a enough cocaine to supply the city of Miami for a month, but still, he did tell me one time.

Darry looks at me, his eyes pleading an old man's eyes in a young man's body, or is that a young man's eyes in an old man's body?

"You believe him?"

I look at Darry and digest his question, I decide to answer honestly, "yes. I do." I mean it. Soda was too remorseful, too upset, too disgusted to go back to cocaine or heroin. I knew that as much as I knew myself.

For the first time, Darry relaxes.

"So, Ponyboy, what do we do? Do we confront him? How do we make sure that his one-time really stays 'one time.'"

Darry is always going to be my big brother, he's always going to parent me in one way or another, but in that moment I could see how much he depended on me. How much he needed me not only to assure him about our brother, but take control and create a plan of action.

"We don't do anything. If we confront him, he'll just think that we're double teaming against him, and he's never going to go to either one of us again. We trust him and look out for him. We wait."

Darry hesitates, but he nods, "I'm on board."

Soda puts his food on a table and runs towards the bathroom.

"Hey Darry," I cock my eyebrow, "if you knew about Soda using again, why the hell did you make that crack about using again in the car?"

Darry speaks in a quick and quiet voice, "I wanted to gage his reaction. Wanted to see how defensive he was or if he laughed it off."

"And?"

Dary sighs, "Two-Bit was telling the truth. It was also the same reason I chose to sit in this seat. I wanted to talk to you about it, but just never got the chance to earlier. I figured that this booth since it's furthest away from the bar and the bathroom would give us the best chance to talk."

"And that's why you picked the dark ale?" Neither Soda or I were much of a fan, but Darry nods again. "yeah, dark ale always gives him the runs." He looks at me sheepishly, "like I said I really needed to speak to you in private without him around."

I shake my head and grin, "you brilliant motherfucker..." Who else but Darry would think of all that? I swear, if the construction business ever goes bust, Darry would make one fine CIA agent.

You'd just have to worry about your targets getting the runs.


My hubby brings me back a doggie bag of food. After I thank him he just shoots me a crooked grin, "hey, Mary, if I had to suffer, you do too. Isn't marriage all about for better or for worse?"

He kisses the top of my head, and damn, I must be missing him like crazy, because even his boozy kiss makes me feel a surge of love coursing through my veins.

"Nah, it's good, Mare." I would have agreed, but I'm already ripping a hot wing in half and stuffing it in my mouth. Coulda used more spice. Guess it's a Canadian thing? But I shoot him the thumbs up sign anyways.

Soda takes off his clothes into his only in his tighty-whiteys and I climb onto his lap. He places his fingers inside of me. I close my eyes and feel pure bliss.

But's it's more than just being turned on, it's about being with Soda. It's about feeling safe and protected and desirable. I ain't exactly the prettiest gal in the planet, I'm not ugly at all, but Aimee, she's stunning, and Cathy is so perfect and beautiful, I know I can't compete with them.

But, I got Soda. I don't need to compete. I got me the winning ticket, I'm the luckiest gal on the planet. What's the movie called, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Yeah, well I got the golden tickets of husbands.

Don't get me wrong Darry and Ponyboy are fabulous, but Soda he's the only one for me.

Soda always makes me feel safe and comfortable. He's the only man I trust. The only man who hasn't hurt me.

"So, how was your evening?"

I grin, "ah, you know, just three sister-in-laws chatting it up."

He smirks, "I'm surprised y'all didn't kill each other while we were gone."

"Well, there was originally 4 of us, but we ate the fourth wife. Cannibalized her."

Soda laughs, but I look at him, "you really think we'd fight?" A part of me is a bit hurt. I know how important Soda's family is to him, hell, they're my family too. I love 'em.

He shakes his head, "nah, but I do know that if y'all did start fightin' I ought to put all my money on you."

I tell him all about my evening, especially about all of the little retorts C.D. had. That kid tickles me. I mean, he's only four, but some of the stuff he says just gets me on the floor. I love Karen and Billy and now sweet lil' Paige, but C.D., he's my little man.

He's gonna cause his parents lots of trouble when he gets older, but that's all good. Trouble is the spice of life. Ask me, I married him.

Soda wants to screw tonight. But then again, my baby is one horny hubby. I shake my head no and pull my laced black underwear back up.

Soda's upset, "aww, baby, come on, why not tonight?" He's tryin' to keep it light but I know he's riled up. But I also know that he's never going to push more or pressure me to do anything I don't want to. Do you know how rare that is?

Hell, every man I know, 'cept the gay ones and maybe Soda's brothers, treat women like they own them.

"I can't," I say in a firm voice.

He whines and I swear he's soundin' like little C.D. for a moment. "Come on Mare, Pony and Aimme ain't gonna hear us."

