On a Long Road

14. Breaths

After about a two-hour long drive, Ms. West turns onto a street and parks on the driveway of a white, two-story house. I start to finger the hems of my jacket sleeves, staring fixedly down at them. It's not a boys home, I know, but it's not in Tulsa. I had hoped for Tulsa at least, but no, she just had to take me to Oklahoma City. That's even further away from home than before.

Ms. West takes out the key, unfasten's her seatbelt and climbs out of the car, but it's like I can't move. I don't know what awaits me inside that house, and I don't want to know either. I have no doubts that it will be bad, though. I have gone from worse to worse each time, why would this be an exception?

I jerk when Ms. West suddenly taps at the window next to me and tells me to hurry up. I guess any further delaying won't help my matters; she won't miraculously change her mind and drive me home just because I refuse to do as she says, so I sigh and open the door.

"Get your suitcase," she says a bit impatiently as I stretch my legs. She keeps looking at her wrist watch.

I go to the trunk to get it, and then I drag my feet in the gravel as I follow her up to the front door. She rings the bell and I think I'm going to throw up or something, right here on the porch. Up close, it's obvious this is a good neighborhood. Maybe not Socs standard, but close enough to make me feel really out of place. I don't want to live here.

"Hello and welcome."

I look up when hearing the soft, gentle voice, and I'm a bit surprised by the elderly, white-haired woman standing in the doorway, gesturing at us to come inside. She steps aside to let us pass, then closes the door behind my back and smiles at me, and I feel how I blush. I have met so many new people the past year, but I'm still not used to it and the way they look at me.

"Hello, Ms. West." It's a man about the woman's age, and he comes out in the hallway, holding a pair of glasses in his hand. Then he looks at me and smiles too. "You must be Ponyboy. Welcome. I'm Mr. Taylor."

"And I am Mrs. Taylor, dear, but you call us Maggie and Sam, okay?" the woman says, patting my arm once.

"Okay," I say quietly, taking a step away from her. I guess they seem nice, but I don't trust anyone.

I warily look around as we walk into the living room. Big windows are facing the yard, and the windowsills are full with pottery plants. There are couches and bookcases with a lot of books, and an open fireplace. On the mantelpiece stand three photographs; two of young men in uniforms, and a wedding photo. The young couple smiles brightly at me from the picture.

Someone touches my arm again, and I almost jerk. When I turn my head, it's Mrs. Taylor.

"Why don't you go and look around the house?" she says. "If you go up the stairs, the third room to the right will be yours."

I nod and take my suitcase, sure that they are only getting rid of me to talk. I don't care about sightseeing - instead, I walk up the stairs and go to the room she was talking about. It's big, with a bed, a desk and a bookcase, but I don't stay to look closer at it; I just put the suitcase down on the floor and then sneak back down the stairs, moving slowly to stand just outside the doorway to the living room, holding my breath as I try to listen. I hear Ms. West and Mrs. Taylor, talking about me.

"... and school of course," Ms. West says. "Here is a letter from the principal in Muskogee to his new school. He should attend as soon as possible. It's important to make sure he goes to his classes."

"I understand."

"He is a nice boy, but he needs a lot of guidance. I hope there won't be too much trouble for you."

"Oh, we're used to young boys."

"Well, in any case, just call us if there is any trouble at all."

There is a soft noise behind me, feet shuffling against the carpet, and I jerk again and turn around, just to notice Mr. Taylor standing behind me. I look down, embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping, and a little scared at what he will do to me, but he only laughs and gestures at me to come.

I follow him into the living room again, and stuff my hands down into my pockets. I finger my lighter, wondering what these people think about smoking, because I really, really need a cigarette right now.

Ms. West seems to be done with the delivery. She declines coffee when Mr. Taylor offers her a cup, and starts to gather her papers again, looking up at me from her place on the couch.

"Behave now, Ponyboy," she says lightly, but I hear the threat underneath. I just press my lips together, refusing to answer.

xXx

They pretty much leave me alone the first day. After Ms. West has left, Mr. Taylor sits on the armchair in the living room, listening to the radio. Mrs. Taylor seems to be doing something in the kitchen; I hear the sound of running water and cupboards opening and closing. Not knowing what else to do, I stand by the bookcase, reading the titles on the spines to see what books they have, while glancing now and then at Mr. Taylor. If he is like Mr. James, or even Mr. Collins, I think he's too old to beat me. He must be in his sixties, at least. Maybe even older than that. If he tries something, I might be able to do something back.

