On a Long Road
21. Shattered Glass
It's Soda who answers the phone. He doesn't sound surprised when he hears that it's me - I usually call this time of day - but ever since I told him about Sam, he always speaks so carefully, like he's bracing himself for bad news. I don't know if I can handle his reaction to them right now, though; he's always reacting so strongly. Darry will probably stay calmer, so maybe I should break the news to him instead.
Maybe.
I put my elbow on the desk and lean my forehead in my hand. There's a dull pain in there, but I ignore it.
"Darry home?" I ask, before I can change my mind. "I need to talk to him."
"Huh?" Soda says, something surprised in his tone. "Yeah ... yeah, he is. Sure. Um. Hold on."
I close my eyes briefly, knowing that I hurt him. He must wonder why I didn't want to speak with him. I hear whispers in the background, and then Darry is on the phone.
"Ponyboy?" he says tense, already sensing something is wrong. "What happened?"
I tell him.
If I had hoped for him to keep his calm afterwards, I had nothing for it. I don't think I have ever heard him this mad before, letting out this long tirade of harsh words and curses. I hear Soda in the background, asking frantically what's going on, and Darry disappears from my ear for a moment, to tell Soda too, I guess.
"That woman!" Darry swears half a minute later, back in the receiver again. I know we all remember Maggie's words, how she said she was going to keep me. I never should have trusted her, like I never should have trusted Mr. Syme. Still, I don't really think this is all her fault.
"Darry ..." I try, and but he just keeps going. I repeat his name until he finally calms down a bit, and then he sighs, resigned.
"I sure hope they put you in a good place at least."
So far I guess it seems okay; no one has hit me, or swore at me, and I have been left pretty much alone when I have wanted to. But I can't really tell after just a few hours.
"Yeah but I will probably not stay," I decide to warn him so they won't get this worked up next time too. "Ms. West talked about some other family."
"Christ!"
"It's okay," I say automatically. "I don't care." I almost feel like I have shut myself down. Like I don't feel anything anymore. Let them move me, then, if it humors them.
Soda is suddenly back on. I think he must have grabbed the phone right from Darry's hand, since he didn't say good-bye.
"When can we come and see you?" he bursts out, as if he has to hurry to ask before I disappear.
No one has told me about the rules for visitors.
"I don't know." I hold the receiver tighter. "I can ask."
"I have to work a double shift tomorrow," Soda says, sounding disappointed.
"You work every Saturday now?" I can't help but ask him. He never did before the state took me. Sometimes he might have taken some extra pass, but five days a week was really enough for someone his age. I'm scared his life will turn out to be like Darry's now; only work, never any fun, and all because of me. He's only eighteen, he shouldn't work this much. Darry shouldn't either.
My bad conscience screams at me to let them go. They could leave me here and fix up their lives, live like they were supposed to do if Mom and Dad hadn't died. But I can't. I'm too selfish - I don't want them to leave me here.
"Hey, don't worry about me," Soda says. "I -"
The man who allowed me to call comes back, and standing in the hallway he's giving me this look. I cringe, knowing the time is up.
"Soda, I have to go."
"Just a couple of more minutes ..."
I turn to the wall, lowering my voice. "I can't. They only gave me five minutes."
"Shit. Okay. But we'll try to come down Sunday as usual. You can give us your address tomorrow, all right?"
"Yeah, I will. Bye, Soda."
"I love you, kiddo."
xXx
Someone is sobbing. There is a whining sound, that soon turns to low, muffled screams. At first I just blink in the dark, dazed, thinking that it's me having another nightmare, but then I realize that it's not. I didn't dream tonight.
"No ..." someone moans, and I sit up, looking over to the other bed. I don't know what to do. This feels so odd, it was always me having a nightmare before, not someone else. I don't know if I should walk over there, try to wake him up, or -
"Stop it ..." he whimpers. "No!"
