lulusgardenfli: glad you grabbed the bus pass, cause your gonna need it. It's one heck of a trip over land and soul. Hope you like where I take it.
Guest: Good to know! Ill try to keep it!
metacognitive: Love your work! Jaw dropped you said! Well, I hope it stays that way!
Alaster Boneman:Ha, nice to know!
Chapter II
Anyone who'd ever made a brief acquaintance of Sodapop Curtis would be so able to place his or her on the Bible, and testify before the throne of God Himself that this...this...slack-jawed, road-kill look gracing his canny features, underneath a little-boy's eyes, was not the natural arrangement of his face.
Grins, and flashes of pearly teeth, a gleam in the eye of eternal morning, the lingerings of jungle damnation he couldn't shake, but kept under control for humanity's sake...these where the features that those who knew him could claim him by. Heck, if Darry or Pony were to walk by just now, even they might wander pass without so much as a second glance, for the dumbfound man who couldn't find his-self a single word if his life deepened on it...
Save for one.
"What?"
It was the only one he had. The one he'd asked more than once, between the time of his parents' car accident and the advent of his majority; the best years of his left heralded by the thin slip of a draft noticed, and the smell napalm and gunshots in the morning.
"What?" he asked again, a little stronger now making it stronger, steadier. Because he had to be. And the woman for whom he'd tried to do today's Good Deed for flushed, and bit her lip, while her boy obliviously played with her gold necklace...that oddly enough, held both a cross and a Star of David (which didn't do much to help him stop feelin' like he was in the Twilight Zone any...).
"I'm sure it sounds unbelievable to you, young man," the woman hurried out in a rash, free hand out out as if psychically hold off any disbelief. Thing was...Soda did believe her. Because he could see it in the flash her eyes, of wheat gold hope, the same color as his hair.
"No, I believe ya," he assured the woman, quick and smooth, licking his lips, breathing in, steadying himself as she relaxed. "I...I can see your telling the truth...as ya know it..."
"There's only evah one kinda truth, son," the woman corrected softly, that hand coming closer now, but not touching him. Though he could see her fingers ache to take hold. "And if the truth I believe here is correct...I think ya the son of the man who save m' husband's life...and by extension m' children."
The pain that shot through his bones was like the silver bullet through a werewolf, purifying and damning all at once, that tie of flesh and severed blood not lessened by the distance of years, the passage of time.
...Anyone who'd ever made a brief acquaintance of Sodapop Curtis would be so able to place his or her on the Bible, and testify before the throne of God Himself that Soda was impulsive as a tumbleweed in the wind. That his mind was quicksilver that never hardened. While his heart, despite everything, was still trusted far above his brain.
And that truth showed itself in the wide, slow smile that spread 'cross his face, as his lanky self sprung up like a cornstalk, perfectly in time with the hiss of the greyhound that crawled to a stop before them, grabbing the woman's attention with a sort of desperation that he felt duty bound to relieve.
"Well Ma'am," he noted mildly, as the bus doors swung open, waiting for them. "Supposed there's only one way t' find out."
"Supposed there is," the woman agreed, beaming.
O*T*M
And that was how he wound up on the wrong bus, taking him North to mother-effing Ohio of all places, sitting with fake relaxation as he rode God's good humor to a middle of nowhere place he didn't know, to visit people he never met, with nothing but a stranger's word and his hope that it would turn out okay...
He breathed out. Wasn't nothin' he hadn't done before.
Only difference was that this time, it was his choice.
Alice-Marie Curtis was nice enough to let him take the window seat, and more than willing to fill his ears with soft constant talk to fill in the gape between their truths and blend it into one.
"Soda...my Soda, doesn't like to talk about it," she confessed, shuffling Joshua Curtis on her blue clothed lap as he continued giggle and squirm, fascinated by the happenings outside the window. "He-"
"Here, give 'im here," Soda coaxed her gently, already slipping the boy from his mother lap to his own, holding him easily with one hand on the kid's waist as his small nose pressed against the glass.
