cw: ref to Intimate Partner Violence
Of course I remembered Cathy Carlson. But if she couldn't remember me or didn't want to I wasn't gonna make an ass out of myself. Bryon didn't need to look at me like a silverback gorilla on the warpath. I wasn't going to take his girl. If Cathy was even his girl. She was cute in eighth grade but now she was something else. I don't think it was just losing the braces. Her eyes had this spark. I hadn't seen it in anyone else -greaser or Soc. Except Soda. Soda who joined the fucking U.S. Army and was gettin' shipped to Vietnam...
Soda. Soda who wasn't dad's son. Soda whose real dad was in prison in Louisiana. A murderer. That's what the letter said. The familiar warmth of our mother's handwriting clashing against blow of her words. I had recognized myself in mom though-how you can be a different person on paper than in life. I wondered if she wrote about her secret life with Shaw? That was his name. I didn't like it. I shuddered trying to imagine my mom saying it with any kind of affection.
Oh his last name was Thibodeaux. Soda pronounced it all wrong. Then the letter said that wasn't Shaw's real last name. She didn't say what his real last name was. I wondered if she even knew it. I felt kind of queasy.
Me and Soda read the letter over and over. It wasn't for us. The letter I mean-it wasn't addressed to me or Soda. It made the whole thing feel uncanny. Like we could hear her but she couldn't hear us. When I was done all I could think of was that I wanted my mother back. I would always want her back. I would be seventy and still want my parents. I think some loses you'll never get over.
I wondered if mom loved Shaw.
I didn't need to close my eyes to see Soda's face. That look of shock and I think betrayal too. I carried it with me like an apparition. I could have bawled. I hadn't cried in longer than I can remember. But watching my brother's face while his whole world shifted under him-it was too much.
"I didn't know you drank." Cathy looked down at the beer bottle next to me. We were on our way to the hospital and I was speeding in a hot-wired car with only my learners permit. It was okay I had driven for years. Both Darry and Soda had taken me out for a spin. Still I could hear Cherry in my mind about not wanting to be in the car with Bob when he's reelin drunk.
Ever since I found out about Shaw and mom I've been thinking about Cherry a lot. I didn't think about it at the time-but what it was like to testify that her boyfriend was looking for trouble that night. That was a roundabout way of putting it. That it was the last words she would say about Bob and it was in front of everybody. I never thought about it before like that-but I think it took a lot of bravery. She had loved him. He was her first love. I remember her telling me that. She wasn't the only person who testified for me-Randy did too and some of the other Socs but Randy said that Cherry was the one got shunned. I didn't know that. I don't think she would have let it on-she was tough. But I also knew Cherry was sensitive-she had something-empathy I think -that made me want to open up to her. She reminded me of Soda in that way.
I heard from Randy that she's down at UT in Austin-studying psychology and social work. Randy said she wants to work with inmates, with addicts. Oh yeah, Randy's a hippie now. Drives a VW Bus and everything. It's kind of nuts. I thought about Randy and Cherry and about what Johnny wrote: how there was still time to make myself into who I want to be.
"I ain't drunk. You want to take the wheel?" I meant it. I only had two bottles but I didn't want to worry Cathy about landing in the hospital ourselves. She shook her head. "Nah, I'd take over long before it got to that point." She grinned at me but I was too focused on where we going to respond. I tossed the bottle in the backseat. The last thing I needed was for it to roll under the brake pad.
Oh yeah. I was driving in my stocking feet. They were dirty and worn. My big toe wiggling through a hole. I lost my left shoe in the fight. Don't ask me how. My right shoe was in the backseat. For some reason Soda likes driving barefoot. I didn't.
She started fumbling with the radio dial and stopped on Simon and Garfunkel -I wouldn't admit this to the guys but I dig Simon and Garfunkel but I was too preoccupied thinking about my blown up family to enjoy it.
