Chapter Nine
It was one of those summers that seemed endless. Hot, muggy, and fuzzy around the edges. Mark was prowling around to find new people to sell to, and I went along for the ride. He was good at making connections, slinking into a room and maneuvering around, constantly reorienting himself to get what he wanted. But selling drugs was harder than he originally thought, not that he'd ever cop to it.
We had gone all over trying to push. I took Mark to the Soc parties I kept getting invited to. That's where we had the most success. We tried other places too. We went out to the Black suburbs, but the guys out in Brumly can't afford two bucks for a pill, so that was a bust. Jack's was still working out for Mark. We went there so much that summer. I'd meet Mark there after I got done at the library. Sometimes I'd get there first and sit quietly on a barstool and draw portraits of the patrons. They were beautiful.
We went to Mohawk Park a couple weeks after we'd first gone to Jack's.
I got spooked there. At first, we couldn't find anything sordid. No homosexuals or even hippies, like at the city park. It wasn't exactly a cool hang out. It was mostly families with kids and old people with binoculars, on the trails that ran along Bird Creek. I got to explain to you that Mohawk Park is huge. It had the zoo, a nature center, a golf course, and a rodeo arena. We split up to cover more ground.
I was ready to call it and try to find Mark, but I got distracted on Bird Creek Bridge looking out over the babbling murky water. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man who looked vaguely familiar. His brown eyes so dark they were nearly black. I shouldn't have met his gaze, I knew that at the time. But there was a pull at my chest as I tried to place him. He was handsome, with olive skin and black hair. Older than my dad. He looked like he had wandered over from the golf course. He probably had. His wine-colored striped polo shirt matched his trousers.
He didn't say anything, as he approached. He just placed his hand next to mine on the railing, with a crisp five dollar bill rolled between two fingers like a cigarette.
I looked up at him, but he turned away from me, pretending to stare at the creek. The letters "A.S." were monogrammed on his short sleeve.
He jerked his head toward the woods.
Mouth dry, I said, "No."
"Ten, then." He had a confident way about him, like he was used to getting what he wanted, but he faltered as he looked around the bridge. "You'll come to my car." It wasn't a question.
I took off at a dead run. It wasn't that scary. It wasn't like he did anything. But I was still scared.
"Why didn't you go with him?" Mark asked, when I found him and told him about the man.
I fumbled for a weed with sweaty hands. "I think he wanted to do somethin'."
"No shit. No one's going to give you ten dollars to go for a walk."
"Would you? Have gone with him, I mean?" I glanced around the park, ready to book it.
"Yeah, if I didn't have to do anything. Bet you could've just let him jerk you off, it's a win-win." I knew he was annoyed, because I'd gotten good at reading his moods. It'd been building for days. We were both tensed up, he needed to come up with a hundred dollars by the end of the month for the guy he got his supply from.
"What if he wanted to do more? Would you be okay with that?"
There was a cascade of cross vine blossoms on the side of the elm tree behind Mark. They were beginning to wilt, but the vines would last long after the flowers fell to the forest floor. The tendrils would remain deciduous, insidiously entwined with the bark, until winter came and they decayed. All vining plants wreak havoc on their hosts, even the pretty ones.
"Well, I'd never let anyone fuck me." - I thought that was insulting, but I wasn't about to tell him so - "But you might as well. We need the money."
We? I wasn't the one who agreed to some guy on the Ribbon to push. I told him I thought it was a bad idea from the start.
He got mad that day, and I'd stopped being surprised by his outbursts.
My hand looked distorted and discolored, by the time I got home. Deep plum bruises crept down from the tip of my crooked pinky to the bottom of my wrist. Darry made a big deal out of it.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, as he pressed a box of frozen peas to the side of my hand to bring down the swelling. "Don't lead with your smallest knuckle and keep your wrist straight - up and through."