Absent-mindedly I pick out a book and then put it back, just to pick out another one. It's The Catcher in the Rye, and I start to flip through it. Someone has written a name in the upper corner on the first page. John Taylor. I guess it must be their son, or something. I weigh the book in my hand, wondering if I can borrow it, but I don't want to ask. Mr. Taylor seems very distracted by the radio program, and after paying attention for a while, I realize it's about the Vietnam war. I haven't really cared about the war before, there have been so many other things going on in my life, but suddenly I remember that there's not even a week left until Soda's eighteenth birthday. My stomach makes a turn when I start thinking of the draft. What if his number comes up?

I feel cold and almost nauseous. If Soda goes to war, I don't know what I'll do. I wouldn't be able to stand it! I swallow and shake my head slowly. That just can't happen. If they send him over there, then I will have nothing left.

I sit down on the floor right where I stand. I don't want to think about that, I have to try to think about something else. Soda won't go anywhere; it's me who is away from home, not him. Soda has to stay in Tulsa. I open the book in an attempt to force the thoughts away, forcing myself to concentrate on the words, on Holden's life instead of mine. It doesn't help - I'm too distracted to get lost in the story.

I struggle through the first chapter, and then I look up for a moment, finding Mr. Taylor watching me. He has turned off the radio by now.

"Don't you think the couch is more comfortable than the floor?" he says. He holds a pipe in his hand, puffing at it. I wish I had my own smokes. I think I have two sticks left, upstairs in my bag.

"Why don't you come over here and sit down?" Mr. Taylor suggests.

Without a word I get to my feet and shuffle toward him. I sit down on the edge of the couch, fidget a bit with my hands. My body has a craving for nicotine.

"Tell me a little about yourself."

I frown at that. I thought Ms. West already had told them everything, but maybe he's just trying to be friendly.

"What do you want to know?" I wonder quietly.

"I just want to know you a bit better. You will be living with us now, like a son, I hope."

I frown and clench my hands into fists. "I already have parents," I mutter. "Just 'cause they're dead doesn't mean I want new ones."

"I didn't mean it like that."

I glare at him. "I ain't stayin' anyway. I'm goin' back to my brothers soon."

I don't know what I'm trying to do. I know this is stupid of me - I remember belts and fists - but I'm just so tired. I need to be angry. I want to scream and trash things. I know it won't change anything, but this is killing me, to be sad all the time. Anger is better.

"I understand that your oldest brother had the custody before?" Mr. Taylor says, obviously unaware of my internal thoughts.

"He'll have it back," I snap. "It's just a matter of time."

To my surprise, he only smiles at that. "I guess that's good news, then."

Taken a bit aback, I eye him suspiciously. I don't think he believes that, he's just a liar. Like the rest of them.

"Yeah," I say anyway.

He carefully puts the pipe down on the coffee table. "Are you close?"

"What?"

"Your brothers and you. Are you close?"

I want to start bawling right there and then. I feel tears welling up, but I blink and turn my head down so he won't see. Close is not even the word for it. I put my hands between my knees and breathe in, hoping he doesn't notice my struggle to keep me from crying.

"They're my family," I finally manage to croak out, and I know I have revealed myself. But Mr. Taylor doesn't say anything about it, not even as I wipe my cheek with my hand.

"Family is important," he just says. "Maybe you want to call them?"

I sit up straighter, looking at him, wide-eyed all sudden. "You'll let me call them?"

"Of course. Go up the stairs, and the room next to yours is my old office. You can talk in private in there."

I stare at him for a moment more, but then I rise and bolt away. I won't let this opportunity go. I find the room and step inside, closing the door behind me. I wipe my face with my sleeve again, and swallow a lot of times. I have to try to calm down before calling; I don't want Soda to know how sad I am, even though I guess he can already tell. He's sad too.

Since it's a weekday, and the middle of the day, I guess they're not at home, so when I feel that I'm able to talk normally, I lift the receiver and punch in the number to the DX. I must be lucky somehow because Soda is the one who picks up this time.

"I thought you wouldn't call until tonight," he says happily when he hears that it's me. Then I remember that they don't know. Ms. West never tells them anything.

I sink down in the chair behind the desk. "Don't get mad," I mumble. "But they, um ... they kind of moved me again."

He's quiet for a while, then he bursts, "They did what?"

"I ain't at the farm anymore."

He lets out a string of curses. I put my elbow down on the table and lean my head in my hand, while pressing the phone closer to my ear with the other.

