Winter's Soliloquy
Chapter 21
Residual Effects
XXX
My alarm started beeping; without even having to look for it, I slapped the off button - silencing its infernal racket. Monday. Another day of labor. I took a deep breath, rubbed my face with the palms of my hands and sat up. As I pulled on my jeans, one thought kept running through my head – that this "work all day for peanuts just to pay the bills" crap wasn't worth the aches and pains I felt at six the next morning. Still, as I rummaged for a pair of matching socks and a shirt that wasn't hole-ridden, I knew it was my only option. I had at least two more years of this monotony before any break would come my way. Sigh. Coffee. I need coffee.
I trudged up the hallway, looking in the other two bedrooms of the house. Soda was still asleep in his bed, his arm over the empty space next to him. I shook my head, wondering when that habit would end. Further up the hall I noticed Pony's door was open, his bed empty.
"Ponyboy?" I called softly into the room, getting no answer. I moved on, smelling cooked food and noticing the kitchen light was on.
In a bowl on the counter were a couple of hard boiled eggs. Warm sausages were in another and on a plate was a pile of toast. "Ponyboy?" I called louder into the still of the house before noticing the back door open. It took another few seconds to find him, and even when I saw him, I had to look twice just to make sure. He was in the oak tree, laying against that favorite branch of his watching the sun come up.
"Hey," I said as I strolled over. He looked at me then back at the sky. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep." He yawned and hopped down. "Figured I may as well make breakfast. It should still be warm."
I looked closer at him. His eyes looked tired, but the way he looked around told me something else was bothering him.
"Something on your mind?"
He shook his head. "No. Nothing." He looked uncomfortable standing here, as if I were some stranger talking to him.
"Linda called for you last night." I don't think you could measure the time it took for his expression to change. "She said she'd call back. You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. Soda says you haven't been sleeping so good at night. You sure nothing's wrong?"
"Did she say what she wanted?"
Sure, ignore my question entirely. "Just that she said she'd call you back." I left out that she'd read about the shooting incident. "You sure you're okay?"
He nodded, his eyes a little brighter but overshadowed with something he wouldn't say. "Yeah, I'm good. Gotta go get ready for school. I've got track practice this afternoon, don't forget."
I followed him inside, watching as he grabbed an egg on the way to the bathroom. Soda came stumbling down the hall, a towel wrapped around him and dripping water all over the floor.
"You two go for a morning stroll or something?" he asked as he smeared jelly on two pieces of toast and laid sausage patties between them. I frowned, thankful I didn't inherit this particular glitch.
"Not likely. Found him in the tree, watching the sun come up."
He chuckled. "Guess it's the unofficial start to spring if Pony's in the tree again. He's better than that old groundhog any day."
I smiled. "Yeah, old Punxsutawney Phil hasn't got anything on Pony."
"Hey, you guys ready to go?" Steve called in from the door.
"PONY!" Soda shouted as he turned back to his room to get dressed."Time to go!"
"Alright, jeeze, you ain't gotta shout." Ponyboy – dressed and ready – came out of his room, grabbed his bag and headed outside. I grabbed another egg and then my tools, and followed the rest of the misfits out the door.
"Soda, if you're riding with me, you'd better hustle!" I called back into the house. He showed up, just as Steve left.
"I need my own set of wheels," Soda grumbled as he hopped in next to me.
"Then you'd better figure out a way to pay for them, hot shot."
XXX
My head hurt. Again. I'd taken the last of my Tylenol, and the bottle of aspirin in my locker was empty too. I slammed the door - then regretted it. The clanging of the metal reverberated in my head as if it were a steel drum. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering if I had to start wearing my glasses more often.
"We'd have won the game if it hadn't been for you, stupid grease." I heard behind me. I turned to see a few soc's standing close, a little too close.
"Yeah, well... I'm real broke up about it too," I muttered.
"Coach shouldn't have let you play so much. If he'd had any brain..."
"Gentlemen, mosey on to class. Andrew, I think you belong in history, Matt... the other end of the hall in English. Ponyboy..."