"You just don't seem like the type of guy who'd drink." It was true. I smoked grass too. Me and Johnny used to smoke with his hoody cousin Ted. I didn't tell Mr. Syme that. Smoking cancer sticks is one thing. Dope is something else. There was a lot I didn't tell Mr. Syme. It was strange I don't think I ever lied as much while also being as honest than I was in that essay. (There were things in Windrixville that I'd never tell another living soul about. Not even Soda. Not myself either. I mean-my waking self. I wonder if this is how mom felt-keeping her life from us. She had wanted to tell Soda. That's what's Grandma Schmidt told Darry).
Could you be a fabulist and genuine at the same time? (You can make yourself into who you want to be).
I had always thought I'd gotten my love of stories from my dad. Maybe it was mom this whole time.
I gripped the steering wheel. I was sick of people telling me what I was or wasn't. I heard it my whole life. I didn't look like I belonged in honors classes. But I also didn't look like the guy who knew how to throw down a punch. I wasn't sure how to respond to Cathy. I mean how to respond without sounding like an asshole.
I said nothing. It's easier that way.
"Well thank you so much for giving me a lift, Ponyboy," this time I looked at her. She had the longest eyelashes I've seen. They reminded me of tight ropes extended in the air. She really was cute. She was in yellow pants-it was still a good color on her. I wonder what she'd look like in a skirt now. She had long legs.
Of course I wasn't gonna leave her stranded at a party turn brawl. What kind of guy did she think I was?
I thought of my dad. I was thinking about my dad a lot lately. He'd pick up hitchhikers all the time. Mom didn't approve. But Dad was a real friendly guy who wouldn't hesitate to give the shirt off his back to anyone in need. Also he was huge-he used to wrestle and he could look mean and intimidating when he wanted too. He liked picking up hitchhikers, he once told me he liked listening to their stories. I wish he was around so I could ask him his favorite story.
And...ah hell Angie. Darry would kill me if he found out that I left his kid sister alone at a dance like that. I shook my head. I wasn't her brother or her keeper. Besides she could look after herself. She hung out with worse crowds (I did too). By the time the ambulance pulled up everything was back to normal-kids were dancing, flirting, shoving each other. Pouring beer on each other's heads. You know. Normal stuff. And if it blows up again she could always call Tim or Curly or even Eddie or Joe or her mom or stepdad to pick her up...She has so much. Technically MacDonald was Darry's stepdad too. But I don't think Darry ever thought of him like that. She could call Darry too though I hope she wouldn't. He's been a mess since Soda enlisted.
Besides she'd sent some jackwad to jump me. He could have killed me. He could have killed Mark. She could walk home by her lonesome for all I could fucking care. (That wasn't true. I would have given her a lift. Or I would have walked her home.) Sometimes though I really hate that whole side of Darry's family. I mean it. Sometimes I wish they had just stayed in New York.
(In my head I could imagine people talking about us-about our family-white trash, white trash).
"Are you good friends with Mark?" She hesitated and I could tell she didn't care much for Jennings just by her tone. I wondered what that would be like? To date someone who hates your brother. I couldn't do that. Maybe hate's too strong a word. But she didn't like him.
I shrugged. I honestly couldn't tell you. We smoked grass and he'd gave me red birds. Not a lot. I still lived with Darry after all. I couldn't afford to pay him and he didn't care enough about school to make doing his homework a worthwhile trade. It didn't matter. Mark always had more product than he could sell. He was a thief. And not like Two-Bit who mostly stuck to small items. (That switchblade was the fanciest thing he pillaged). But cars. At least that's what claimed he was on probation for. I didn't know if I believed him. He seemed awful casual about it. Anyways being the youngest I was used to people bullshitting me.
I guess that's why he could afford to be so generous with the pills. That finally helped me fall asleep. I was grateful to him. Darry thought I was finally over my nightmares. You could tell he was relieved and it wasn't just because he thought I was getting better. We couldn't afford the doctor visits. I was finally going to stop worrying Darry grey haired. Soda wouldn't have to sleep with me anymore. I'd be normal.