I watch him as he trashes, and then he suddenly bolts up to sit, gasping for air. I quickly lie down again and drag the cover up over me, peeking at him over the edge of it. I see him rub his hands over his eyes, pushing back his hair. He sniffs once, and then he glances over at my direction. I close my eyes, but I don't think he saw me watching him; it's too dark in here.
When I look up again, he has lied down. He lies turned to the wall, with his back at me, breathing unevenly. I'm sure he's awake, but I can't find anything to say even though I try.
xXx
Next time I wake up by an alarm instead. Groaning, I put an arm over my eyes for a moment, as the room suddenly goes light. I quickly throw a glance across the room and see Dean turn off the clock on his nightstand, then climbing out of his bed.
He avoids my gaze. Maybe he's embarrassed over what happened tonight, maybe he knows that I heard him crying because of a nightmare. I guess I could tell him that I use to dream too, but I can't. I think it's embarrassing too.
Dean quietly picks out some clothes from his closet, then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Sometimes I think he's afraid of me, but I don't know why. I'm not that much bigger than him, even though I have grown some inches this past year. But I guess I would win if it came to fighting - he seems way too insecure to really know how to hit someone back.
Something suddenly pierces my heart. There is something in Dean that is familiar. Like I know his type; that I have met someone like him before. Then it hits me. I know they look totally different, but I think he reminds me a bit of Johnny. But Johnny could fight, that's not it ... it must be the eyes. That scared look. Johnny was better at hiding it, though, but I could always see something in them. Just like I can in Dean's eyes.
I slowly sit up. I have no idea what time it is, but it's Saturday, so I can't figure out why he had an alarm on. It's not like we have to rush to school or anything.
The thought of school almost makes me shudder. I know Ms. West thinks it's a good thing I don't have to switch school's again, but I think I would have rather done it. Everyone I know will think that Maggie didn't want me anymore. I guess they thought that I'm some abandoned kid even before this - only Jesse knows the truth - and now they will believe it even more. I hate being a foster kid, but the boys home is much worse than living with a family. It's like a last resort, where they place anyone who doesn't fit in anywhere else.
I lie down again and drag the cover over my head, closing my eyes. I won't get up.
I must have fallen asleep again, because I don't hear when someone walks into the room, but I feel them put a hand on my shoulder and shake it lightly.
"Soda, go away!" I mumble, before I realize that the name is wrong. I turn around. Dean takes a step back, dressed now.
"Um, they told me to come and get you," he says, biting his lip. "For breakfast."
"What time is it?" I sigh.
"A quarter past eight."
I give him a sharp look. "It's Saturday," I tell him, like he didn't know.
"Breakfast's served at eight o'clock on weekends," he mumbles, shrinking back even more to sag against the door. He's avoiding my eyes as I frown.
"Why?" I ask, but he just shrugs weakly. He looks like he's ready to bolt out of the room at any time now. Suddenly I feel bad. I know it's not his rules, and not his fault that I'm here. Still, I'm not hungry. I guess I should be since I hardly ate anything yesterday either, but I'm just not.
"Can't I eat later?"
"They said you have to come now," he says nervously. "You're already late."
"Fine," I grumble, and he looks relieved. He quickly leaves the room again, and I get up and dress myself before going to the bathroom. I use the toilet, and then I stand in front of the mirror, greasing my hair back. It looks like someone else is staring back at me. I blink, and the boy blinks too, but his eyes are all different from how mine used to be. Kind of empty.
I walk down the stairs. When I come to the dining room, everyone is already eating. The man from yesterday is there too, but there's another woman this time, older, and she gives me a sour expression.
"Try to be on time from now on," she says. "We can't have anyone come and go as they please." She puts a plate on the table in front of the only empty chair. I hesitate for a moment, before sitting down. It feels like they all stare at me, but when I look around, no one does. Only Dean, who sits opposite of me, but he averts his gaze as soon as my eyes meet his.
I eat an egg and half of my ham sandwich, and drink some milk, wishing it had been chocolate milk. I really miss our breakfasts at home. Soda's food. My throat clamps up and I drop the sandwich - I can't eat anymore.