"It's all right, Soda," I say. "I don't mind it."

"You don't mind it? You don't mind that they treat you worse than some fuckin' dog?" His first mood seems to be all gone. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah, but it's better here," I hurry to say. "They seem really nice."

"They? Who are they?"

"The ones I'm stayin' with."

He sighs. I can picture him, standing leaning against the wall behind the counter, closing his eyes. Thinner than he was a year ago. More tired. Like me.

"I don't know how to handle all this, Pony. It feels like I never know where you are. It scares me. I just want to know where you are, all the time."

I have to blink away tears again. He sounds so helpless.

"Just tell me where you are and if you're fine, okay?" he pleads. "Kiddo? Just please tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, Soda, promise. I'm in Oklahoma city now," I say. "They're an older couple and I think they're nice."

"You just think they're nice?"

"I just got here. They're nice, don't worry."

"What happened at the farm? I swear, Ponyboy, you gotta tell me the truth."

I curl the cord around my hand. The truth. I don't even know what the truth is. Whatever I say it will sound bad, and it wasn't that bad, not as bad as I know Darry and Soda will believe it was if I say anything about it at all. I can't tell them I lied before, but that wasn't the reason anyway. Mr. James wasn't the reason.

"Nothin' I guess," I finally decide to say. "They just ... they just didn't want a kid around anymore."

"What, so they can just decide somethin' like that?"

"But it's better here," I say again, trying to change the subject. "It's a really nice house. It's quite big and -"

"I have to talk to Darry," Soda blurts, still very upset. "They just can't go on doin' things like this. I can't believe it, they should just send you home inst -"

I close my eyes, interrupting him. "Soda, you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm okay, but -"

"How's your hand?"

"A lot better, I've done my exercises. Pony, don't worry about me. Just tell me what's happening, I want to know everything, okay?"

I tell him the little I know. Soda stays on the phone with me as long as he can, and when we have to hang up, I have promised to call again as soon as possible and to give them the address.

xXx

At dinner time, I can only pick at my food. I don't know why I feel so awful. What I said to Soda seems to be true; the differences between here and at the Hartridges' place are big, but I can't let myself relax. I won't let anyone trick me, and I'm still angry. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor speak softly to each other, and now and then they smile at me, or ask me if I want more to eat, even though I have hardly touched anything on my plate. But mostly, they just give me space. I'm thankful for that. I know I would probably snap if they didn't, and I don't think they deserve that. This is not their fault.

Afterwards I sneak up to the room they say is mine, and I sit in the windowsill, smoking my last cigarette as I read the book from earlier. But even though I like it, I find myself reading the same sentence over and over, and finally I toss it away, seeing how it lands on the carpet with a soft thump. I never treat books like that. And I've never put my cigarettes out against the wooden frame around a window either, but I do that now too. I want to destroy something, I don't know what, just something. I can't do it. I dig my nails so hard into the palms of my hands it feels I'm going to draw blood, and then I throw myself down on the bed, bury my face into the pillow and scream weakly. I don't know how to let it out.

I curl my arms around my head and scream again, and then I just start sobbing. I didn't even know I was close to crying.

xXx

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor don't seem to have any jobs; I guess they are both too old for that. So the next day, we're all just in the house together. I won't start school until Monday, and I sneak around in their house like a shadow, trying to avoid them as much as I can. I need more cigarettes. Darry has kept giving me some money every time I've met up with them, and I have a few dollars, but I don't know where to find a store. I don't want to ask either, so I just suffer through withdrawal and try not to snap.

The day passes slowly. All I do is try to stop thinking and make myself occupied with other things instead. I open doors and peek inside the rooms on the top floor, when I know both Mr. and Mrs. Taylor are downstairs, but there isn't much to find. I unpack and put my stuff in the drawer. I try to read. I try to eat.

I call home again in the evening, giving Darry and Soda my new address and phone number. Soda wants do drive here right away, and I don't know how Darry manages to stop him. I wish he hadn't, though, but I guess it won't really work with him just showing up. Instead we decide they will come down on Sunday, Soda's birthday. There's only three days left.

When we have hung up, I go down the stairs and stop just outside the living room. Mr. Taylor is listening to the radio again, smoking his pipe, and Mrs. Taylor sits in the couch, seemingly to be knitting something. She looks up and when she spots me, she's giving me a bright smile.

"Why don't you come in and sit down for a while, Ponyboy? Maybe you want to watch some TV?"

