"I used to think he hated me," I said picking up a second box of nails. I tossed them into the wheel burrow along with the other tools.
"There is no way he hates you. If he did, he wouldn't be wasting his time or money by having you around. Darry just misunderstands you," Father Mike said.
I let what he said digest. It was an age-old problem. Darry and I didn't see eye to eye.
"I know that, but it's like he is frozen. When things get rough, he just freezes. It's scary."
"It's his defense mechanism. Believe it or not, you are the same way."
"I am?" I couldn't see myself as just being frozen. I talked to people all the time. I wrote about things. I got my feelings out. Darry was just cold.
Father Mike nodded. "Why else wouldn't you have gone to the hospital?"
"Soda thinks I'm being a total brat to him. The way I see, he is being a total hard ass to me."
Father Mike gave a laugh. "Did you two ever think that you came from the same branch of stubborn from the family tree?"
I pictured Darry and I as two separate people; who were to different to get along. It never occurred to me that we were alike. Other than the fact we felt the same way about sports. I just shrugged. I had a lot of thinking to do.
"What do you know about dreams?" I asked.
"Absolutely nothing," he answered. "Why?"
I paused for a minute. I thought just maybe there might have been something he would have known. "Just wondering."
"It depends on who you go by. I've heard they could mean anything, and they could mean nothing."
That wasn't any help to me. I could hear the sound of a car pull up to the church.
"Hello?" A voice from outside came. It was easy to recognize. I didn't even hear the truck pull up.
We stepped outside of the shed to see Darry standing there with his fists in his pockets. He looked intimidating. He glanced at us funny when we walked out of the shed. We had left the wheel burrow full of tools there.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Came to find you. You took off early this morning, and no one saw you." Darry replied. He eyed Father Mike. If I were him, I would have been spooked by Darry, but he didn't seem the least bit intimidated.
"Well he is here," Father Mike said not taking his eyes off Darry. He stepped in front of me filling the gap between Darry and I.
"I didn't take off that early," I said pointing to the Plymouth that was barreling down the street. It was Curly's ride.
I watched as the car stopped just a hair width away from the Darry's truck. Curly stumbled out of the car. His eyes were blood shot, and he was in the same clothes he was in two days ago. He was at least five feet away, but I could smell the liquor on him. Darry grabbed Curly by the shoulders and steadied him on his feet.
"Are you still drunk?"
"No, just hungover," Curly replied. I noticed the bruise setting in on the side of his face.
Darry looked over at us. "He can't be on a roof today. Pony shouldn't either."
Father Mike shook his head. "Go get some food and water in you Curly. You can start after that. As I see it, drinking is a privilege, one that you aren't even old enough to have. Being hung over or what ever you are doesn't excuse you from work. Consider this a big lesson."
Darry didn't let Curly go. "Ponyboy get in the truck."
There was an even flat tone to his voice. It only got like then when he was really angry, too angry to yell even. It scared just about anyone in the gang. The last time he used that tone was when he nearly broke Steve's jaw. I glanced up at Father Mike, he returned that glance with an expression that pretty much told me he got it. He finally understood what I meant about Darry.
"I understand you are concerned but these boys are in my care right now and _"
"Yeah, well this one doesn't leave me care, and any idiot could realized that Curly has no business being on a roof. Him working isn't a lesson. It's a damn death sentence," he glared at Father Mike before adding. "Ponyboy don't make me have to tell you again."
He didn't have too. I mumbled an apology to Father Mike and grabbed Curly away out of Darry's grip.
"I didn't think your up tight brother had it in him. He's actually kind of scary," Curly said.
"Shut up," I told him.
"By the way, don't expect Pony back until his hands are healed," Darry called over his shoulder.
We drove away in the truck. I looked back in the rearview mirror to see Father Mike standing there confused. I felt kind of bad, but I was just as confused by Darry's outburst. I was embarrassed too. Thank God, Curly knew how to keep his mouth shut. He could have a bad habit of babbling at awkward times.
I jumped out of the truck the second it pulled into Curly's driveway. "I'll be home by curfew," I said slamming the truck door.
"It's too hot to be walking around this shit hole," Curly complained. "Beats doing work thou."
We had only walked to the DX, and now we were walking back to his place. We were going through the park. I didn't really think it was that bad out today. I told Soda and Steve about what happened. Steve just snickered, and Soda gave me some speech about how Darry was worried when I wasn't there in the morning. I kicked at a rock on the ground.
"Does Tim ever go off the deep end like Darry did today?" I asked.
"Nah, Tim keeps his cool," Curly answered.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. Then I realized that was something Darry did. I jerked my hands away from my pockets and shook them in the air. I wondered if Father Mike still thought Darry and I were alike. Why did things always have to be so strange? I wished now I would have bought another pack of smokes at the DX.
"Ponyboy, we got trouble," Curly announced.
I looked up to see a beat up Chevy start to slow down. There were four greasers in the car.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. Usually when one of the Sheperds said they had trouble, they meant it.
"It's that guy's older brother," Curly said. I watched as he downed the rest of his Coke.
There was no need to explain. He told me the story of what he did last night. Tim and Curly went looking from a guy who tried to mess around with their sister. They found him; beat the crap out of him. Now his older brother had plans to seek revenge. I looked at the car again. They weren't greasers in the car. They were hoods. It didn't take a genious to kow that they probably blades and heaters on them. I felt my palms get sweaty. If Curly could keep his cool, we might be able to keep this a skin fight.
The hoods stepped out of the car. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"
Curly broke the end of his bottle. So much for a fair fight, we were already out numbered. "We should be saying the same thing about you."