"Yes, ma'am, I'm due in chemistry." I made sure they weren't standing behind me before I turned my back on them but I didn't need to. Mrs. Hicks had already seen them off. She's a rover, a teacher who liked to roam the halls during breaks instead of waiting in the classrooms for the students to come in. I think she gets a kick out of seeing how many kids she can catch doing something wrong – one of those personalities that intend to fix the world by making sure we all behave in school.
Chemistry was boring. Mr. Teague loved to hear himself talk. Elements and atoms were his favorite subjects, and loved showing us how they connected using Styrofoam balls and lollipop sticks. It was interesting the first half of the year, but now I had to admit, watching little balls get stuck to medium sized balls was no more interesting than say -watching paint dry. Still, Mr. Teague would pass anyone as long as you acted like chemistry was the most fascinating subject the planet had to offer. And cheating – if you want to call it that – was even easier since he let us use our books for every major test. You could even pencil in your own notes to your hearts content.
Looking at my book, I tried to focus - but the pain behind my eyes wouldn't stop. Instead, I gazed at the periodic table in my text, trying to guess where all the abbreviations came from. Like, sodium is Na and potassium is K, but where did the Na and K originate?
As I thought harder, I brushed the red confetti spots off my page, then stopped when I realized they weren't confetti. They smeared. Another drop fell and I knew what it was. Crap, my nose was bleeding again. I pinched it off and kept my head down, trying to avoid being seen. It was an eternity before the bell rang, but when it did I grabbed my stuff and ran out of there as fast as I could.
The cool water felt good. At least the bleeding stopped. I'd managed to get to the boys bathroom and clean my face before my shirt got ruined. Just as I was leaving, a sudden loud bang sounded just outside the bathroom window, and I gripped the porcelain hard. A second later, the delivery van making all the noise pulled away and I tried to relax, letting go of the sink just as I felt something drip from my nose - again! I wiped the blood away, swearing to myself.
One the bleeding had stopped for the second time, I had just a minute to get to my next class and tried to rush. However, it led me right through a group of Soc's, most of whom were still of the opinion that I threw the game.
"Hey, grease... that was our last chance for a championship!" One of the seniors barked as he pushed me into the lockers. I dropped my bag and stood my ground, ready.
"I ain't all that pleased how it ended either."
"Yeah well ...point guard.... guard this!" He swung, I ducked and swung too. He clipped me on my shoulder but I landed one square in the midsection. The fight was on.
"Stupid grease bag!" one said.
"We'll teach you!" another joined in.
I was landing a good set of punches, hearing a few "oophs" along the way, but I'd landed in a hornets nest. I got slammed into the lockers a few times in the process but their fists also punched the metal when I could avoid them too. The hall suddenly was thick with people, a few greasers joining in the fracas just for the hell of it.
"Ponyboy, get out of here!" Someone hissed, and looking up I saw Steve as he rammed one of the guys into a locker. He disappeared in the crowd just as everyone seemed to scatter all at once. Only one thing could cause that... a teacher.
I tried to get my feet to go, but tripped over them just as a hand came down on me.
"Oh no you don't. Come on with me, young man. Principal's office. Now."
I was led down the hall by some teacher holding tightly to my bicep, squeezing it hard as if I were trying to wench away. In truth, I was just trying to make sure I had one foot in front of the other; the checkerboard tiles in the floor making me dizzy as we headed down the hall.
On the way, I noticed several people watching me, trying to act as if they were surprised anything was out of the norm. Two-Bit included, watching as I passed by him. Not far away was Steve, rubbing his jaw where I guess he'd been slugged. At least they'd managed to get out before getting caught.
"Sit!" She barked at me. I did, glad to stop moving. "Tell Mr. Lane that I managed to catch one of the students involved in the fight on the west hall," she commanded the secretary, eying me as if I were a convict. "What's your name?" she asked.
"It's okay, Mrs. Darcet. I know him," the secretary said. "Ponyboy, do you need to use the restroom? Your nose is bleeding."
