Chapter 7

Newish Reviewer- looks like we were thinking alike…hope you like this one.

The Outsiders is my favorite book, but believe it or not, westerns are my favorite genre (though I read about anything).

(Soda)

You can't count on the state for much. But I've learned in the last almost 2 years that there's always some things that you can count on.

1. They will be late. To everything.

2. Expect the unexpected, and not in a good way.

3. They don't give a hang about you or your family.

If they cared they wouldn't have taken away me and Pony. Or at least not Pony. Anyone with a set of eyes can see that Darry is real good for him. Sure, he was a bit too hard on Pony. Sure, we'd gotten into a bit of trouble lately, but what greaser hadn't? That's just how it is on our side of town. And everyone knows Pony is different. He ain't like the rest of us. He's got a shot.

Or had one.

So, you could say that I wasn't surprised that Tim Shepard was the last one through the door. I wasn't surprised that the woman who ripped our family apart couldn't be bothered to get outta bed and show up for the worst moment of our lives, but a hood from across town could. This was the third time he'd been here-he even brought Curly last night- and already that made it so he'd been here two more times than she had.

I guess the state was okay with lettin' us make all the decisions, cause so far they hadn't really shown their faces. Darry said that social worker had come to check in on Ponyboy once. ONE TIME. That's it. And while she was here, she'd delivered some letter about a court date where Darry could get us back.

Too little. Too late.

I hoped she'd had the decency to at least look ashamed when she handed him the letter. But I didn't ask Darry anything about it. It wasn't important anymore anyway. I'd be 18 in not too long, so it wouldn't matter. But it would've been good for Pony.

Tim was smokin' by the door. I saw the doctor eye him, wanting to tell him to knock it off, but Shepard has that look about him. That look that says that no one tells him what to do if they know what's good for them. I guess being a doctor you can read people pretty well, cause he'd just put his lips together real tight and ignored the smoke curlin' around Tim.

Two Bit was pretty shook up. I could hear the radio rattle against the floor as he plugged it in. Even Steve's eyes were red and puffy, and he was doing that thing he does when he's nervous, where he rocks from side to side, hands shoved into his pockets.

Anyway, I guess I took all this in pretty quick, cause by the time the doc got to the bed my attention was back on him and Pony.

I asked the doc a question and almost didn't hear the answer cause my ears were doing that thing again where the only thing I can hear is my heartbeat thudding against my ear drums. My breathing sounded loud, even to me. But somehow, I heard Tim over it all.

"He'll be fine." His words echoed mine. He said like Dally would have, like there was no doubt what was going to happen. Like he could just say it was all fine and it would be. Good ol' Tim.

The doctor explained what he was going to do, but I wasn't listening no more. Two Bit had the radio playing softly. Pony's favorite song came on, and I supposed it was good that my sobbing wasn't the only sound in the room.

It looked real easy for the doc. Like he wasn't killing my baby brother. Killing me. Killing Darry. It was just like he was flipping off a light switch or something. His face didn't even change. I suppose it was just another day for him. Dying greasers don't bother nobody but other greasers.

My heart was squeezing in my chest and I couldn't catch my breath. It felt like someone was stabbing a blade right through my heart, pinching and twisting it so that it wasn't beating right.

Then he was pulling the tube from Pony's throat.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Please, no.

I couldn't watch. I clutched Pony's hand, squeezing my eyes closed and dropping my head on the bed.

I about wet myself when I heard him gasp, then cough.

Jesus Christ!

I didn't realize I'd jumped to my feet until I was standing over him, Darry over my shoulder, looking down into those beautiful green eyes.

He coughed again.

"Hey, Sodapop." The words were slow, drawn-out like he was talking in his sleep. His voice was hoarse and raspy. But it was unmistakably his voice.

Waves of relief washed over me.

Good glory, this kid was gonna be the death of me.