That bothered me, because I knew how to throw a punch. Maybe I wasn't tough like my brothers, but I could still fight like one. Besides, I hadn't been punching at all, when I heard the snap. But it hurt too much to try to argue. Wincing, I replied, "I know."
"If you keep getting busted up like this, the people from the state are gonna think I beat you. Do you think we need to take him to the hospital, Soda?"
I felt bad, because the last thing we needed was another medical bill. And it was late; Darry had already put in a long day. He didn't need to spend the night in the emergency room with me.
He did, though. I'd get the cast off in six weeks, but it would always make itself known before a storm.
Two weeks and three days past, and I hadn't seen Mark. He was avoiding me after the park. Maybe because he was still angry with me. Or maybe because he knew it would make me want him more. Make me want to do things that would get him to come back and stick around. I figured if I came up with the money, he couldn't stay mad at me and he wouldn't be so stressed, which is why I had sixty-eight dollars under the hood of my typewriter and an old snuff tin with nine leftover pills. Sometimes it beat like a tell-tale heart while I insisted I was still sane. Other times, I tried not to let it bother me and just slept, which was what I was trying to do that morning. But Soda didn't let me.
He pounced on the bed. "Wake up, Ponyboy! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
I rolled onto my stomach, as Soda dug his fingers into my side, driving me to the head of the bed. I scrunched up my body to get away from the assault. Darry's footfalls were as heavy and steady as he is. He got my other side and I couldn't escape, but my giggles did. I can't help that I'm ticklish.
Palm out, I shot up my arm in surrender. "Okay, okay! I'm up." Then I wacked Soda on the side with my heavy plaster cast, for good measure. It wasn't the best thing for a broken wrist, but I don't use my head.
Darry forced a knuckle between two of my ribs, and I yelped. You better believe that hurts.
"Don't do that, it won't heal if you don't leave it be," he said. "Your breakfast is gettin' cold."
I glared at him. A long time ago, when I was four and Darry was ten, he tickled me in the hallway until I pissed myself. I hadn't forgotten. I'll never forget. And today was my birthday. I'd eat cold eggs, if I wanted to.
Soda threw a similar glare at me so overdone I had to grin. "Come on, hurry up and eat. We got to drop Darry off at work, before we hit the town."
"We don't got to go anywhere special."
"What, can't fit me into your busy schedule? You got to go to the library?" Soda teased. Going to the library had become my favorite excuse, even when I didn't have to work. I knew that was the last place the gang might go and see I wasn't there, the library.
I shook my head. Truth was, I was hoping Mark would turn up. I was nervous. I wanted to be here if he came looking for me.
"Gosh, but when's the last time we've goofed around?"
That sold me, you just couldn't say no to Soda. I got out of bed to eat.
My eggs weren't cold, they were just the way I liked them. When we were little, Mom would split up the eggs for me and Soda, because I only liked the whites and he liked the yokes. I used to be a picky eater, but I had to get over it.
We were going to spend my birthday together, just me and Soda. Darry had to work, but Soda traded shifts with Steve. I didn't ask him to. But Soda seemed excited. He always tried hard to make things fun for me, make it seem like we were still a real family, and not just three boys who lived in the same house. It was Soda who would always get out the Christmas decorations and insisted on marking our heights on the wall like Dad used to. And it was like Dad, the way he hopped on the counter started reminiscing.
"I remember the day you were born."
Darry shoved him onto the floor. "No, you don't. You was two."
Soda made a face like he still was. "Uh-huh. It was the best day of my life."
"Now I know you don't remember. All these ladies came over and we went out chopping wood with Dad, but we could still hear Mom screaming from inside. It was terrifying. You remember the log house, Pony?" Darry asked, running water into the sink so the dishes could soak. No one would have time to do them before we left.
I shook my head but said, "Kinda." Truthfully, I didn't know if I actually remembered anything from before we moved to Tulsa, or if my memories were reconstructed from stories I'd been told. I was real young then.