Now all I could think about was that Soda was going to war. That he chose to leave us. I hated him. When he told us. I had consumed a white hot rage. I've never lashed at Soda like that. It scared me. I felt possessed. My voice hoarse and raw afterwards. Even Darry was wide eyed. Then I thought of Dallas. Not him crumpling under the street light (I'd never forget that for as long I live) but him with that empty gun. Wanting to die. This was worse I thought. What Soda was doing to us was worse. We would have a year of this. A year-if we're lucky. I think for the first time I saw my brother's recklessness as not just dangerous but selfish.
If something happened to Soda I couldn't take it. I really couldn't. I love Darry. But I would never love Darry as much as Soda. I didn't think I would ever love anyone as much as Soda. Part of me hoped not. It's scary to love someone that much. I think Darry would lose his mind. Darry-who knew the truth about Soda, about Mom, for almost a year. Who loves Soda more than anyone.
How could he do this to us?
"He's going to be okay," she reassured.
I nodded. It took me a second to realize she was talking about Jennings-not Soda. Of course Mark would be okay. In terms of injuries it was nothing compared to way Dally or even Soda got busted up in the rodeo. Hell I had gone through worse just messin' around my backyard. Besides Mark's always okay. Mark could take anything...I knew where that thought was going to lead me. I knew and I yanked myself back from that brink. But here's the thing. He reminded me in some incommunicable way of Dally. I know I was going nuts. You'd think I was the one who took a cracked bottle to the head. But it was in their similar builds, their high cheekbones and their teeth. Dally's teeth were sharp and small while Mark's grin was almost blinding-his mouth too small to hold his bite. When he grinned it reminded me of a lion gnawing through it's cage. But when they were in a dangerous mood their mouths turned the same shape. The same lines. Their eyes-the shape-it reminded me of lynx's. There was something primordial about them.
Jennings and me we drank and said real nasty things about girls that I wouldn't say to their faces. Jennings had no scruples. He taught me how to hot-wire cars. Not that I would steal one. He got a real kick out of my connection to the Shepards. By us both being orphans. For hoods we were close enough. But then Mark was friendly with a lot of people. Deep down I was a loner. I was going to say that I still had the gang. But I didn't. Not really. After Dally and Johnny died we were drifting apart. I hardly saw Two-Bit anymore. Steve could have taught me how to hot wire a car. But he didn't. Or I could have asked him. But I didn't.
I don't think if you saw me you'd guess I was lonely. I was always surrounded by people. I was like Mark in that way. Unlike him I didn't dig it. I think the whole thing would be easier to digest if people just flat out hated me.
When I was a kid I thought that the actors live inside the T.V. screen. That they were 2D and miniature versions of regular people. That's kind of how I felt. That I live in a box or a screen and everyone's watching me. But also that I was flatter, grayer. Less real than everyone around me. A phantasm.
Mark was the first person I met since Windrixville that I could pretend that like the last year never happened. He was one of those people whose pull everyone else revolves around. He was at the center of everything. I liked that. I liked being anonymous. He made me forget. It was nice.
I thought about what would happen if my book was actually published. Oh yeah, I forgot, with everything else going on, Mr. Syme helped me submit it to a bunch of publishing companies in New York. He helped me edit it since my grammar and spelling are trash. I thought he was just being nice-telling me I should submit my story. Nothing was definite but it was moving -faster than I expected. I had thought it would take years. I had thought I'd be twenty and long out of Oklahoma. It was all happening too fast. Reality was sinking it's fanged teeth into me. The Ponyboy in my essay, maybe soon my book, was my penumbra. Now I'd never be able to escape him.
"He sure knows a lot of girls." I was so damn glad I wasn't drinking or else I would have spewed beer all over Douglas' car. And it wasn't even his car. It was true though. There were always a crowd of girls hanging around Mark. I wasn't naive but I could be willfully blind when I wanted to be. I had seen Mark hit this girl, Jeanie. "1-2-3-4- I declare a thumb war," he said with a gritted grin when I yanked his arm back. "Listen Superman we're just playing around," he said now with that familiar audaciously blinding grin. I was momentarily dumbstruck being called Superman and all. I had lost a lot of weight since Windrixville so I'm sure he was being sarcastic. That was fine. I think I was hurting him even though Mark wouldn't admit it. I was holding his arm tight. I think I was twisting it. I don't remember to tell you the truth. I was playing with fire. Mark could be dangerous when he felt cornered or put on. He reminded me of Dallas in that way too. Still I was thinking about how my dad would react if someone got fresh -nevermind physical with mom. My mother golden and intelligent, loving and having sex with a murderer...
