One dark and stormy night, a woman snuggled deeper into her blanket, took another sip of tea, and turned to the next page in her well-worn copy of Little Women. Her wooden rocking chair swayed back and forth in front of the merry fire. The creaking of the wood and the crackling of the flames made a sharp contrast to the cacophony of rain and thunder thrashing outside the apartment window.
Suddenly, the peace was broken by a loud knock on the door. The woman stood and strode quickly for the door. There was only one reason someone would be calling at that hour. The door opened to reveal Dallas Winston, covered in blood. As though an injured youth on her doorstep at one in the morning was a common occurrence (which it was) Officer Jane Helen Sharp waved Dally in and began to search for her first aid kit.
"Close the door behind you and sit down before you catch your death o' pneumonia, honey," she said over her shoulder. Dally did as she asked, then slumped into a comfortable looking armchair. "Dallas Winston, I know you ain't floppin' your wet self all over my nice clean furniture." Dally got up and sat on a less comfortable wooden chair, mumbling crossly to himself. If anyone else had told Dallas Winston what to do, much less in that tone, he woulda laid 'em out flat, woman or not. But he'd never so much as say boo to the woman who was more mother to him in five seconds than the woman who birthed him had been his whole life.
Jane carried her kit over and leaned over him. With calloused, gentle hands she pushed white-blond hair out Dally's face, clicking her tongue disapprovingly when she saw the cut on his forehead.
"This is gonna hurt," she warned. She lifted an alcohol soaked rag and began to clean the wound. Dallas bit hard on his bottom lip. With practiced motions, Jane dressed the wound.
"What did that?" she asked.
"Did what?"
"The cut on your forehead, Dallas."
"Ring." She nodded, lips pursed in disapproval.
"Tim or your old man?"
"Some Soc." Jane's lips tightened.
"Motherfuckers."
"Jane!" Dally said, scandalized.
"I stand by what I said. J'eet?"
"Uh, I had lunch 'bout…two days ago?" Jane glared at him.
"Dumbass. You have got to take better care of yourself. C'mon, I've got chili in the fridge. I'll heat it up while you go change." Dally nodded, winced, then hauled himself up, making for Jane's spare room, where she kept a change of clothes each for the whole gang. If he called it his room in the private space inside his head, well it was nobody's business but his, was it?
Jane hummed to herself as she poured left over chili into a pot. She flicked the stove on and began to rummage through her cupboard for leftover cornbread. As a dry Dally walked back in, she found it with an "Aha!" of satisfaction, then turned to Dally.
"Set the table for me, please." With the air of a person who had done so a thousand times, Dally opened a drawer and began to take out cutlery. Jane stirred the pot carefully.
"Should I set one or two?" Dally asked.
"Just one. I already ate." Dally nodded. Jane's apartment was a good place, he thought to himself as he carried a napkin and spoons to the small wooden table tucked into the nook the bay windows made. Mr. Curtis had built it for Jane when her old one had broken. The kitchen walls were painted a pale blue, like the rest of the apartment-the two bedrooms, the living room, and Jane's study. The rain lashed against the panes of glass as Dally finished setting his place at the spot he'd come to regard as his: The far left side of the window seat, right next to the center cushion, where Jane always sat, Ponyboy next to her, then Soda, Darry, Two-Bit, and finally Johnny next to Dally. Before the crash, Mr. and Mrs. Curtis would squeeze two chairs between Darry and Two-Bit, and Dally felt a momentary flash of guilt for thinking how nice it was not to have to be squished like sardines. He brushed it off as Jane entered, holding a bowl of her famous 3 Bean Chili. Mrs. Curtis had always told her to bring it to the county fair, but she'd never managed to talk Jane into it. Now she never would…Dally crushed that train of thought and began to eat. The second the first spoonful touched his lips, he remembered how ravenous he was.
"For cryin' out loud, Dal, ain't nobody gonna take it from ya!" Jane said, a grin playing on her lips as she watched him eat. Dally ignored her but quit wolfing the chili down. "'Sides getting' jumped, how was your day?"
"Pretty okay. Practiced with the ponies."
"Oh, when's your next race? I'll try and come."
"Next Sunday."
"Perfect, that's my day off! I'll be there with bells on!" Dally snorted.
"If you come to my race wearin' bells, you'll be a dead ringer!" He teased. Jane flicked him on the nose.
"That was terrible, Winston. You've been spending too much time with Two-Bit." Dally cocked an eyebrow, then set his spoon down with a clink. "You want more?" He shook his head. "Alrighty. Go get ready for bed and I'll tuck you in." Dally rolled his eyes to himself as he walked to the bathroom. Ever since he'd mentioned in passing that he'd never been tucked in, Jane had insisted on putting him to bed every time he slept over at her home. Dallas Winston, toughest hood in Tulsa, being tucked into bed like a toddler by the best cop south of the Mason-Dixie line, he thought, and grinned. Thunder crashed, lightning split the sky, and the shower leaked because Jane's cheapskate landlord wouldn't fix it, and neither Jane nor the boy she loved as her own would have it any other way.
If you enjoyed, please leave a review. If you didn't, I'd love to hear your constructive criticism. Also, if anyone has any Outsiders requests, featuring Jane or otherwise, I'd love to fill them! Just PM me or put it in a review!
P.S. Jeet is Southern speak for "Did you eat?"
P.P.S. Source: Tennessean, born and bred!