My memories were all at this house. Me and Soda pretending to be dogs, crawling around and lapping water out of a bowl on the floor. We'd played cowboys and house, and once ripped off the bark of the white ash tree in the backyard, which made Mom mad. We were trying to make maple syrup. You can't get syrup out of an ash tree, but we didn't know that when we were seven and ten. I trusted everything Soda said, so I believed him when he told me we could.
"Can't believe you're fifteen. Pretty soon we're gonna be the same age," Soda continued, as he looked for his tennis shoes.
Darry tossed him one. "I'd check your math on that, little buddy."
Soda rolled his eyes. "No, I mean, when he's seventeen and I'm nineteen. Or when I'm twenty-seven and you're thirty and Pony's twenty-four. It'll be like we're all the same age, you dig? We'll probably have wives and kids by then. "
I pushed my eggs around on my plate. I was sorry that I lied to Soda all the time and sorry that I planned to lie to him the rest of our lives. And I was sorry I'd never do those things with him and Darry. It was a lonely feeling. It made even talking to them about normal things hard sometimes.
"What are you gonna name your kids?" I asked, to be saying something.
"My oldest is going to be Sodapop. Works for a boy or a girl."
"But then what will you be?" I forked a bite of cake, before standing up to get ready.
"Well, maybe Patrick, or better I'll push you over and take your name, Darry."
"You try it, little man, and we'll see what happens." Darry said, as he got out his wallet and handed me three bucks. "Happy birthday, Pony."
After we dropped Darry off at the site he was working at, Soda asked, "Want to go up to Lakeview? It's Saturday,"
Lakeview Amusement Park had Dollar Days on the weekend, where you could pay a dollar and they'd stamp the back of your hand and you could go on as many rides as you wanted. It was also directly across from Mohawk Park's entrance.
I shook my head a little too emphatically. "No, I don't like it there."
Soda looked at me strangely. "Okay, we can just drive around. Maybe we'll pick-up some girls." He wasn't with Christine anymore. I don't remember what happened, but he hadn't gotten upset about it.
"Sure," I replied.
And that's what we did.
We were in our Ford with Angela Shepard's tall friend Pam between me and Soda. Angie was in my lap - though I was certain we could squeeze so she wouldn't have to be - and signing my cast with 'Angel' in a lopsided heart. I could smell booze on her breath, even though it was only 11 o'clock.
Angie and Pam had broken from a gaggle of giggling girls to approach us, when we were stopped at a light on the Ribbon. Most girls wore all their hair pin-straight now, and they weren't wearing as much make-up as they used to, a more natural look was in, even for greasy girls. Not Angie though, if it was because she didn't like to follow the crowd or because she was just plain stubborn, I couldn't tell you.
Soda winked at me before inviting them in. Now we were driving to a riverbed bottom party that Pam knew. It should have made me feel grown up that me and Soda could hang out like this, but it didn't feel as good as it used to.
People looked over at us, when we pulled up on the dirt road by the riverbed and climbed out of the truck.
Someone had pulled up their car and turned up the radio with the doors open, and "Psychotic Reaction" blared across the party.
Mark was there. I felt his gaze before I saw him, like I could feel the sun on the back of my neck. I stepped away from Angie, guilt forming in a ball in my stomach. I wasn't sure if it would bother Mark or not. I couldn't always anticipate what might set him off. He didn't want me hanging out with Curly, but when we had ventured up to Mohawk Park, he didn't seem to have the same reservations. Like Mark, the rules were always shifting.
Some things aren't meant to be fixed.
He didn't come over to me, but turned back to say something to Douglas, who looked like he wanted to strangle me. I fought the compulsion to go talk to Mark and make everything okay between us. I'd die if he was angry at me much longer, but I couldn't exactly just go up to him and tell him I had drug money for him. So I waited.