"Thank you," Alice-Marie breathed in poorly disguised relief, before her newly freed hands began to wrangle themselves, and she started where she left off.
"My Soda...he was a little boy in Poland when the War broke out...passing through German Camp after German Camp..." she bit her lip. "And...somewhere between the camps he...lost his name..."
That got his attention. "Lost his name?"
"It's not as farfetched as you might think...they whittled him down to where only the absolute necessity of life stuck in his mind...and his given name didn't make the list. So Soda...my Soda...he let it go and it never came back. He doesn't remember his birth name. Its gone."
...There was once a time, before 'Nam, where he wouldn't of believed her, believed anybody could be brought to a place where they literally, honestly, didn't recall their own damn name.
But that had been then, and this was now, and Soda knew first had that such things weren't only possible, but actively probable. There been too many sweltering nights in Nam, where madness had walked to close to the shadows surrounding 'em, demanding sacrifice upon it's alter to retain some moderation of functionality. Some of the guys he was with chose to offer up their past, forgetting it had ever been to exist in the here and now. Others offered up their future, and received reckless balls of steel in return.
And one or two had offered up their own names, refusing to share 'em, so back home they wouldn't carry any of their memories or sins. He rub his dog tag, the bullet hole marking what Soda had chosen to offer up, in order to get his ass back Stateside.
His mouth pulled -yeah, Stateside...but not home. He could never go home.
"I believe ya," he told her gravely, and saw her shoulders slump with relief.
"Thank you..." she drawled softly, eyes soft like a benediction. And he nodded his head in acceptance.
O*T*M
The bus-load of them drove through the night, under a firmament of innumerable stars, draped over black cloaked cornstalks, whispering as the wind from the bus passed 'em by, glistening in the drizzle. It was a gentle sort of rain, falling like kisses on the window, and turning into bullet drops of silvers, before bleeding downward in oozing ribbons of crimson over the seats, down from the roof, pouring over his face, bleeding from the wounds tore on his forehead where the mark of the beast still sat-
He jerk partially awake soundlessly, to the crash of thunder, and to the whimper from the small body trying to hide between himself and the child's mother. Still disoriented, Soda absently reached out a hand and ruffled it through the kid's hair and felt the child calm.
"S okay, Pony," he muttered, lost somewhere between past and present as he resettled himself and shut his eyes. He keep his hand firmly planted on the kid's head. That was probably the reason he didn't fall into a dream again.
O*T*M
The town of Midian, Ohio was the small and rural; closely knitted by the patches of walking-distance homes and farms, that reminded Soda of the quilts patterns his mother would make, out of their old jackets and pajamas. It was a misty, silver spun morning, sprinkling itself with a lightening of gold as their bus pulled to a stop, and Soda pulled his own pack over his shoulder and also took hold of Alice's suitcase while she carried Joshua. Even as they made their way down the steps of the bus, something just under Soda's skin crawled with the sense of being watched. And he had a feeling he knew by whom.
As the cross over the dirt patch, the man who was obviously Alice Curtis' husband was waiting for them, a calm looking older guy, that still had hints of being handsome from his youth, with dark curly hair, thick eyebrows, green eyes behind rimmed glasses and a couple of scars for toughness, musing on a cancer stick with some thought or another.
The man's brow furrowed when he saw Soda heading his way over with his family, at least at first. But then he squint, then stared, his smoke falling between his fingers in a golden spiral.
Alice took a breath like she was planning to go deep sea diving, before stepping forward and placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, wetting her lips.
"H-honey...this is-"
"-You're Dare's son, aren't you," the man said frankly, softly, with a bit of lingering accent, but also the way Johnny Cade would speak, his voice the wind through the willow. And the use of Darrel Curtis' personal nickname -known only to his friends- disintegrated any remaining doubt that hadn't existed in Soda's mind, as the invaluable cord of connection tightened across wars and decades.
Soda nodded, holding out a hand.
"I am," he confirmed, trying for a verity of reasons to keep the shame from from his voice. He flashed a distracting grin. "One of 'em anyhow...the best looking definitely."
