Warning: mention of rape towards the end.
THE TRIP
PART XI
"Sodapop, tell me how you're feeling these days," Dr. Fran's voice is so warm and free of judgment I feel like I'm floating on it. I guess she can tell I'm struggling, but doesn't even mention the last two group sessions I skipped.
"I haven't used if that's what you mean," I tell her, finally looking her in the eye, hoping to see some look from her like she's proud of me. "Not even once," I add to cement the pathetic victory, that I've lived two weeks in the real world and haven't had a hit. And I suddenly realize I'm like some little kid who needs that praise. And her smile soothes something broken inside me.
My eyes break our hold and I look outside at a rain so soft it barely has strength to fling itself against the window. My knee starts bouncing and I wonder what's the point of her patting my back? It's fucked up really, when I know deep down I would've used if I'd found what I was looking for in Glory's dresser that night, but she'd already emptied out the stash. Smart girl. I didn't wake her and neither did the slam of the drawer. I didn't tell Glory how I went searching cause I was itching so bad, or the way my blood boiled when I found them gone. All of it wasted. She had no clue how I shook, how I stood over her as she slept peacefully, how I imagined dragging her out of that bed and knocking my rage all over her, against her. How I was in a spiraling panic when I called Steve to talk me down.
"That's wonderful, Soda. Have you had any cravings? Why don't you tell me about those moments? What are they like for you?" Dr. Fran readies her pen, waiting for me to spill it, as if she's sure beyond doubt I'll never rid myself of this problem, my disease she likes to call it.
I inhale through my nose and open my mouth to slowly let out a shaky breath, keep my eyes on the dismal day and let my mouth form a semblance of a smile. "I'm doing great. Don't even smoke no more." I glance down at the healing burns on my wrist and wonder why I just let out a short, soft laugh.
"It would be very normal to have cravings Soda. This is the place you can open up and talk about them." And I don't see a point in negativity like this. My eyes narrow.
"Shouldn't we focus on the positive?" I ask, maybe a little harsher than I'd meant to.
Her smile still holds all her warmth and she nods her head. "Our conversations can help give you strength for those weak moments that everybody faces. Those moments are nothing to be ashamed of."
I don't intend to say much else. I'm slumped forward now, my elbows on my knees, my head cradled by my hands. Don't even bother looking up when I speak. "I'm doing great," I repeat, only this time more quietly, without any trace of belief.
She lets me sit there for a bit, sink and settle into all my denial, before she adds "These sessions can only work if you make yourself open up. I need you to get honest with me Soda." Each of her words feel like little pinches on my skin.
I say nothing and our minutes stretch. I'm bridged to her and to reality only by the sounds of the ticking clock and the lazy rain that lightly pelts on the panes without any kind of pattern. I want to follow her rules. I will myself to open up to her. I imagine myself standing up in front of her desk and ripping my shirt apart. Dropping all my clothes at my feet. Stripped naked. Letting her see me. Letting her examine my skin up close with glasses that magnify, to find all the ugly marks where sickness screams just beneath the surface. I imagine her taking a black marker and circling every damaged cell, all those that sin destroyed. My eyes are still closed tight and so am I. Nothing on Earth could get me to open them right now.
"Why don't we try talking about your current living situation," she tries a new approach, refusing to end it. "I understand you didn't go home with your brothers like you'd planned. Perhaps I should've called in your girlfriend to our sessions instead of Darry." Even with my eyes closed, I feel them roll behind my lids.
"Sorry, I didn't know you don't like pepperoni," she says curled up next to me on the couch.
There's so much in just that one statement, I think to myself as I continue to pick at my pizza. "I like 'em. But I can't eat meat. It's Friday, 'member?" I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice, since we just got married two hours ago.
"Well, I hope you don't expect me to follow that crazy rule," and she grabs my discarded pepperoni and pops them in her mouth.
"I guess I better call Darry and let him and Pony know I'm married now," I sigh and take a sip of my beer.
"Yeah, I should probably call my mom," but neither of us move to get up.
"Your mom?" I ask surprised.
Glory looks over and shakes her head at me like I'm an idiot. "Yeah, I have parents Soda. I didn't just appear out of thin air ya know." There's a sadness in her frustration.
What are we? I take a bite of the cardboard crust and say with a voice as flat as my pizza, "Gino's is much better than this."