"No ma'am. I'll be fine." I grabbed some tissues and held them against my nose while Mrs. Darcet filled out some form.
"Is Darrel available by phone?" she asked gently. I groaned, knowing this was going to happen. Darry was going to cream me.
"I don't think so. He's at some new site on the north side of town."
"Sodapop then?"
It sucks when my family's situation is known even by the secretary. Still, she looked at me with compassionate eyes.
"He's at work. He'll know how to reach Darry."
Mrs. Darcet gave me one more contemptuous look and left in a huff while Sodapop was called. In her low voice, I heard her end of the conversation.
"Sodapop, this is the high school. I need to get in contact with Darrel." … "No, he's fine. But there was an altercation and Darrel will need to come down." … "Thank you."
After she hung up the phone, she went behind the dark doors of the office and handed Mr. Lane the papers, reporting me for fighting. Another teacher – Mrs. Mose was there, discussing something with him already. I was glad, not so eager to rush into my fate. For a while, the tickity tackity of keys being hit as the secretary typed her heart out was the only noise in the room. I closed my eyes, resting my head against the cool leather seat while the soft voices of Mr. Lane and Mrs. Mose filtered through.
"I'm sorry, Jeff, I know this leaves you in a lurch, but I have to leave before the end of term. I'm sure you can find a replacement. There are lots of people around who can perform at the ceremony."
"I understand, Lois. I just wish I had known sooner so I could plan. Best of luck to you. Tell your husband good luck for me too."
The door opened and Mrs. Mose left, Mr. Lane giving me a stare. "You hurt, Ponyboy?"
I wiped my nose again, the bleeding all but stopped. I dropped the bloodied tissues in the trash and got some new ones. "No sir," I softly answered.
"Well, come in, let's hear your story."
His office was dark mahogany. The place seemed just right for a principal's office, dark and foreboding. I wondered if the paint had been touched up since Sodapop had sat in these same chairs.
"Fighting?" he asked, looking over the paper.
"Self-defense. I didn't start it."
He sighed, looking at me. The secretary came in, setting something on his desk and gave me a soft smile.
"Fighting is against the rules, Ponyboy. If someone is bothering you, you need to report it to a teacher, not resort to violence yourself. Who were the other students? Mrs. Darcet wrote here that there were at least two others she saw involved but wasn't able to apprehend them."
Great. Someone tosses me into a locker, and I'm supposed to go running to the office pointing my finger saying "he's not being nice!" Get real. "I didn't catch their names. Sorry, Mr. Lane."
He stared a moment longer then sat back, reading more from the file. I realized then that it was my file he was reading. I wondered how many times it had been perused, and by how many. My head was still killing me so I lay my head back and closed my eyes. Darry would come, eventually.
Eventually came soon enough.
"How may I help you?" I heard the secretary ask on the other side of the door.
"Darrel Curtis; you called for me?" His deep voice sounded controlled. My eyes shot open, white flecks flying in my vision.
"Hello again, Darrel. It's been a few years. Hold on, Ponyboy and Mr. Lane are in here...." a tap on the door later and he came in.
"Afternoon, Darrel," Mr. Lane stood up. I gave Darry a peek, and despite the calm demeanor he was giving off, I could see he was pissed. He took a seat next to me and returned my peek with a glare before turning his attention back to Mr. Lane.
"Mr. Lane. What happened?"
"Seems Ponyboy and some other students were involved in an altercation a little while ago. Unfortunately, the other students managed to get away... and Ponyboy doesn't seem to recall who they were. You understand the policy, no fighting allowed on school property. I'm afraid Ponyboy will need to go home for the rest of the day and will have to stay out tomorrow as well."
Darry's jaw clenched. "And as far as the other students he was fighting with?"
"If Ponyboy chooses to remember who they were, they will be questioned and appropriate action taken."
Darry's eyes glanced my way again, but I turned my head and stared at the red and white tissues in my hand.