It was a typical party with kids drinking and passing around joints. It wasn't really my scene, but Soda could make anything fun. I liked going to places with him. He was having a good time walking on his hands and doing flips. He kept everyone in stitches clowning around like that. Then he got everyone to sign my cast and sing happy birthday to me, which was a little embarrassing, if you want to know the truth. I'm not like Soda. I wondered what it would be like to be as confident as him. I could never do stuff like that in public. Be the center of things. Soda and Mark were both that way, but where Sodapop's energy was contagious, radiating and spreading out to everyone around him. Mark just sort of had a gravitational pull that drew people in and kept them there.
I sat on one of the boulders at the bottom of the bed to watch, away from the crowd, my paper cup carefully concealed. I didn't want Soda to see, but I was fretting Mark and I needed something to calm my nerves. He didn't so much as look over at me.
Angie stumbled over, tripping over the uneven ground and into me.
"Pony, you caught me!" She hiccuped as I deposited her next to me. "I knew you'd catch me!"
She used to belch the alphabet with her brothers. I thought that was gross, even when I was young. I was grossed out now, by the way she was all over me. I wanted to leave, but I was afraid that if I got up, she'd fall and crack her skull on a rock.
The pressure was building in my chest. I was afraid Mark might come over and see. I was panicked that he hadn't come to see me yet. Her hand was on my neck and then my chest and then lower.
I froze. She squeezed.
"Jesus, Angela, stop it!" I stood up so fast, she fell back and off the boulder. "Shit, shit, are you okay?" I tried to help her up.
"I'm fine." Her words were clipped, and I knew enough to back off. "What's your fucking problem?"
"My problem? Angie, you just - you're being - it ain't even barely noon, and you're reeling."
She looked pointedly at my cup of booze nestled between rocks. "You really think you're better than me?"
"No," I said. "I think you're better than this. What happened to you?" I asked, but maybe I meant: What happened to us? What happened to me?
She was shaking her head back and forth, and I could imagine her mind filling up with nasty comebacks, but all I could really see was the girl I used to play dress up with, about to stomp her foot, indigent as Curly posted a sign on our fort that said, "No Girls Allowed!"
"You're really full of yourself, Ponyboy." she said. "I don't know what I was thinking. Ain't no Curtis follow anyone around like a love-sick puppy, like you been following Mark Jennings." Then she said something vulgar, but precise.
My blood turned into ice water. "You don't know what you're talking about." She couldn't know.
"He's using you to sell pills to your rich friends."
I looked out over the dry bed. "They aren't my friends - I'm not -"
"Please, I heard about it from Curly's new girl. She's a Soc. Guess that's what you're looking for, too. Some stuck up broad who's lookin' to piss off her old man."
I was keyed up, mad that she was right, wanting to deflect exactly about what. "Well, maybe I want a girl who respects herself and don't throw herself around like - "
She slapped me across the face, like she really was Scarlett O'Hara. I didn't even try to duck; I deserved it.
She was loud and tough, hard like her brothers. I only remembered her crying to get her way, but her blue eyes shone with tears now. She wasn't faking.
I rubbed my cheek, cowed, the sting of the slap still spreading. "It can't get back to my brothers, about the pills."
"You know, I'm no rat."
I bit my lip. "Me and Soda''ll give you a ride home."
"Why would I take a ride with you?"
"Because you're drunk and something bad could happen to you, when you're so out of it."
"Suddenly you care about me?" She looked up at me. Angie had always been real little. I wasn't exactly tall back then, either.
"Angie, it ain't -"
"It's Angel. I'm gonna go find Pam, and we'll get a ride from someone else."
She walked away. I remembered sitting between Curly and Angie in the back of their father's car, dodging as they hit each other, while Mr. Shepard swerved on the road. I don't know if I had ever seen him sober.
I went and got Soda, not looking at anyone else, even Mark. I wanted to go home now, too. As soon as we closed the truck doors, I unleashed it all on Soda. About Angela, how I'd been ignoring her making passes at me for a couple months, how she was mad at me now.
