Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby
Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby
--The Beatles
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A little angsty filled chapter, although I hope not cheesy, it's necessary. I just realized I have a lot more to tell before I wrap this up…so please stick with me. Please read and review and I will appreciate it more than you know.
Enjoy!
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5:15 pm
September 22, 1967
Jessup's office has the air of a man in a hurry. Papers are strewn haphazardly across his desk, five coffee mugs stacked up in a corner, an overflowing waste basket near the door. I rub my hands on my jeans. "How long do you think this will take?" I ask Darry in a low voice. We're waiting for Jessup to situate the police lineup but already it feels like we've been waiting an eternity.
Darry glances at the door and then down at my bouncing leg. "Soon, kiddo. Try not to worry." Darry's not doing much better than I am; the worry lines in his forehead could write an epic novel.
"Will you call Sodapop?"
Darry lets out a breath. "Yeah, I guess I should." But he doesn't move.
I want both my brothers here. The prospect of possibly facing Blonde again leaves me not feeling too hot. Anxiousness is twisting my insides into tight coils. "I don't want to do this Darry."
Surprised at my admission, Darry scoots forward in his chair, gripping my forearm. "You can do this, Pony. I know you can."
"I know. I just don't want to." My eyes brush across Jessup's desk again. "Hey," I point at a photo of two women, one of them is familiar. She's blonde, arm thrown around the laughing girl next to her. Darry follows my gaze. "That's the EMT who found me…"
"Yeah, that's Jessup's sister-in-law," Darry says. He clears his throat. "Lisa. We talked at the hospital," Darry explains almost defensively as I search his reddening face.
I sit back in my chair, trying not to smirk. "I hope she was good company."
"She was," Darry grunts. He crosses his arms against his chest. "She was a pretty nice girl."
Darry finally sounds the way he's supposed to: young for once, not worrying about money or his brothers. I smile, almost wanting to reach up and touch it, memorize the feeling, the motion. But it doesn't last long because the door opens and Jessup walks in. "You ready?"
I stand up on rubbery legs, hoping they wait to give way until after I ID Blonde. My knee screams a quick protest. "I'm sorry," Jessup tells Darry, who has attempted to follow us. "He's got to make the ID alone. No influences." That familiar snap in Darry's jaw makes an appearance. "I'll take him," Jessup says. "You can wait in the hall."
Darry wipes his palms on his jeans and pulls me in for a quick hug. He curls his arm around my neck. "You're gonna do fine, kid." Then he's releasing me and I'm following Jessup into the hall.
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5:30 pm
September 22, 1967
"Ponyboy, we're going to bring in a group of men," Jessup instructs. "You just have to identify your kidnapper. They can't hear you. They can't see you."
"Simple as that," Benji puts in.
"Yeah, real simple," I mutter.
"We found 'im hittin' up the bars on the strip. Starting fights, chasing girls," Benji volunteers. Jessup gives Benji a shut-the-hell-up look but Benji continues. "He was just waiting to get busted."
As Benji says this, my stomach takes another dive. It's not him and I know it. Blonde wouldn't get into any messes especially after laying low for so long. Before I can say anything, the men all march in. They line up, facing the glass, facing me. A few of them sport black eyes, busted faces they've acquired in their cells. But the Slugger and I have messed Blonde up far worse than any of them look.
"Go ahead, Ponyboy," Jessup advises but I barely hear him.
Taking a shaky breath, I step closer and place my hands on the cool glass, allowing myself a glimmer of hope. I have to make sure. If Blonde is really in there, it's done, it's all over. My eyes scan over all the faces until I see Blonde; on second thought, the one who is supposed to be Blonde. The front of his face is smashed in, the nose clearly broken. Similar features, but the eyes and the anger aren't there.
I ache inside. My hand unconsciously goes to my back pocket, wishing I had the sketch I had drawn a few nights ago to show to Jessup. But it's gone, tossed into the wind as Stanley Ezra walked away from me.
"No. He's not here." I turn away from the glass, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes from watering in disappointment.
They're shocked, faces white, jaws slack. "Are you sure?" Jessup frowns. "Maybe you should take another look." He puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to turn me toward the glass.
I jerk away from him, the sharp movement felling my knee. I reach out to grip a table for support. "Of course I'm sure." The room is suddenly too small, the air stifling. Desperate for an escape, I whip the door open. "I spent a week with him. I would know wouldn't I?"
"Ponyboy, son, we thought—"
"Stay away from me!" I yell at Jessup as he attempts to follow. My rising voice echoes through the police station. I limp down the hall in a blind daze, spots clouding my vision. My insides have been scrambled into nothing; I'm without any hope, any control I had hoped to claim with this. Nauseated, I fight against the vertigo threatening to overtake me.
