Soda
I got to thinking about my savings jar on the drive home. I hadn't applied myself to it so careful since I was about ten years old and desperate for a fancy hat and vest with silver trim, like this guy I saw swanning around the rodeo one time. Never made it past sixty-five cents, back then. And 'sides I wouldn't be caught dead in such a pansy get up now.
Back then, it was mostly candy that kept the coins tipping out as often as they went it. Or caps for the Lone Ranger gun that I'd gotten for Christmas. Wonder where that went? I used to love the smell of that smoke. Never could wait for Steve to give the word, when we were creeping up on someone, to ambush them, over to the empty lot. Boy, he got mad, when I used to wreck whatever plan he'd thought up, to take the Indians or the Nazis, or whoever we were fighting, by surprise.
I wonder why we were never the 'bad guys'? Probably 'cause it was 'our' lot, so we got to choose.
There was a sight more'n sixty-five cents when I emptied the jar this time. Had to empty it, to find out. I gave up on the Mason jar a while back, being able to see the dough is just too damn tempting. We had an old moonshine jug, made of thick brown clay, lurking in the back of a kitchen cabinet, so I appropriated that. I was pretty pleased at how much I'd put by. 'Course the reason I'd been emptying it was to make sure I had gas money for this trip; using the Chevy was one thing, using up Steve's gas wasn't cool. I was thinking I might even put a little extra back in, to say thanks. The wheels/college fund could lose a spare buck at this stage, Pony was only coming up to junior year and I wasn't having much luck scouting fixable junkers anyhow.
I ran my hand over the Chevy's dash. Steve lucked out on this baby, alright. Although she still cost him hours of work I'd rather spend on dates, she was also drivable from the get go. Most of what he did was to cherry her out. Anything I could afford was likely to be a wreck I'd have to build from scratch. Hellava shame I lost the Dodge in that drag race, but it wasn't like I could claim it, after the cops had to haul it away.
I'd haveta get something on the road, by the time me an' Jo got married; no way was the Rambler gonna be the only vehicle on my driveway. My gut did a little flip as I followed that thought through. How were we even going to afford a place of our own? Like, a nice place. A place that Jo would feel comfortable in. That farmhouse was huge.
I remembered when I first met her, and Steve asked if she was a Soc because of her uncle's business. Maybe being a Soc was more of a frame of mind—Jo's people weren't snobs, and no one could say working a farm wasn't honest, hard work—but shit, she was used to space and nice things. And I was pretty sure that there wasn't ever a day at the month-end when plain noodles were on the menu, 'cause some bill came due at the same time as the rent. I mean, that only happened once, when Darry was still getting the hang of the budget and stuff. Maybe twice.
But, nah, plain noodles hadn't ever made an appearance in that farmhouse kitchen. I glanced at the packages on the passenger seat, as I thought back to that morning before I left.
Like, even though Gary woke me up at the crack of dawn, the kitchen smelled so good to come down to. I mean, nothing against Darry and Pony's cooking, or even mine. And I guess there's something to be said for mostly eating what we want, when we want it. But, jeez, the combination of coffee, bacon, pancakes, eggs...toast and biscuits...I mean, the place just smelled like...breakfast.
Although I reckon there was other cooking going on too, 'cause by the time I was leaving, Jo's mom had stuck foil wrapped packages in my hands and wouldn't take no for an answer, claiming it was only some leftovers, even though I could feel perfectly well it was a whole damn meatloaf and that couldn't have been 'left over' anyhow, since we had eaten chili the night before. And the apple pound cake was still warm.
Jo's mom grinned. "You make sure some of it gets home to your brothers, y'hear?" For a second I thought she was going to hug me. Or maybe I was going to hug her. But then everyone was saying goodbye and I was concentrating on keeping the Chevy smooth and not kicking up a load of dust by spinning the wheels, like Steve would.
That cake smelled pretty good. Should've put it in the trunk. And it was getting past a reasonable lunchtime, because I'd left later than I intended, thanks to Gary's little excursion. Not that I'd have missed the ride out, for anything. Or even the rest of it. I stretched my knuckles out on the steering wheel. Nope, that had been worth it. Seeing Jo and letting off a little steam had definitely been what I needed, after the stress of the last week.
And the look on Gary's face had been the icing on the cake.