Alice's husband let out a gasping sort of laugh, the kind you made when the joy you had inside was to great to either contain or let escape. The elder Sodapop Curtis promptly ignored his hand, and took Soda by the shoulders, staring into the brown morning rims that once belonged to a twenty year old soldier, in 1945.
Alice choked, her hand covering her mouth as tears of manna spilled messily down her face. But her husband just let out another laugh, shaking his head with wonder.
"If you are Dare's boy, then you are my nephew," the man stated, nodding as if this was on official papers. "You are my brother's son."
As he spoke, he lifted his arm to clasp Soda on the neck, the sleeve of his shirt rolled down, display an uneven tattooing of blue numbers across the skin, in about the worse ink-jobs Soda had seen. Which was saying something, as he seen some pretty lousy ones in the Marines. It didn't look like the kind anyone would get willingly, so he would be willing to bet strong money on the fact that it wasn't, and let it stay buried with all the things he wanted to hide; as his own mouth broke into the sort of smile he hadn't been sure it could make anymore.
Though it died a fast death at the next question. Died right in the pit of his stomach.
"How is Dare?" the man asked eagerly, damned near begged, in the manner Pony used to with him. Or Johnny did with Dally. And the way he used to with Darry. there was that same worshiped in this stranger's eyes. "How has life treated him?"
...Christ Jesus, what could he say? As it turns out...there was nothing to be said, or had to be. Because Soda's eyes must've said it. Said it all. Alice's husband went very still, mouth slightly open, the way people did when some basic fact of their world got ripped out from under their feet. But something flexible yet steely clawed it's way into the man before him, something that was terribly use to acceptance.
"When?" he asked mildly, with a soft sort of dignity. "How?"
Soda let himself wet his lips, before blowing out air in an uneven breath.
"1965," he answered. "Car accident."
Alice's husband blinked hard, and took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt before breathing out in release.
"This is not the place for this sort of thing," he said finally. "Let's go home."
O*T*M
Once things cooled down a bit, and they'd all collected themselves, they piled into the lime green Cadillac; Alice and Soda together trying to explain the bends of fate that had tossed them all together, as they car cruised the winding roads.
"Unbelievable..." was all Alice's husband could say at the intervals, the thirty eight year old shaking his head, eyes far and away. "My God...unbelievable."
"Took the words right out my mouth sir," Soda agreed, as he eyed the ranch house they were pulling up next too, atop a grassy hill with a bright brown roof, peeling white door, and tire swing dangling from an oak, fields of wheat swaying in the high afternoon. The exact sort of place he and Ponyboy always wanted to live, dreamed and schemed of living in when they were little, before the knew the score.
"Please...make yourself at home," Alice bustled once she had them inside, setting Joshua in his playpen and rushing of the the kitchen. "I'm gonna get some soup on before Esther gets home..."
Soda cocked his head. "Esther?"
"Our tokhter...daughter," the older Curtis corrected himself. "She's ten years old. Dropped her off at school before I came to get Alice...and you..."
His eyes softened, and he gestured to the well-loved couch in the living room, draped in the sunshine of the front window. "If you don't mind-"
"No, sir, I don't," Soda assured him solemnly, having an idea of where this was going -though, admittedly, he cringed a little at the thought of letting his filthy self, both literally and otherwise, further into this home beyond the mud-room where men like him belonged. But this time, he'd allowed himself to cross the threshold, for the sake of the questions he could plainly see in need of answerin'.
That was how he found himself setting across this man, the one man in the whole U. S. of A. who shared his name. Two Sodapop Curtis, with a menagerie of broken and rebuilt dreams littered between them. Seen but unspoken.
Alice brought out a couple of beers, both that sat not only untouched but unseen, as the older man leaned gently across the space, tapping the table between them.
"Tell me about your father son, and I'll do the same for you."
Review, please if you like.
Some questions have been answered, and yet more are too come. How do you like how I write Soda, in my version, the war in nam messed him up, but also made him -finally- grow up in some sense. Will see how in latter chapters.