The guy named William cleans the table afterwards, and the man from yesterday, Mike, tells me to come with him to the office. I do, since I don't seem to have any choice, and somehow he has managed to cram another chair into the tiny space. He tells me to sit, and then he closes the door to give us privacy.
"How do you feel now after the first night?" he asks me.
There is only one word for strangers. "Fine," I say shortly.
He nods. "What I have been told is that you will probably not be staying with us for long. Ms. West was very certain that she will find another foster family for you."
The walls almost creep closer. "Okay," I mutter, trying to ignore the claustrophobic feeling washing over me.
"I still need to inform you about the rules here. As long as you are here, you need to follow them, and you also need to do your chores." He suddenly cracks a smile. "Don't look scared, Ponyboy. It's not as hard as it sounds. We try to be like a close family here, but it means we all have to put some effort in trying to make everyone comfortable. We take turns with dishwashing, cleaning and laundry duty. You have to go to go to school and go straight home after to do your homework. We eat all the meals together at the table." He looks at me as if he waits for an answer.
"Okay," I mutter again.
"It will be okay," he says gently, and I stiffen. I really must learn to hide my emotions a bit better.
The weekend passes slowly. I'm not allowed to have any visitors yet, the sour woman tells me, and I hide in my room a lot after that, sulking. The reason for it seems useless; they want me to feel more at home before I can see anyone from my family. Like I would ever feel at home here.
I don't want to get to know the other guys, but two of them, Randall and Hank, try to talk to me several times. On Sunday evening I give in, mostly to have something to do and not think of my brothers so much, and I go with them for a walk around the neighborhood. It's not as nice as the one I left, but it's decent. Better than the East side in Tulsa but still so much worse. I really miss home.
"How is it sharing a room with wimpy-boy?" Randall asks me, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose.
I stare at a car that looks a bit like Steve's driving past us. "Um, what?"
"Dean," Hank explains unnecessary. "He's such a crybaby."
"He's okay," I say defensively, but the two of them look at each other and laugh. I'm glad when we're inside the house again.
xXx
"I thought you moved," Jesse says at lunch the next day. He came to find me at my usual spot in the school yard, and he sits down next to me without asking. I guess my trying to avoid him wasn't that successful; I really should have picked another spot. It's just that there is not many places where I can be alone around here, out of the eyesight of my teachers when I want to smoke.
"Maggie moved," I answer quietly, staring at the cigarette clamped between my fingers. I like how it glows. "It doesn't matter."
"Yeah I saw that she moved," he says. "I thought you went with her."
"Why would I do that? She moved to her daughter in California," I snap, then take a long drag on my cigarette to calm down. But Jesse is Jesse as usual.
"Where do you live now, then?" he asks.
"I don't know the address," I avoid the question.
"In another foster home?"
"Can you stop talkin' to me?" I mumble, hoping he will get the message and leave me alone. Unfortunately, he doesn't.
"What?"
I turn my head to face him. "Can you fuckin' stop talkin' to me?" I say higher, almost hollering. "God, you're so fuckin' annoying!"
A hurt look covers his face. I don't understand why he tries so hard; I would have given up on me a long time ago.
"I'm just trying to be nice here. I thought we were friends."
"We ain't friends," I say harshly, not sure I really mean it, but he gives me a long look before he sighs.
"Fine, then." He rises, looking down at me, but I stare down at the grass instead. "Have a nice life, I guess," he mumbles.
I look up to watch him go, not regretting my behavior at all. I tell myself that I don't want people in my life anymore. That it's only good that he left. I will probably have to leave soon anyway, I shouldn't even try to get attached, to anyone.
xXx
I sit on my bed with a textbook in my lap, trying to do my homework, when Dean and I suddenly hear screams from downstairs. He looks at me, turning all pale. I already know he hates fights - it has happened a few times since I got here that some of the guys have started a rough argument, or tried to push each other around a bit. There is a lot of teasing too. Nothing serious has happened, though, but Dean always seems so frightened when people don't get along.