Someone darts into my vision, grabbing me by the shoulders. "No!" I struggle, until I finally realize it's Soda who has me. Overcome, I utter a short gasp and my legs give out, both of us sinking down to the grimy floor. Soda keeps his arms wrapped tight around me. "It wasn't him," I say to my brother.
"Oh kiddo," Soda smoothes my hair back. He touches my sweaty forehead. "This is bullshit, Darry," he hisses to the pair of dusty work boots that has settled beside us. I want to lie down and press my cheek on the cool tile of the floor. My face is burning up.
Darry's voice is faint. "No," he growls. Another pair of shoes enters my vision. They're loafers; Jessup's. "We're done. He's been through enough. This isn't helping one goddamn thing."
"Soda," I whisper. "Can we go home now?"
"Yes. God, yes."
I begin to shake and Soda holds me.
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3:16 pm
September 25, 1967
My key jingles in the lock. The house is quiet as Steve and I enter but I know my brothers are both home. Darry's truck sits in the driveway. Steve nods at our closed bedroom door. "He visit the land of the living yet?"
"I don't know if he'd come out of there if the house was burning down, Stevie." I toss my keys on the coffee table and miss. They hit the floor.
Pony's stayed home from school for the past three days. Any progress he's made such as sleeping, eating or talking have been washed down the drain with Blonde's reappearance and Jessup's lineup. Darry had practically spit fire when we left the police station. I've never heard him use the phrasing "son-of-a-bitch" as colorfully and as many times as he had that night.
Steve perches on the counter as I pull a loaf of bread from the fridge. He takes a can of tuna and a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet, holding both up to me. "One or the other. Not combined."
Chuckling, I reach for the peanut butter. "Don't worry, I'm not feeling that adventurous."
"Speaking of adventure," Steve begins, raising his dark eyebrows. "There's a poker tournament tomorrow night. Texas hold-em."
I raise an eyebrow of my own. "Oh yeah? Who's putting that on?"
"Tim."
"Knowing Tim the table'll be made up of cheaters and hustlers," I laugh, digging a knife in the jar of peanut butter. I pull a large swirl out and point it at Steve. "Guess we better sign up."
"I thought you might say that." Steve grins. "I already did."
Muffled but loud voices begin to float from Pony's bedroom. I freeze, the knife lingering in the air as I try to listen. Then the bedroom door slams open and Darry's deep baritone clearly resonates through the house. "I swear to god Ponyboy…don't push this."
Pony's rebuttal is lower because I can't make it out. "Really?" Darry responds. "Because don't think I won't haul you up to the hospital." There's another low retort and then Darry barks, "Watch me."
"What's going on?" I ask as Darry enters the kitchen, carrying a plate with a sandwich on it. The peanut butter can only hang on for so long, because suddenly the swirl of it falls from my knife, hitting the floor with a plop.
Darry's mouth is drawn in a tight line. "He's got a fever." His face is reminiscent of Pony's fever after Windrixville and I know he is worried.
"Christ, just what he needs." I rub a hand across my cheek and hand the knife to Steve. Steve licks the remaining peanut butter from the blade. "How'd that happen?"
"Probably stress," Darry shrugs. "He's exhausted every which way." He sets the plate in the sink. Steve helps himself to the sandwich. "And he still won't eat much of anything. I just don't know what to do anymore."
"Hell, I wish mom were here," I admit, feeling for Darry. Getting lumped with being the leader and then suddenly being helpless for once in his life must be eating at him. I've never see my brother so haggard. Even when our parents died he kept it together.
"Me too, Sodapop." Darry begins pawing through one of the junk drawers. "Do we have any aspirin in the house?"
"Knowing Ponyboy, you always have aspirin in the house," Steve quips. Finishing the sandwich, he throws the crust in the sink.
Not amused, Darry continues rifling until he finds the bottle buried at the back of the drawer. He fishes three out and recaps the bottle. Darry holds the three pills out to me. "You go. He'll talk to you."
I give him a doubtful glance. "Let's hope so."
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3:27 pm
September 25, 1967
A glassy-eyed Ponyboy greets me. "Darry finish yelling?" He's lying in bed, the sheet twisted up around him. His face is flushed but drawn; causing his eyes to shine so green it's almost unnatural.
I give him a look. "He has good reason don't you think?" The air in the room is stagnant, reminding me of a hospital. A notebook rests beside Pony, a pencil on top of it.
"I told him, I'm not hungry," he protests, tugging the sheet up.
"Pone, honey, 'I'm not hungry' will only get you so far. You have got to eat something." I sit next to him and rest the back of my hand against his cheek. He's burning and I wince. "You're sick. Take these." I drop the three aspirin into his palm.
He sits motionless, staring at the white pills. Finally he says, "Yeah, I'm sick alright. Sick of…of all this."