"She's my wife, and believe me, you'd lock us both away if she sat in with us." I straighten back up and notice there's no look of surprise on Fran's face.
"Congratulations," she says and doesn't wait for a thank you. "That's a big life adjustment for anyone." She leaves off the part especially for a drug addict. I don't dare fess up to her that we're having a baby. I haven't even wrapped my head around that myself, and after saying those words to Darry and living through his scary as hell reaction, I haven't dared to utter them to anyone else.
Dr. Fran leans back into her chair and looks me over, like she's not sure what to make of me. Nobody really is. "Soda I'm happy to meet with your wife and incorporate her into your treatment. Or if you'd rather, we can bring back your brother. You seem to relax more when someone's with you. You certainly were more open and receptive to the therapy."
My stomach drops thinking of Darry. All the ways I've dragged him over the coals in just the past month, not to mention the past year. "I don't think I'm Darry's favorite person right now," and even though he assured me I can always come home, I've kept my distance for his sake. To give him a break.
First week out I took a position on the line at the steel mill. And I know it hurt Darry how quickly I turned down his offer to come back and work under him again. He'd been all happy when he called me up to tell me his boss cut him another deal. Planning for his retirement, Mr. Carlson moved Darry to a partner position, and part of his pay raise now goes back to Mr. Carlson until he can buy the whole company outright, paired with taking out a loan of course. The construction company Darry's roofed for since our parents died will someday belong solely to him, and nobody deserves success more than my older brother.
But I told him no. That I wanted the benefits of a backing union; I've got a kid on the way to think about after all. No matter that Darry as my boss, Darry who has all my best interest sitting dead center in his heart, would be far better to me than any faceless union. I just couldn't say yes. I need my own way. He said he understood, acted happy about my new job, but it just felt like another wedge driven between us.
"I'm pretty sure Darry would rather sit this one out for a bit. I think I've finally pushed him past the breaking point." I can't stop my fingers from kneading my forehead. And I press in harder thinking about the talk he had behind my back with Gloria.
"You're no picnic to live with either Soda Curtis," she says, slamming the toilet lid down. "You know you can be as mean as a pissed off rattlesnake and I'm so sick and fucking tired of being the bad guy in everything."
"You're not Gloria. I told you they invited you too." This is the fifth time I've said this and it doesn't seem to make it through her thick skull to the mind she's already set on. "His exact words were 'Come over for supper Soda. Bring Gloria too.' He's tryin' to make amends Glory. He don't wanna fight with his sister-in-law."
She's finished washing her hands and unties her robe, dropping it. "If you coulda seen the way he treated me, you wouldn't set foot in that house on principle." She's already on her knees in front of me, unbuckling my belt. I end up calling to cancel on them.
I'm snatched away from my thoughts when I realize she's still talking. "I have a feeling Darry wouldn't mind coming in. To revisit some of the topics that were brought up." Her voice sounds so calming and sure and I'm still rubbing my temples and my face, shaking my head at her and to myself. "Soda, what if I told you he's already called me twice this week?" I let my hands drop into my lap and look up at her now. She quickly holds one hand up and says, "I've given him absolutely no information on you. I'm not allowed," she smiles her assurance. "But I'm able to tell you he's still very invested in your recovery. He also wanted to make me aware of some of your family history. Thought it might help if I knew. And he was right." I go cold.
"You think drinking's a good idea for you?" Gloria asks all judgmental coming home from work. It's only my second beer but how does she know it ain't my first? Who does she think she is?
"Just winding down from work hon. My problem was never with booze," I say but she ignores me.
I get up to break this streak. This four day stretch of absolutely no fun. Of working the second shift in a blazing inferno while Glory puts up with the grab-assing perverts she serves at the bar, and then we come home to nothing we know. Nothing in common. I'd love to lie and say we're better off now that we're sober, now that we aren't burnt, baked and stoned as fuck. Nope, cause now I don't have the drugs to blame for some of the warped shit that I get off on. I follow her in the kitchen and watch her putting away groceries.
My eyes are trained on her every move while I throw back the bottle, but the beer can't drown my aggression. "Gloria," I say her name like a threat and I feel that familiar heat coursing through my veins. She stops cause she knows that voice, slowly turns around with a bad girl's smile, and her eyes are practically begging me for the fire I'm about to unleash all over her. The lesson she never seems to learn.
"I'm in here for drugs, not drinking," I say before Dr. Fran has time to move her finger into a pointing position. I try to still my heart cause she has to hear it pounding, but she's too nice to point it out.