I didn't think it was ever right to hit or pretend you're gonna hit a girl-even as a joke. And believe me it didn't look like he was foolin'. The hard stare I gave him. I think it was my dad's. But then Jeanie started to get hostile towards me. So I let it go. If she wanted to be treated like that-that was her bag. (Did Shaw slap mom around?) I heard rumors that Jeanie was whoring herself. That's how she knew Mark. That Mark was pushing drugs to the rich kids and pimping out girls. I knew he was a pusher. So did half the town by the looks of the dough he was ranking in. I figured Douglas had to be in on it too. They're brothers. I didn't want to know if the other stuff was true. I hadn't wanted to think of Mark involved in something like that. So I didn't. I didn't know where else to get those pills for free.
And against my better judgment-I liked Mark. I didn't have to feel anything around him.
Later I'd think of Jeanie's hostility towards me and I wonder if she thought I was one of the johns. I wonder how desperate you'd have to be. I felt sorry for her. I should have helped her. I should have-I don't know what but I should have done something. If the rumor is true. Maybe it's not. I've heard rumors about myself all the time. I don't recognize myself half the time.
But if I had to have sex for money I'd fucking hate everything about sex including the people I was having sex with. How could you enjoy it?
If my dad knew I was hanging out with someone like Jennings he would have whupped me. Worse he would have been ashamed of me.
"I can't believe that girl-what's her name? Angela. Wait, do you know her?" She wasn't nervous though that I'd take up for Angela or be offended. She was simply curious. I was glad we were turning into the hospital parking lot. If you want to know the truth I was feeling kind of sick.
Still I didn't want to be rude so I answered her.
"Ought to know her. She's my oldest brother's half-sister." I tried to keep my bitterness over Angel's recklessness down. I could see the wheels in her head turning. It takes people a few seconds to understand my family. Most of the guys in my neighborhood don't live with the dads they were born with, but my family was confusing even from an East side perspective.
"I'm sorry Ponyboy, I hope I didn't offend you."
"Nah don't be. 'Sides Ge-Angie can take up for herself." I almost called her GeGe that was her pet nickname in her family. The way Soda's is Pepsi-Cola. I didn't say this but I thought Cathy could take up for herself too. Maybe I shouldn't have compared them but I thought about what Cathy said about taking over if I was swerving drunk. How Cherry would have gotten out of the car and walked. But Cathy would have taken the wheel.
For the first time I was jealous of Douglas-who I thought was a real douche -having a girlfriend like Cathy Carlson.
I didn't tell her, but I thought about how Angela was there for me after my parents died. How I cried in her lap. I didn't tell Cathy how when Darry's mom, Tim, Curly and Angela followed Sammy to New York that Angela would send me postcards in her big block handwriting. What I knew about New York I learned from her. It took both Darry and my mom to set me straight that contrary to what she said pink dragons don't walk the Brooklyn Bridge. That she wasn't friends with Godzilla.
I still didn't believe them.
A/N: thank you so very much. I haven't written book age (or close to) book age Pony in I think years. A few notes for anyone who is new to my um 'expanded' universe. YES Darry is the son of Mrs. Shepard (she also has two daughters from another marriage). Also Mark is Dally (and Tex McCormick's) half-brother through their dad the golden eyed cowboy AKA Hiram Winston. Shaw is the brilliant creation of my brilliant friend HapperThanMost, some of his story is explored in her fabulous "The Beginning" story. It's AMAZING. OH! I forgot-this is actually a long ago part of my world but Cathy is the girl in the yellow. And YES she does remember him. ;) S.E. Hinton owns