1962
"I won't be home for dinner, Momma." Darry stood in the kitchen doorway, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. It poked out the neck of his sweater, one of the buttons undone so that the crew neck concealed all except the collar. He'd taken the buttondown from his father's closet and found the sweater at a second-hand store (a detail he wouldn't be sharing with anyone if he could help it).
"Again?" Mrs. Curtis looked up from the open oven, mitts still on her hands. She gave him a frown, her eyes darting between her son and her husband. "It's the third time this week."
Mrs. Curtis slipped the mitts off and shut the oven with her hip, still eyeing her son disapprovingly. A whiff of whatever was in the oven escaped as she closed the door, making Darry's nose twitch: tuna casserole. He got lost for a second in the temptation of the smell, but his mother filled the silence for him. "Don't you think you oughta have dinner with your own family once in a while?"
"Your mother's right, Darrel," Mr. Curtis spoke without looking up from his newspaper. He leaned back in his chair, his work shirt still on. At his side, Ponyboy sat with his homework in front of him, but it was clear by the shift of his eyes that he was trying to listen in. Darry felt a bubble of frustration, and for a moment, he wanted to snap at his youngest brother to mind his own business, but he swallowed the words and looked across the kitchen at his mother.
"Paul wants to play football," he answered plainly, shrugging a shoulder like it didn't matter much to him at all whether or not he had dinner with his family. He shifted his weight, silently communicating his impatience with this conversation. He was a junior now, he was old enough to go out and have his own plans. His own life. "The guys are waiting for me," he urged further, wanting to get this conversation finished so he could head out.
The newspaper rustled as Mr. Curtis glanced over it. And at this point, Ponyboy wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't listening. His pencil was no longer in his hand and he was staring at his older brother. Darry refused to make eye contact with him, so he glanced at his father instead. What a mistake.
"You can go out and play football... after dinner." His father's tone when addressing him (especially when addressing his behavior) was always sharper than his mother's was. It was in his nature, and Darry figured that's where he got it from. Not that his mother's voice couldn't pack a punch when she meant business.
"Paul's folks said I could have dinner there anytime. Said one more person is no trouble." Darry had trouble looking his father in the eye when he said it. In fact, it took all the confidence out of his tone and sucked the wind from his lungs just like that. His voice faltered on the last syllable, and he dropped his eyes to the table, willing his face not to shift from a neutral expression.
"Ah... so that's what this is about." Darry couldn't see his father's face, but he could hear the irritation in his voice. And the disappointment. The sheer disappointment that ripped through Darry's chest and lodged itself right in his sternum, where he could always feel it. As soon as he heard it, he wanted to murmur an apology and sit down and have dinner with his family. The one he belonged to. The one who might need to make each paycheck stretch but still made sure that no one - whether that be his brothers or any of their buddies - went hungry.
But he was too far in now. And the guys were waiting for him. He was supposed to do the kickoff... couldn't miss that. "I'll be back later, Ma," he said roughly, not even looking in his father's direction anymore. He didn't want his dad to see the shame in his eyes.
"Darrel, sit down." Mr. Curtis put his paper down on the table, hard. His voice snapped like a rubber band against the tension of the room and made Ponyboy flinch back. Even Mrs. Curtis, who had turned towards the sinkful of dishes so that her husband could handle it, whipped her head around. It was rare for Mr. Curtis to raise his voice or speak in any unkind tone. This was no longer a matter of civil conversation.
Darry knew if he looked over, the sharp eyes alone would be enough to make him give in. But he wouldn't be shocked into silence this time, not when he had plans and a time to adhere to. "Ain't my fault they have money over there," he muttered, the nastiness of the words feeling uncharacteristic even as he said them. He closed his eyes tightly, as if to pretend it was someone else speaking those words against his family. Maybe that would take some of the shame away. "Not like I can invite them over here."
He knew damn well that his parents would welcome any one of his friends into the house, no matter what their social class or background was. Hell, they'd even let Dallas Winston stay here for months until he figured out a place on his own, and that kid had a pretty harsh police record for only being fourteen. But this wasn't a matter at all of who his parents would allow in the house, and he knew that they knew that. But he couldn't expect them to understand that letting his friends see what his house looked like would be enough to ruin everything.
"Darry, sit down." It was his mother this time, and her voice was quiet. Perhaps sad, or also disappointed; he couldn't quite tell. But the request was nowhere near as harsh as his father's order had been.
Ponyboy suddenly piped up, having listened to the entire thing. "Can I come play football, too?" he wondered, glancing between his mother and his father and his brother. It should've been endearing, how he wanted to be just like his big brother, but it made something sour bubble up in Darry's stomach.
"Shut it, kid," he snapped without a care in the world, turning on his heels. He marched towards the front door, mildly surprised when he got there without his father jumping up to continue the argument. There wasn't a sound except for his own footsteps and the hushed whispers of his little brother in the other room as Ponyboy kept trying to convince their parents to let him tag along. Darry paused for a moment, only a moment to see if anyone would stop him, but nobody did. And so, he twisted the doorknob, and disappeared into the Oklahoma twilight.