"I will say this much," Mr. Lane went on. "Mrs. Hicks reported earlier that Ponyboy was being hassled by some of the senior class students. Whether the two events are related, I don't know. And I'm not sure who started either of these events. However, Ponyboy is a good student, with an above-average grade point average. I've been looking over his record, and despite all the traumatic things that's happened to him, he seems to be doing his best. I'm going to cut him some slack, seeing as how I'm not so sure who swung the first punch. I'll put down in his record that he was sent home for defending himself, not for starting the fight." Mr. Lane turned to me again. "Let this be a lesson to you, Ponyboy. I won't tolerate fighting in this school."
"Yes sir," I mumbled back. Like I cared – if someone takes a swing at me, I'm sure as heck gonna swing back. However, telling Mr. Lane that probably wouldn't do me any good right then.
"Is he still eligible for track? He was supposed to go to the tryouts this afternoon."
Mr. Lane ran his finger over his chin. "I'll give the coach a call. Ponyboy's an outstanding runner. I'm sure the coach can work something out. But he will have to miss the tryouts this afternoon. Anything else?"
"No sir. Thank you, Mr. Lane."
"You're welcome. I'd wished we could have met again under better circumstances, but as it is, let's just get the next few days behind us and move on. Have a good afternoon, Darrel. Ponyboy."
Now it was Darry's turn to squeeze my bicep as he all but dragged me from the school. He said nothing all the way to the truck, but let me have it once it was in gear and we were moving. I tried to keep up with the rant, but eventually it got away from me. I remember bits and pieces of it, things he'd said more than once.....
"Lost a few hours pay for this..." "...I don't send you to school to fight...." "... what the hell were you thinking..." "... Damn lucky if the coach lets you run...." It went on and on all the way to the house.
"Go clean yourself up, you've got blood all over your shirt." He seethed as he pulled me in the house. "Now you'd better listen up and listen good. I have to go back to work now, try to salvage some sort of paycheck out of this disaster. You'd better not leave these four walls. And when I come home, dinner had better be ready and the house in 'social worker inspection' shape. No excuses!"
His eyes were sparking like a bad battery cable. I nodded. He turned, left the house and with a squeal of the gas, was gone.
My nose dripped again and I went to the table and blew it, spraying blood all over the napkin. I found more Tylenol in the cabinet and swallowed them, hoping my headache would soon stop.
The house was quiet as I stood there, feeling the pounding of my heart in my eyes. I looked around, the general clutter of everyday mess occupying its usual spots, very little of it mine. I started in, picking up Darry's book on cabinetry that had been left on the coffee table; certain pages dog-eared, Soda's Auto magazine was on the floor by the armchair; just about every page advertising a car with a rather attractive yet scantily dressed woman draped over the hood. Which they were trying to sell confused me completely. Even Two-Bit's forgotten beer was on the floor by the couch. As I put it in the fridge, I noticed he'd left another one there as well, opened and half empty.
I took Darry's book to his room and dropped Soda's magazine on his bed, noticing the crumpled pack of smokes he'd taken from me on his dresser. I palmed them, meaning to take them back to my room – but instead I found myself in the kitchen, swiping Two-Bit's cold, unfinished beer and a lighter, heading out to the back porch. Sitting on the steps, I stared at them for a while; my mind blank. My head hurt too much to think. I took a swallow, the taste sharp, bitter; stinging my throat. How anyone could like this was beyond me. My hands shook as I lit the cigarette, lungs burning like razor cuts as I sucked it in. I coughed a bit, then swallowed more beer to wet my throat. One hand had the beer, the other had the smoke; and I gave each equal work.
As the minutes went by, I could tell my face was wet once more. Shoot, I'm bleeding again. Stupid nose, I thought. But wiping my face - it wasn't blood. It came from my eyes this time. I wiped again and again, my vision blurring after each wipe. What the hell? I finished the beer and stuck the butt in the bottle, then lay back against the house, closing my eyes. The sun was warm and I was tired. I'll take a nap and then get up to finish the house, hoping I could get at least one thing right today.
XXX
Calla Lily Rose