"I didn't say you were drinking, Soda. Are you?" She's looking at me with absolute concern. I just shake my head no, grip the arms of my chair and let my eyes drift back to the window, to a bird that's out in this messy afternoon braving the rain, gliding with black wings outstretched, and I'm floating again on Dr. Fran's voice. "Soda I want you to go back to your childhood for a minute. I'd like to know why you had that reaction just now." Her words are carried on the bird's wings and the air underneath them. "Would you like to tell me about some of your earliest memories?" I watch it take a dive, zeroed in on a meal probably, and it disappears behind the steam of an industrial smokestack. The minutes pass or are they days? I blink and I feel my eyelashes are wet. Have I been out in the rain? Was it me who was flying?
"Soda?... Sodapop?"
"Your name tag's upside down Patty." I look down to find he's not lying and it sure enough is. "You're on three." I work to right it and head to my post. Line three. One of two lines open today since Maria called in sick. Not a good thing for a Saturday. Don and I are praying to Jesus, Mary and Joseph that Jean will make it in as relief cashier. He still can't get a hold of her.
I wiggle my fingers, limber up to punch in all those sale prices. It's somewhere around hour two that I find my zen. Hardly making mistakes, smiling pleasant at everyone, asking the occasional "Did you find everything okay?"
That's about when I stare out the huge store windows, right above the Kool-Aid man display. Sodapop Curtis has parked his car right up next to the sidewalk in the no parking zone and is waltzing into my Winn Dixie and my heart just a missed a beat. Forever changed its pattern. He's looking like he used to with his beard, hair longish. Not long like it was when I first met him, but long enough. I can tell it's on his nerves cause he's wrangled it back into a rubber band, but it's way too short for a true ponytail. He always has a few sneaky strands that seem to escape, wild and misbehaving like he is.
A hundred of our conversations play back as I type in twenty cents for this customer's soup can, and I feel heat on my cheeks as I try and maintain composure. Not like the talks we had were ever anything beyond the friend zone when we sat out back of the farmhouse those nights. Sharing a smoke. Or more often a joint. He helped me survive my senior year. Told me how to see my dad as not just an asshole, but a protective and worried asshole. Gave me a lot of good advice, like he really cared. And I could listen to him talk for days on end, not only cause of that thick country running through his voice and that laid back way he's got about him, but mostly cause he looks at life in a whole different way than I'm used to and yet, the way I've always known it should be. And the night he kissed me, he apologized and swore he'd never do it again, like he'd messed up somehow. I knew then I'd have to be content to admire Soda from a backseat view. And when it comes to him, I'm lucky to have any kind of view at all.
Jean opened up line two about a half hour ago and I'm kinda hoping he'll choose her aisle. Avoid the awkward. I have no idea if he even knows Ponyboy and I met, talked about him over lunch. But he falls right into my line of course and I know that's really what I wanted as butterflies swarm my ribcage. He's four people back but I can see he's figuring out it's me. Out of the corner of my eye he's cocking his head and squinting like he does. I'm pretty sure he's in desperate need of glasses. "Well if it ain't Pattycake Campbell," and a half dozen people look in his direction. But he's so used to that.
I don't even pretend I'm just now noticing him. Why play games? I look up and smile at him, laugh just a little cause I've forgotten what he does to me. He's the most beautiful, rough-around-all-the-edges person I've ever seen. And my knees are weak, but I'm just his friend. "Soda, I'm so freakin' happy to see you," and I mean it. Happy he's out of rehab. Happy his real smile looks to be back. Happy he lived through the war. Happy he was born in this town. Happy he's in line three today with two bags of hamburger buns.
Damn these customers for expecting me to check them out. I try and keep the line moving while Soda has no problems continuing our conversation for all to hear. He asks about graduation and if I like my job here, not even caring my boss is pacing the front, listening in and watching me like a hawk. Finally it's his turn and I take his buns and give the total and he reaches in his back pocket. "We're grilllin' up some burgers tonight. Havin' a cookout for Ponyboy's birthday. You oughta stop by. I remember you askin' about him."
Now I know he has no idea about the lunch and I hate that. I don't like the feeling of going behind his back. I avoid it all and just say, "Well you tell Ponyboy I said happy birthday." I can't make myself care about the people behind him growing impatient. He hands me the money and I get chills when his fingers brush my wrist and I melt into his eyes. The lady with curlers in her hair clears her throat, trying to make us hurry. I can't stop staring. I want to tell him how good he looks. I want to ask him again to run away with me, but I already know how he feels about my childish dream.