"It's probably just Hank and William again," I say, and he nods quickly, but I can see that his hands are shaking. Then we hear Mike's voice, probably breaking the two of them up before it gets worse.
"I just hate it when they scream like that," Dean says lowly, hunching over in his seat by the desk. He looks so miserable I can't ignore it.
"They stopped now," I try to comfort him. "Don't worry."
"Yeah," he agrees. He's quiet for a little while, and I return to my book, just to get interrupted again. "What if they hurt each other, then?"
I shake my head. "They won't. Mike and Paul are workin' today, they wouldn't let them."
Dean bites his lip. "People can hurt each other even if adults are there."
I close my book and look at him, and he blushes hard, fiddeling with his pen.
He has become more comfortable around me as the days pass. It's not like he talks much, but at least he doesn't flinch just because I say something anymore. I do my best to keep calm around him, to not startle him. I don't know why I feel like I have to protect him. Maybe it's because of Johnny. Maybe because of myself.
"Mike said the other day that you might leave," he suddenly says. "How come? You just got here."
I snort, toss away my book and stretch out my legs. "It's just my social worker," I say sarcastically. "She likes to move me around."
"But, um, you don't wanna leave, do you?"
"I don't care, I'm goin' home soon anyway." I stare at my knees, but look back at him when he makes a little sound. He looks horrified all of a sudden.
"They can't do that!" he blurts, wide-eyed.
"What?"
"I - I mean ... I mean it ain't good, is it?"
"What ain't good?"
"Goin' ... goin' home. I wouldn't want that. It's much better here. You think they ... I mean, will they force me to go home too?" He puts his hands between his knees, as if to stop them from shaking. I swing my legs over the bedside and put my feet on the floor to face him.
"It ain't like that!" I hurry to say. "I want to go home, okay? I want to live with my brothers. They're good, they wouldn't hurt me."
"They wouldn't?"
"No," I say with emphasis. "Don't worry about it, okay? The state won't let you go home if you don't want to."
He nods, but I can see that he's still scared. It makes me wonder once again what really happened to him in the past.
xXx
"Why can't I see my brothers?" I cross my arms, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. I have been here a week and a half already, with only three phone calls allowed, and Paul, a thirty year old staff member, just told me that Darry and Soda can't come this weekend either. I don't know how to react to it. It's not the first time someone has told me that, but this time it feels different. I don't know why.
Paul curls his hands around his coffee cup. "I told you why, Ponyboy. We want you to adjust to this place a bit better before seeing anyone from home. I know it can seem harsh, but it's only for your own good."
"But you know I ain't stayin' anyway!"
He sighs and shakes his head. "You don't know that. It can take a long time to find a foster home for someone your age, especially with your background of moving around."
I feel so frustrated. I don't understand either - it feels like I get punished for things that is not even my fault. All I want to do is see my brothers, I don't care about anything else, so why can't I? What if I never adjust the way they want me to? Will I never see them, then?
"Look, I'm just asking you to try a bit more, okay? I know you do good in school, and you do your chores without any nagging, but try to communicate a bit better. Don't hide up in your room all the time."
"Dean does it," I mutter.
Paul's eyes narrow. "You know it's a bit special with Dean, Ponyboy."
Of course he is special. I bet they would let him see his brothers, if he had any. I drop my arms, and without thinking, I turn around and kick at the door frame. Immediately, Paul is up on his feet.
"Come on, Ponyboy. Don't be like that."
"I hate it here!" I burst out, not able to hold it in. Tears prick my eyes.
"I know you do, but you could give it a chance. Maybe you would get pleasantly surprised." He's at my side now, grabbing my arm, but he holds it gentle. "Go upstairs now and calm down. We're playing games tonight, and I want you to participate, okay? Maybe I will change my mind if you do."