Tell you the truth, I didn't even think of Pony and Aimee and truthfully I'm getting kinda frisky myself right now. But I shake my head, "nah, it ain't that babes, I can't make love in front of the dog."

Soda looks at me, "in front of the dog?!" he gives me a bemused smile.

"Yeah," I say shyly, "I just can't make love with a dog watchin' me. Creeps me out." I don't embarrass easily, but for some reason having sex with a dog or a cat in the room just weirds me out.

Soda laughs and kisses me, he turns to the dog, "Rex, you're missing quite a good show, buddy boy."


The children are asleep in the room next door. I'm glad we decided to get a hotel rather than stay with Pony and Aimee. As chaotic as my own family is, adding Soda, Mary, Pony, Aimee and Paige to the mix, not to mention those two dogs would have been a recipe for disaster.

Speaking of disasters, I try to think about my night with my sister-in-laws. It wasn't a complete disaster, but Mary's words still stung me. But maybe she's right, that's what scares me.

My mother had seven children and I was their second mother, I thought being a mother myself would be easy but it's not. Do you know what it's like to balance a job with three children under the age of five?

Darrel is already talking about having another baby, but I feel so overwhelmed just with three I have. How did my mother do it? How did she raise seven children? How does any woman do it?

I shake my head, Mary ought to just keep her opinions to herself. Honestly, what does she know about being a mother?

I mean, the outfit she had on tonight! I'm not trying to be rude, but she puts the 'short' is short skirt.

I sigh. I know I'm extra bitter tonight and it's best for me to just let go, but I can't.

I turn to Darrel, hoping he'd let me the rant to him, but he's dead to the world, snoring up a storm. I stare at the turned off T.V. set.


Ponyboy says goodnight to Paige, his finger lovingly stroking her forehead. He tiptoes out of the room because Paige, as strange as it may sound, as a 6th sense about her. If either one of us is upset, Paige will pick up on it, and tonight Pony is upset.

He asks me about my day and he lean forward, but I can tell that his mind is on other things. I hesitate, because my day seems so unimportant to whatever is weighing on his mind. But he insists, throwing in little side remarks and telling me a little bit about his night out with his brothers.

The entire dynamic of my family is so fascinating. I don't think I ever met three brothers as close as Ponyboy and his brothers, and seeing them together is riveting. They all love each other but they're so different. Darry is so take charge, it's the little things, he will automatically situate himself at the head of the table. But you see him when he's alone with his brothers and he's just so relaxed. I can't see the steely eyed executive or former football star, just Pony's brother.

Soda, he's always a blast to be with. He's very affectionate and that can take some getting used to, in my family we weren't big on overt physical displays of affection. But Soda although he's constantly moving, kissing his wife, tickling the kids and wrestling with dogs, there is something, I don't know how to say this without sounding overly maudlin, but sad about him.

Sometimes I look at him and I see the weight of the world in his eyes and it's hard for me to square the man in front of me with all of the wild stories Pony tells me about him.

Pony is my chameleon. He's a big man, but gentle, he's quiet but has a deadly sense of humor. He's not extroverted like his brothers, and neither am I, and sometimes that's awkward when both of us are sitting next to each other, not knowing what to say. But when you do get him going, he's more entertaining than Soda. He's a natural storyteller and he has the gift for letting me see something through new lenses. Although he has no gift for taking photos, he has the heart of a photographer, he can see things through so many different angles.

Watching Cathy and Mary interact, I feel like Margaret Mead, or more to the point, Jane Goodall. It's strange, they're so different from one another, but I like them both. Which I know sounds wishy-washy, but it's true.

I muse on the wonderful, if sometimes infuriating, family I married into, when I realize Pony is biting his fingernails.

I reach out to him, feeling guilt for not noticing how upset he is. That's the thing, as a photographer I have an eye for details or for the big picture, but sometimes I miss what's in front of me.

"What's wrong, Pony?"

"Randy thinks he might know where Patrick is, I don't know what to do Aimee. I have to tell Soda of course, but what if he's wrong?"

I hold his hand and squeeze, I feel so overwhelmed. "Are you worried that Randy might be wrong?"

He shakes his head, "no, I'm more worried that Randy is right."


S.E. Hinton owns.

Marcus Welby is a reference to the T.V. show by the same name.

Yes, there was an avant-garde theater group known as "The Cockettes" In 2002 a documentary film was released about them. The character 'Tulip' is based on the real-life founder of the group, George Harris aka Hibiscus. You can watch clips of their performances and more on youtube.

Gobble, Gobble, Happy Thanksgiving!

P.S. I'm putting a spotify music list for each character, once i get it up I'll post info on my profile page. ETA: added music lists. These lists are ongoing: names are as follows Bleecker Street (Pony's list), Wild Horses (Soda's list), I Shall Be Released (Mary) and Sentimental Lady (Aimee). Check out the profile page for more info!

Thanks. :)