The May sun and heat fry my skin, despite my cousins old great sweatshirt. Or maybe it's because of the sweatshirt that I'm so hot. Street signs are blurred blue blobs as I pass and people stare as I go by. I"m already five blocks away from school; running just comes easy to me. Though my feet are aching and my lungs are screaming, and my body is begging me to stop. I only have one thing on my mind. Cecil Jacobs just told the entire eighth grade that my father is a murderer.
I feel like passing out, but it's fine because I'm already at the Tulsa World building. I can't help but be a little proud, I ran Downton in (maybe) ten minutes. But the pride doesn't last too long as I remember Cecil. He got up onto the lunch table and screamed that my father and his best friends had killed Bob Sheldon when they were kids.
The story of Bob Sheldon was one known to every middle/high school kid. On Halloween, kids would go to the fountain at Crutch-field park trying to see of his ghost is still there. A lot of people believed he wasn't really dead. Thought that maybe this kid got tired of living a perfect life and went off to live as a hippie. Others thought it was a drug deal gone bad. Apparently rich kids have problems. Most people were just content with the stabbing story though, it was the easiest explanation. I always wondered if any of it were true; believing that someone created a ghost story and sold it a little too well. Now I didn't have to wonder. Apparently, Bob Sheldon is dead and my father was the one to stab him in the back.
Ponyboy Curtis was a lot of different things to me. He was the guy who stayed home when I was sick, who let me lie next to him on the couch, even if I was too old for it. He was the person who sat with me after a nightmare when I was younger, no matter how stupid or dumb it was. He was the one who sat in my room to watch me sleep, just because he was quelling a nightmare of his own. He was the one who helped me with my homework and quizzed me before a test. He is my father. But, how much do I really know about the man I so lovingly called dad?
I forgot that I was supposed to be in school. Supposed to be in third period English right now. Maybe that's why the receptionist is so surprised to see me. She watches me approach her and says, "JD aren't you supposed to be in class?"
I've been here so much that everyone knows me. Dad used to bring me when I was little. He's let me go into the printing room and watch the presses, or sit up on his desk and pretend to edit an old copy of the paper. One time, he put a fresh copy of an article and I found a typo. It was the greatest feeling in the world to have him tell me that soon he'd be out of a job. I was going to replace him before I even hit the fifth grade.
"Can you get my dad?" I say, and my voice shakes. I still can't wrap my head around the whole idea of my father stabbing someone. He has never liked violence, he absolutely hates it. Maybe that's why?
She doesn't ask another question, but looks incredibly concerned. I can hear her paging my dad over the little phone-intercom thing.
My head is still spinning, Cecil's words playing like a broken record in my head. He was a friend of mine — somewhat — and we had a fight. I had said somethings I really didn't mean and planned to apologize when I saw him in English. He had started telling the real story of Robert Sheldon's death around the grade until someone got up on a lunch table and called my father a murderer.
"JD, what the hell are you…" My dad stops when he sees me, and I'm sure I look as sick as I feel. Either Cecil was lying and now I'm a social pariah at school, or Cecil was telling the truth and my father is a murderer and I'm a social pariah at school.
"CecilJacobstoldtheenitreschoolthatyouandyourfriendmurderedBobSheldon." I blurt It out all at once because I don't like the idea of accusing my father of this. He's the guy who trips over everything. The guy who leaves the front door unlocked all the time because: "I'm sorry Annie, that's just how I grew up." He isn't the guy you accuse of murdering someone while on his teens.
I want him to yell at me, want him to ream me out in front of the entire office. Anything to prove this isn't true. But he doesn't. He puts a hand on my shoulder and says, "I'll tell you what happened. Come on, kiddo."
He sits me down in his office, and hands me a glass of water. I'm starring at the mug, it's the world's best dad mug Allison and I made him for father's day years ago. I don't know if I want to hear this, but I know I have too.
My dad tells me what happened that night. Talks about walking those two girls home and getting into it with their boyfriends. He talks about his fight with Uncle Darry, the very thing that caused him to be in Crutch-field park that night.
"My friend Johnny and I were just gonna walk to the park and back. I just wanted to calm down…" He says, and I interrupt him.
"Your friend Johnny?" Something is slowly dawning on me.
My dad nods and says, "Yeah. Jonathan Cade, he was my best friend at the time."
He continues on with the story, and I learn what really happened that night in the park. Now I know why my father gets anxious when Allison and I roughhouse in Uncle Darry's pool. I get why, even though my cousins are old enough to lifeguard, my dad insists on sitting on the deck.
I learn why Johnny Cade stabbed another teenager that night, and I'm grateful he did. I'm sure my father wouldn't be here telling me this story if he didn't and I'm sure I wouldn't be here listening. I'm content with the explanation given to me, and when my dad asks if I have any questions, I say no.
"Alright, kiddo. You want to go back to school?" I know he's just teasing me, but I'm pretty sure my face crumples. He laughs, "Skipping school. You really are a Juvenile Delinquent."
Even though it's only half-way through his work day my dad takes me home. The rest of the day is watching TSN re-runs and convincing my mother that dad did really get me into trouble for skipping.