He listened, like he always listened, like what I had to say was important.
"She's cute, is it about Curly? Are ya'll even buddies anymore?"
"It's all different!" I cried passionately. "We used to be friends, and now - And Mark-" I snapped my mouth shut.
"Are you in a fight again?" He looked thoughtful.
I stared out the window.
He glanced over at me. Most of the time he knew what I was saying, even if I didn't. "It's part of growing up. You're not like the Shepards. Or Mark."
Wasn't I? I wanted to ask, but instead I said, "Steve's been your best friend since second grade, and he's still your buddy."
"That's different. It's Steve."
Maybe it was because it was my birthday, and my birthday always made me nostalgic. I'd never get to be a kid again, I'd never get that back. We'd all just get older, then die. What's it like to have all your firsts behind you? When nothing's new to you anymore. When you get bored of sunsets.
Angie and Curly and me weren't kids anymore. We'd never be kids again. We'd never be friends again, and I felt bad about it.
After a few minutes, Soda said,"You probably don't want to date Tim Shepard's sister, anyway."
We were still a ways away from the main road, when I spotted Angela walking in the ditch.
"Wait, Soda, pull over."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
I cranked the window down and leaned out of it, as Soda slowed the truck down to match her stride.
"Angie - Angel, we'll give you a ride home."
"I don't need anything from you."
She was proud, like Cherry Valance was proud. Her make-up was smeared down her face, but she walked with her back straight. I couldn't help but admire her. And though I was coming to terms with being a queer, I wished I could like her back, like she liked me. I really did.
"Please, Angel," I pleaded softly.
She stopped walking and looked ahead, down the winding road. I guess she weighed her options and didn't want to walk 15 miles in the summer heat.
It was an uncomfortable ride. I think it was getting to be too much for Soda (he'd never been good with silence), because he blurted out, "So what's Tim doing these days? I haven't seen him at Tastee-Freez."
"He got fired - some money was missing from the register and they got all bent out of shape, even though they couldn't prove nothing. He's working at Nina's now."
Nina's was a pizzeria. I pictured Tim Shepard tossing pizza dough in the air. It was kinda funny, picturing a hood like Tim Shepard making pizza.
It went back to silence, until we dropped Angela off. I walked her to the front door. No one was home.
"We didn't have to go anywhere today," I said, as we pulled away from the curb.
"This wasn't what I had in mind, but we had to celebrate."
I was puzzled. "Everyone has a birthday every year." Birthdays were never a big deal in my family. My parents celebrated real milestones.
"Not everyone."
It hit me right in the center of my chest and knocked the wind out of me.
"It's been a shitty couple of years." I straightened up, startled. Soda never talked like that. He always seemed to bounce back into his normal, happy self. "I know it's been hard on you, but you're still swinging. I think that's worth celebrating."
I blinked. I was close to crying. I don't know why. I just was. It was the first time we'd talked like this in a while, though we used to all the time.
Soda reached over and put his hand on the back of my neck, and because we were alone he pulled me towards him and kissed the crown of my head. "Love ya, kid."
Mark came by the bus stop near the library a few days later, like everything was normal. I wasn't feeling normal, though.
"Where've you been?" I asked, trying to not sound too eager or too angry or too forgiving. I stayed on the bench and stared at the open copy of Other Voices, Other Rooms, perched precariously on my cast. I was rereading. It was the sort of book I had to reread a couple times so I could really get it.
"At the lake." He grabbed my book. "Come on, I don't want to take the bus."
I looked up. He was wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt. Out in public and he was red. Across the bridge of his nose, his arms, his collarbone, his thighs. Burnt.
I followed him, and when I was certain I wouldn't be overheard I said, "I've got money for you. It's at home."
"I knew you'd come through. Let's get a car."