It was hard to remember that he was older than Darry, he sure didn't act it. Sam was full on grown up, he was the one really ran the farm, seeing as their step dad had another job at a grain wholesaler in town. Gary pulled his weight, but he didn't seem to take much seriously, far as I could see. If he could have spent all his time at rodeos and bars, that would have been fine by him.
I knew, the second he directed me to the stall, that the horse he had picked out was supposed to dump me on my ass and probably kick me, into the bargain. Any horse named 'Tabasco' ought to have a little zing about him, right?
Maybe it looked to Jo's brothers like I was delaying getting up in the saddle. But only a fool would leap on up, without the horse gets a sense of the smell of you and the sound of your voice. I like introducing myself to a new beast and I like when they're smart enough to get your measure back. Oh, he still tried a few tricks, but nothing I hadn't come across before—one of Mac's palominos is part mountain lion, for the way he bites, I swear—and Tabasco appreciated a rider who listened, is all.
I tried to tell Dad once, that it was important to listen to the horse. Doesn't mean you can't then say, 'Tough, we're still doing it my way,' it just means some animals respect you more than if you straight out whip 'em into submission. Don't know if Dad got all of it, he was more of a wild rider, like Dally, able to hang on anywhen, anyhow.
Gary was pretty pissed, I could tell, that I stayed on and stayed with him as he led the way out across their acreage. Tough shit, is what I thought. I told him clear enough, the previous night. Ain't nothing he could come up with that would scare me off from being with Jo.
And then we hit the pond. It was a real pretty place but I didn't have time to appreciate the view before a loud crack, then another, sounded from the trees on the other side of the water. Fair to say I jumped more than Tabasco. But then that noise wouldn't have flicked the same image into his head. Shadows from a street light, pooled on the sidewalk. Which was crazy, in the bright morning sun.
"Fuckin' poachers!"
"Gary!" Jo's oldest brother yelled in—what? Alarm? Annoyance? Either way, it did nothing to hold back the figure on the ratty-looking bay. A horse that turned out to have more speed than his moth eaten ears and straggly tail suggested.
Tabasco was offended. Truthfully, he'd wanted to be in the lead the whole time, but I'd held him back, and not only because I didn't know the way. This time, I let him chase and catch up to Gary, through the mud at the edge of the pond and down through a stand of cottonwoods. I felt a tug as a stray branch caught on my shirt, but had no time to look as we burst into a clearing and came face to face with a couple of guys. They both had beer cans in their hands and one had a hunting rifle.
I sat as still as I could. Tabasco wasn't even blowing after that short sprint and neither was Doughnut—for some stupid reason, my brain took the time to remember that Gary's horse was called Doughnut.
"'S'up, Harrison?" One of the guys grinned drunkenly, as Sam came up behind us at a more careful pace.
Gary slid to the ground and stalked over. I reached reflexively for his reins, although Doughnut was still as a rock. "'S'up? I'll tell you 'what's up', fucker, you're on our land." He shot out an arm and grabbed the rifle, pulling it easily from the grasp of the taller guy. I flinched a little as he did it, but the guy just laughed, even when Gary cracked the gun open and emptied out the shot.
"What the hell you doing out here, Duane?" That might have been the longest sentence I'd heard from Sam.
"Li'l target practice, is all," was the snarky response. From the other one, the one built like a linebacker.
"You shut the fuck up. Who was talkin' to you?" Gary snapped. He got a sneer in return, as the other guy proceeded to drain his beer and toss the can to the dirt.
"Still? Man, you still got a wasp up your ass? What makes you so holy? Ain't like you never had more'n one chick on the go, you an' all them buckle bunnies..."
Gary tensed up his fist, taking a step forward. "You did not just compare my sister to—"
"Gary." Sam's voice was calm but clear as he growled, "Fuck off home, Clay, and take your brother with you."
I was already on the ground.
"What you gotta realize—" the guy was still goading Gary "—your sister ain't got no one but herself to blame. If she wasn't so fuckin' frigid—"
He went back like a felled tree. I'd like to say I felt a little guilty, 'cause he was crocked and didn't see me, or my fist, coming, but I wasn't. The shock on Gary's face was plenty amusing.
Duane, the brother, lunged forward pretty quick for being as loaded as he was, but Gary clocked him a good one. He reeled but came back with a sloppy punch that caught Gary on the cheek by pure luck. Gary put him on his ass by way of reply.