I draw back, the wildness in his eyes alarming. His palm opens and closes over the aspirin. "Soda, it's never going to end, is it? Never ever." He taps his temple. "I'm always going to think about it, ain't I?"
Then, the aspirin fly across the room. My eyes widen.
"Pone," I soothe, "just calm down." Pony's words are worrying me but his fever has my attention too. I'm just now realizing Darry doesn't quite grasp how high it must be. I'm not going to get through to him this way.
His head rolls back against the pillow. "Dar!" I call out. "Bring some more aspirin." I grab Pony's bony arms, pulling him back into a sitting position. "Stay with me, kiddo."
He wrenches out of my grasp. "Dallas was right." Pony shivers. "I have to wise up. I wasn't tough; I wasn't tough enough and look what happened."
At that moment, my heart rips in two. Damn you Dallas, I silently swear at my old friend for filling my youngest brother with his jaded views. "You were so tough, kiddo. You fought and you came back to us. I know it's hard but, me and Darry, we're with you. You just have to talk to us—"
Pony keeps shaking his head. "I can't." If the circumstances had been different, I would have sworn he was drunk.
"Get it out of your system," I urge, simultaneously trying to use my brother's feverish state to get any information out of him and distract him at the same time as I covertly press a hand against his neck. Still hot.
"He came to the house Soda," he moans. "He came here and—"
"Pone, pretend you're anywhere else, anywhere but here."
"No. I don't want to be anywhere. Nowhere. Just like Bethlehem."
Pony grins goofily. His arms fly out and he knocks the notebook to the floor. It lands right side up and I see the sketches of Blonde. The blood drains from my face. A knife through my stomach would have been less painful. "How do you know about that?"
His look could cut ice. "I'm not stupid, Soda. I can read the paper. I know what happened. You and Darry can't always protect me."
"Well, we're damn sure gonna try." I cover my mouth, staring at him in shock. It's the fever, I know that, but at this moment my brother's lost it. And with good reason. Jesus Christ, what a talk this is.
Shifting listlessly, Pony's eyes flicker towards the door. Outside, Darry and Steve are talking. I hear low Darry's chuckle and then Steve's quick comeback.
"Sometimes, but not all times," Pony wags a finger at me, "sometimes I think Bethlehem had a good idea."
As the door swings open, I grab Pony up, just like I did three days ago in the police station. Since then he must have dropped five pounds because he feels like a sack of bones underneath my grip. "Stop it!" I holler. He burns in my grasp. "You can't talk like this!"
"Soda!" Darry's voice is startled.
I crane my head over my shoulder. Darry's standing in the doorway, wet washcloth in one hand, aspirin bottle in the other. Behind him, Steve has a glass of water. "Dar, he's really out of it."
Darry goes to him. Kneeling by the side of the bed, he touches Pony's face. Instantly, his hand jerks away. "Shit."
I'm still holding Pony as he giggles. "Darry, did you come to talk too?" I drop my brother back down onto his pillow. He rolls onto his side, propping his head up to stare at Darry.
Shooting me a worried look, Darry says, "Sure Pony, I came to talk. How do you feel?" He presses the wet rag against Pony's face.
"My knee hurts."
"I know that. Anything else?" Turning his head to look at Steve he says quietly, "Steve, can you start a bath? Cold water."
"Sure, Darry," Steve replies and is gone.
Ponyboy pales and he presses hand to his temple. "I'm hot." The sound of a faucet being turned on rings throughout the house.
"I know you are, kiddo," Darry says. "We'll take care of that in a few minutes." Darry's eyes flick to mine. "You ok, little buddy?"
"One helluva conversation, I'll tell you that."
He gives me a crooked grin and then we both notice that Pony's been silent for a few minutes. We turn to look.
Pony's been watching us intently, when suddenly he sags back against the pillow. His eyes flutter a few times and then stop. His head lolls off the pillow, his body going limp. Thinking he's asleep, I touch his forehead, brushing his hair back. But it doesn't brush away. Instead, it sticks like thin strands of hay, soaked with sweat. My hand jumps away, stung from the heat. "Holy shit."
Darry and I are on our feet faster than it's possible. "Steve!" I call as Darry scoops up Ponyboy in his arms. "The tub better be ready!" Pony's long arms and legs dangle about Darry like a puppet, his face white.
The bathtub is full to the brim with cool water. Darry hesitates a mere second and then slowly eases Ponyboy's body into the water. It sinks like a stone and I plunge my arms into the cold liquid, holding Pony's chin above surface. In the background, I can hear Steve on the phone with the hospital, his voice reaching shouting octaves.
Gently, Darry pats Ponyboy's wan face. "Wake up, c'mon Pony." I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for Pony's fever to break before he does.
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The calm before the storm, so to speak.
;)