Dealing—Part 14

Aww I love you all, you're always so encouraging. Even though I don't think it's all that good…but I love to hear from you people anyway! Hope this one's okay too. Even though it is short. Because I am having a bit of a writer's block on this one. So bear with me:)

Sodapop's POV

Shock. That was what came to mind as Ponyboy said what he did. I couldn't believe that after all this time, he was still blaming himself for what happened. No wonder he wasn't himself lately. And as I held him and felt him shudder as he cried into my shoulder, I couldn't stop staring at the headstones that marked the graves.

Johnny Cade: 1948-1964. Beloved son and loyal friend.

Dallas Winston: 1947-1964. Not soon forgotten.

We'd had a hard time coming up with something to write on Dally's grave, I remembered through my daze. We were all exhausted and still too emotionally raw to think about much then. And Dallas wasn't the sort we could write many emotional things about. So in the end we decided on that. And as I read it again now, I knew he would have approved. He didn't want anyone forgetting his record in a hurry. The other one…well, Johnny's parents had come up with that on their own. Of course, the first part was a load of bull, but after Darry threatened them with reporting the abuse Johnny'd suffered while he was still alive, they were convinced to add the "loyal friend" bit. If there was one thing they were more than cruel, it was greedy, and the thing most beloved to them were their own pitiful lives. Johnny would've liked that friend part too…

Ponyboy sat up finally, hastily wiping away the last of his tears. "Sorry, Soda," his voice was hoarse and raw.

"Hey, it's all right, Pony," I replied quickly, pushing a bit of his hair out of his eyes. "I'm real sorry I haven't been paying attention to ya lately."

Ponyboy looked surprised. "You? You've got way bigger problems to worry about than me, with Sandy back and everything. I understand that you're too busy."

"Too busy?" I shook my head. "Doesn't matter, little brother. You can talk to me anytime, ya hear? Doesn't matter how busy I am, what's going on, anything. You're more important to me. And Sandy being back isn't going to change anything."

"It isn't?" Pony looked uncertain, his eyes were red and bloodshot from crying so much. "But—I thought—maybe you two were gonna—"

I half-smiled, amused but stern. "Look, Ponyboy, what happened with me and Sandy is in the past. I'm not going anywhere, not with her or anybody. And, speaking of which, if Steve gives you a hard time, you tell him to wise up because you know about this—" And I proceeded to whisper something to him that made his ears turn satisfyingly red. This cracked me up, I'll tell ya. I don't know why I even bothered to whisper, given that we were in a cemetery and everything, but it was just a habit of telling a secret, I guess.

Then I stood up. "Should we go home, Ponyboy?" I asked, giving him my hand. He accepted it and I hauled him up off the ground. He nodded, then turned to look at their graves where deep in the earth we both knew our friends' bodies lay…

"I'm trying to stay gold, Johnny." He barely whispered the words into the air.

And I could've sworn I heard a voice on the wind whisper back, "I know."