I nodded, and he smiled. I pushed Angela's words down into my subconscious with everything else I'd rather not think about. I thought I could understand why junkies used or why the Randles' bug zapper had insects flying back at it after getting zapped.
Once we found an unlocked Buick, and he pried open the dash, I asked, "Will you teach me how?"
"Sure thing, Curtis. It's real simple, just strip these two wires, and twist them together."
It was simple. I could get it started with just my left hand. A spark of electricity - of power shot through my fingertips, as I brought the car to life. Was this how Mark felt all the time?
"I got you something for your birthday, baby," he said on the way to my house. He tossed me a baggie of pot. "It's Mex."
It was a full lid, but it had a lot of stems and seeds in it; I'd have to clean it.
"I didn't get you anything." Our birthdays were a week apart. We were both the same age for seven days a year, and I knew it was dumb but I was kind of excited about it.
"Oh, I can think of something I'd like."
"Anyone home?" I called as we stepped inside. No reply.
We went to my room, and I showed him the money and the remaining pills.
"I knew we could do it, baby."
He'd have enough money to pay back his supplier, with the sixty-eight dollars I got plus whatever he done himself. I didn't ask for specifics.
He plucked a single pill from the tin. "Open wide."
One pill was fine. One pill made me relaxed and happy. I didn't take them too often. Just when we fooled around sometimes, if there wasn't anything else. Mark knew that.
I pushed him onto my bed and got on top. He hissed.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's just my sunburn."
I surveyed him, with interest. I don't burn. "Can I see?" I tugged at his shirt with my left hand, which wasn't very effective, so he just took it off himself.
I kissed his forehead, checking his temperature, like my parents used to. His burns were warm to the touch. That surprised me, as I lightly grazed them with the pads of my fingers. The skin on his shoulders was peeling. I scraped my thumbnail gently over it.
"This hurt?" I asked.
"No, but I can think of something more fun than you peeling off my skin," he teased.
I kissed him. I wanted to tangle up with him like fishing line. I started to feel the high rolling over me. We were swallowing each other's laughter and I remembered how much I liked him. He was happy with me, so I was happy. Maybe it was the relief of having enough money or knowing he wasn't mad at me anymore. Or just the pill. I was happy when he took off my shirt. I was happy when he kissed my neck and when he ran his fingers through my hair. I was happy when I dropped to my knees in front of him and brought down the elastic of his swim trunks.
There was a solid line where his pink burn met the pale skin under his waistband. I was transfixed. He tasted of salt and lake water. I had never been to the ocean before, but I thought it might taste like this. This was still one of my favorite things to do. His hands in my hair were getting rough, but I was used to that.
I heard a noise, and tried to turn to look at it, but Mark's fingers were tightening against my scalp. He was close. I felt a splatter on my face, as I pulled back and -
In an instant, I was holding Soda back. He tried to struggle out of my grip, and we tumbled to the floor. Mark got himself back into his trunks and dashed out the door. Soda was swearing blue and green, trying to break free from my grip, but I couldn't let Soda hurt Mark. He had dragged me into the hallway, my knees scraping across the floorboards, but by the time I couldn't hold him back for a second more, Mark was long gone.
He turned on me. "What the hell is going on?"
"I- I-" I stammered looking for the words, any words. A lie, an excuse, anything that could salvage this, but the only words that I thought: Just say something, faggot! His eyes bore into mine, like he was seeing me for the first time. Like I was being seen for the first time. "I don't know." I finished softly, for I did not have the words to say aloud the beautiful, depraved things I felt for Mark.
The waterheater gurgled. It was in the closet next to Darry's bedroom door. I remember the waterheater gurgled.
It was a stranger looking at me then, or maybe I was. I mean it, when I say I'd never seen him so mad. Not at me. Never at me.
He stood abruptly and looked down at me. "Go wash your face." His words shook, but everything seemed oddly still. The sunlight from the window revealed all the dust in the air. "And brush your fucking teeth."