He turned and started to say something to me, just as Clay lumbered to his feet and came at me. I sidestepped and he tripped past. Gary kicked him in the rear end, then leaned down to the groggy Duane and repeated Sam's instruction: "Fuck off home, the pair of you, and don't come out this way again."
We waited for the two of them to slope off, towards a fenceline along the dirt road I could make out in the distance, before we relaxed. Then Gary grinned.
"Nice work, Tulsa."
"Yeah, nice," Sam echoed, but followed it up with: "Shame you gotta walk back." He was on the right side to have caught hold of the rock-still Doughnut's rein, but Tabasco was nowhere in sight. Gary chuckled. I looked around, to remind myself which direction the pond was in, then started on up through the trees, clicking my tongue against my teeth.
I saw him, down by the water, just before I came out into the open. I knew he wouldn't recognize my whistle, but it got his attention enough that he heard the clicking, which I'd been doing quietly in his ear all the way up, on and off. Tabasco ambled over to me and I grabbed a handful of mane and swung up, scooping up the reins and patting his neck in appreciation. There was no guarantee he would have come back to me, but I let myself look modestly confident.
"Holy shit."
I grinned at Gary. At his face, which was even more shocked than when I laid out Clay.
Sam grinned too, as he passed us. "Nice work, Tulsa," he whispered for my ears only. And on the walk back, I started to relax. I wasn't on trial any more. And when Sam said, in his quiet way,
"I don't reckon Joey needs to know 'bout this," it felt like the three of us had reached an understanding.
It was tough, to say goodbye to Jo, but I knew she'd be back at the weekend. Back home, she said to me, when she kissed me, and my heart felt like it was a helium balloon. Even when I got caught in a snarl up on the Turnpike, crawling along for a couple of miles, I still didn't regret using up my day off and owing Steve for the shift he'd covered the previous day. I'd needed to see her and I felt better because I had.
xxXxx
"Half a cake? Jo's mom sent us half a cake?" Ponyboy peered suspiciously at the crumpled foil package.
Darry snorted. "Half? What shape do you think it started off as, huh? I reckon we're looking at a quarter, tops."
"There was traffic," I said loftily. "I got caught in traffic."
"Hmm." Darry stowed the meatloaf in the icebox, having sniffed it appreciatively. "Well, be sure an' thank her for us."
I slapped my forehead in mock horror. "I knew I shouldn't have just ripped it out her hand!"
"I meant," Darry rolled his eyes as he spoke, "be sure and tell her we liked it, after we eat it."
Pony grinned. "I don't think it's worth saving this little piece." Yeah, and I'd noticed he'd held onto the cake.
"Knock yourself out," I told him and he disappeared happily towards his room.
Darry offered me a second soda, since I'd sunk the first one in one gulp.
"Nah, I'd better get the Randle-mobile home," I told him, with a glance at the clock. Steve should be finishing up about now.
"You have a good time up there? Jo okay?" He was doing his 'innocent question' thing again. The thing where the question sounds perfectly reasonable, but the answer it gets out of you can be more than you intended to tell him. I wondered for a second if he could do that to everyone, or just me.
I nodded. Maybe I'd tell him, about how great it was. Later, maybe later. Just not the part about how big the house was, or how nice the house was. And not ever about how Jo's mom was.
I paused on my way out, by the photo on the shelf. It wasn't a wedding photo, 'cause Mom and Dad never had a photo taken then. Mom always made out that she didn't mind them getting married in a rush, when Dad swung a twenty four hour leave pass, short notice, no time for photos. The way Dad told the story, it was like something from a movie, him arriving all unexpected and sweeping her off to a Justice of the Peace, without her dad knowing, 'cause he would have stopped 'em for sure.
The photo was from when he got discharged, later that year. The porch looks kind of the same, but different too—Mom said it was painted another color then—and the corner of Darry's baby carriage is just behind them. When he hit twenty one, he was the same age they were in the picture. Smiling at the camera, Dad's hand on her shoulder. I never really saw Mom's hair pinned up exactly like that, but it still looks like her, because of the smile.
A/N: Ha, ha. Was everyone as trusting as Jo then, and assumed Soda and the brothers had a nice, peaceful horseback ride?! I figured it might take a little more to get Gary onside! :)
A couple of people mentioned the borrowing of the Chevy - it isn't in the original, there's just a gap of time where Soda and Jo aren't mentioned in the Tulsa action and Steve doesn't drive anywhere. Now you know why!