I shake my head; I don't want to watch TV. Hesitantly I take a step inside, leaning my back against the wall, close to the open doorway. I stuff my hands down into my pockets to not show how they're shaking.

"My brothers will come down Sunday," I say quietly.

"To visit?" Mrs. Taylor asks and looks at her husband. She looks a little worried.

I shift my feet. "Can they come?"

Mr. Taylor takes the pipe out of his mouth and leans forward a bit.

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe we better talk to Ms. West before we decide anything."

"Why?" I mutter. "They use to visit me."

"Well, we have to make sure."

"Make sure of what?"

"That it's a good idea for you to meet your brothers."

I can only stare at them.

"I promise to call Ms. West the first thing tomorrow," Mr. Taylor says, reassuringly. "I'll let you know at breakfast."

I take my hands out of the pockets to cross my arms in front of my chest.

"I know it's okay. She already knows I'm seeing them."

"Then it won't be a problem when we ask tomorrow either," Mrs. Taylor says definitely, her tone leaving no room for arguments. In a way, she sounds like Mom did sometimes.

I open my mouth and close it, feeling hurt. I thought this place might be okay, but they appear to be just like the rest of them. Without a word I turn around and rush down the hall and up the stairs again, slamming the door shut after me. I stride the floor before throwing myself down on the carpet. I just want to scream. I'm sure they are liars; they won't allow Darry and Soda to come, and even if they do, what about Two-Bit and Steve? I bite down so hard my jaw hurts; I drag my fingers through my hair and pull - it will soon be a year and I'm still not home. I'm never going home. I'm forced to stay here, with people I don't know, who watch every step I take, who refuse me what I need most.

It's hard to breathe. I want to go home, I just want to go home ...

Sucking in, I get no air. There's no air in the room. There's no air and I need it, and my heart is speeding so fast. I put my hand over it, feeling how it beats against my palm. It must be a heart attack. I'm going to die. I know I'm going to die, and Soda isn't here, and Darry... I want them to come. I just want them to come!

I panic. I try to sit up straighter, but the room is spinning. I think I hear a door open but it's hard to tell.

"Take it easy, come on. Just breathe. That's fine, boy, just breathe."

Someone is in the room with me. It's not Soda; I can tell by the hands suddenly touching me, one on my shoulder, the other one on my back, rubbing circles. They are bigger, moves differently, are not as soothing as his. My vision is a blur, and I'm scared. I don't know what's happening, why I can't -

"You have asthma? Ponyboy?"

I think the voice belongs to the man. Mr. Taylor. He removes his hand from my shoulder and I slump forward. He quickly puts an arm around me to steady me again, and I breathe in.

"That's right, take a deep breath. There you go."

I gulp in air, and soon it's getting easier. After what feels like forever, my heart seems to slow down to a normal pace, but when the room stops spinning, I feel that I'm drenched in sweat.

"Are you okay now?"

I swallow once and then manage to nod. I put my hands down on the floor and drag myself away a bit, out from his grip, and he lets go of me. He's looking at me, and I drag my legs up to my chest and wipe my cheeks against my knees. I'm shaking badly.

"You have some medicine you need to take? Ms. West never mentioned -"

"It ain't asthma," I manage to whisper. He looks doubtful, though.

"Maybe we should take you to the doctor tomorrow."

I shake my head, tiredly. That's not what I need. I wish he could leave me alone. Just go. I hate breaking down in front of strangers.

"Just to make sure."

"I'm okay," I mumble. I hide my face in my arms, hoping that sign is enough for him to understand, to get up and leave, but of course, he doesn't.

"I don't think you are."

I breathe in and out.

"Ponyboy?"

"What?" I mutter, still hidden.

"Maybe you should go to bed. Get some sleep."

I sniff and then I look up, wiping my face again. "Yeah. Okay."

I think I agree mostly to get rid of him, but when he helps me stand up, I feel how exhausted I am. He walks with me to the bathroom and I lock the door behind me. Standing by the sink, I splash cold water in my face, wondering what just happened. I hope it won't happen again, because it was kind of scary.

I stay in the bathroom a bit longer than I really need, and when I go out again, Mr. Taylor is still standing there. I look away, a bit embarrassed. I feel like a mess.

"Do you need anything else tonight?" Mr. Taylor asks me. I shake my head, and he pats my shoulder. "Well, good night, then."

I mumble an answer, and then I sneak past him and into the room they gave me, closing the door carefully this time.

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