I break from the spell when Curlers starts muttering under her breath and I move finally to put the cash in the drawer and count out change. Soda turns his attention to the complainer and I watch him work his magic. Turning everything on to charm even the most sour disposition. In a matter of seconds I watch her come undone, her hand touching her curlers as if she just might regret coming to the store like this.
I hand Soda the change and decide to go on and tell him, "You look great Soda. I'm glad you're back to the look. This is much more...you."
"Oh God Patty, don't encourage him," and Glory's shown up out of nowhere. "I'm pleading with him everyday to shave that Godforsaken mess." I watch Soda smile down at me, and I pray he can't see how red my face feels.
"Thanks Patty," he says softly, meant for my ears only. And then to Glory he says, "At least somebody gets it," but I don't miss the joking tone, the way couples do.
Gloria tries to be friendly with me, and I appreciate it actually cause I feel like such a dumbass. Here I am the check out girl, letting myself get swept away by all that is Soda. But she's a girl too. She understands. Who'd be immune to all that? I feel like I'm twelve though the way she talks to me. But that's probably how she sees me anyway. How they see me.
"C'mon Glory let's get goin'. I don't want Pattycake gettin' in trouble over us," and Soda's trying to lead her out. I hate how stunning they look together.
"Patty don't ever get married. All of a sudden these boys think they can shush you and lead you out of a store once they become a husband," and she winks at me cause she really loves the hell out of being all his. Married? Wait, what? I look to Soda but he's already out the door. "See ya 'round Pattycake," and I feel sick when she calls me that.
I find myself awake at three a.m. It's like clockwork. I lie in our bed of twisted sheets and try and piece together my latest nightmare. I miss that dog back home, the one a few streets over that just went at it all night, the one that's so annoying but when he's not there it's way too quiet. I'm thankful for the occasional siren that takes his place, starting faint and then grows to the point of deafening and just as quickly fades away. I like the intensity of it when it's right outside our window. It gets my blood moving again. I need a hit. I'll always need one.
The window's open but the air is stagnant. I remove Glory's spindly arm from where she's thrown it across my chest, get her to roll over. It's too hot and sticky for skin on skin. This apartment is the devil's oven, and I'm sweating anyway from my dream. I wait for sleep to either come save me or destroy me with the power it has for both.
Before I know it I'm on top of Gloria and she's taking me all in like I need her to, playing the part she's perfected, her body, moving with mine like it's made only for me. It's rare I'm in the moment with her like this, and I'm watching her sleepy, sexy eyes, her lips part as she breathes my name and that's exactly what I want to hear out of her, and I kiss her exposed neck, sucking it a little to mark her. I feel like I could go all night when I look back at her face.
But it's not Glory. I see instead a little freckled nose. "Soda?" she says in a voice so innocent, so seeking, and I'm watching Patty stare up at me, with that look that made me want to rescue her since the day we met. I'm suddenly so turned on I don't even question, just feel myself thrust harder, ignore her whimpers and writhing. She's getting louder with my name and I'm nearing the edge. I know I'm swept away and being way too rough. She's nothing like Glory and can't take it like she can, and why do I love that about her?
I run my hand all the way up her side, sliding up her arm that's raised above her head. My hand keeps snaking upwards and ends where I feel rope at her wrist. Her soft voice has turned to screams. Screams in Vietnamese. I freeze and fall back, look down now in horror at the village woman whose bed I shared not long ago. The one who'd been raped. Oh Jesus what have I done? My hands shake as they pull at the rope.
"No, no," I stutter and try to free her wiggling hands. But her yelling and my panic make it hard to concentrate. I fumble at knots that'll never come undone and she keeps carrying on in a frenzy of language that I don't need to understand. Cause the terror is right there in her shrieks and isn't that all I need to know? I want to vomit. I want to run straight into the mouth of hell where I belong and there's nothing I can do but beg her to be quiet. Two of my fingers tap against her lips. "Shut that fuckin' mouth," I growl through clenched teeth and I wince at my own words and crumble to the floor.
It's when I hear Glory's voice that I wake up. "Soda, what the fuck just happened?"
A/N: The Outsiders by SE Hinton