I drag myself loose from his grip and he lets me. It feels like he's blackmailing me. Do this, and I'll let you do that. It's ridiculous. I start to get angry. I go to the stairs and walk up to the second floor, but outside mine and Dean's room I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. I can't go in there. I need to be alone.
I go to the bathroom instead, and when I have locked the door I'm breathing hard, like I have been running. I walk up to the sink and turn on the cold water, washing my face, but it doesn't help. All I feel is this anger.
I stare into the mirror. I don't know who I'm seeing. I don't know who I am anymore. Maybe I'm not my parents son, my brothers brother. Maybe I'm no one. Suddenly I can't stand looking at myself. I just want the picture to disappear, so I curl my hand into a fist, and then I punch.
The sound of breaking glass echoes loudly in the room. Shards of the broken mirror rain down over the sink, down to the floor. I gasp over the pain, holding my wrist with the other hand. There is blood on my knuckles, and I take staggered steps backwards, until my back hits the wall. What did I do? I stare wide-eyed.
"Who's in there?" Someone tries the door handle, knocking on the door, and I glance at it. "Ponyboy?"
It's Paul.
"Go away!" I choke out. "Leave me alone!"
"Open the door!" he demands. "Mike!" he calls next. "Get the screwdriver and come upstairs."
I rub my eyes, not until now noticing my face is all wet. Water or tears? I don't know.
I hear someone trying to turn the lock around. I don't want them to come inside, don't want to face them. I kick hard at the trashcan. The metal buckles, and I watch it spill its contents over the floor as it tips over, before smashing into the bathtub.
I'm thinking of the possibility of climbing out through the window since I can't use the door when they stand on the other side, when suddenly someone grabs both my upper arms from behind.
"Stop it! Calm down now!" Paul says through gritted teeth, holding me hard as I tug.
"Let me go!"
"Not until you have calmed down." He moves his hands down to my wrists, holding me so tight I can't move. "Let's go to your room," he says, and drags me out of the bathroom. Some of the guys stand in the hallway outside, gawking at me, and I glare at them as we pass. Mike is holding them back, but I see Hank laughing.
"Way to go, Pony," he says after managing to take a peek into the bathroom.
Paul drags me into my room, telling a terrified looking Dean to leave, and he does. Then Paul throws me down at my bed, telling me to sit still. I scoot closer to the wall, hiding my face in my hands. The anger is slowly leaving me, and all I feel so bad for what I did. I want Soda. I need Soda here with me.
"What was that about?" Paul says angrily. "That is not the way we deal with our problems here."
I don't answer him, just pushes my fingers deeper into my eyes. Suddenly, he grips my hands again and pries them away.
"Where are you hurt? You have blood all over your face."
"It's just my hand," I mumble, so embarrassed now, and he holds it tight as he inspects the damage.
"We're going to the hospital, in case you need stitches," he decides quickly.
"Everything okay?" Mike asks from the doorway, and Paul lets go of me. I curl up, not listening to them as they speak in low voices. Paul comes back, giving me a wet cloth to wash the blood off my face, then handing me a dry one to wrap around my hand.
"Come on, kid."
I stand up on shaky legs, to follow him downstairs. He keeps his hand on my shoulder all the way until we get out to the car, and then he opens the passenger door for me. I dip my head and climb inside.
The car ride is quiet. I stare out through the window, both wishing he will say something and continue to keep quiet. I wonder if this will give me any trouble. I shouldn't have done what I did, I know that. It was stupid.
My hand is hurting, but I don't need stitches. The nurse just clean the wounds and patches me up, telling me to take care with a smile. I don't answer her, just walk out with Paul again. He stops me suddenly, as soon as we reach the parking lot.
"Never do something like that again," he says, but he sounds worried now, not mad. "Come talk if you feel that something is troubling you, okay? Then we can help you."
I nod, staring down at my shoes, already knowing it's a lie. I have already tried that, to talk to people. The problem is that they never care to listen.
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