Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Petula Clark owns "Downtown."

When you're alone and life is making you lonely

You can always go

Downtown

June 27, 1969

Dear Steve,

I know it's only been a few weeks since you left, but I really miss you. I got your letter this afternoon, and it just made my day. I'm sorry about your friend, Albie. I hope he'll be okay. I just can't imagine going through what he is, but I'll be sure to keep him in my thoughts. I keep Soda in my thoughts, too, and hope we'll hear something about him soon. Darry has been working really hard to keep busy, even got Two-Bit a job with him painting. Can you believe that? Ponyboy is working with Dallas now, so Ella said, training ponies and getting him all prepped for the Slash races next week. I can't believe it's already Summer, Steve. I sure wish you were here. Ella, Mary, and I are going out tonight to have some girl fun, which I think will be real good for Mary. She's really taking everything hard. I wish this stupid war business was over and done with already. And I wish y'all were here, where you belong. Is it true that troops are being brought back home? Everyone is getting antsy and hopeful around here. I've also been thinking, on a side note, about cutting my hair. What do you think? Maybe something like what Ella has going on, a little below the shoulders and feathered out. I know you don't care about any of that, but I thought it might make you laugh, me with short hair. How about it? I think I'll go to the old burger joint downtown tomorrow and get a chocolate milkshake for you and me. Extra whipped cream on top, just how you like. I'm sealing this bad boy with a hug and a kiss for you. I love you, Steve.

Yours Forever,

Evie

Evie stared at the letter for a moment, blinking back the tears in her eyes. Sometimes, it was really hard to write to Steve—it made her emotional. She desperately wished that he was home, that he had never enlisted in the first place. But Soda had been drafted, and she understood that Steve's loyalty to his best friend had pulled him along, too—not that she was upset over that, no. She wasn't mad at Soda, but she had been angry with Steve when he had told her about enlisting. She hadn't been that surprised, though, but she was scared, and she still was. Any day, at any moment, Steve could be sent back overseas, and then what? Evie had spent many days wondering about Steve, whether he was okay out there, what he was doing, what it was like for him. She remembered seeing him when he had come home a month ago, how different he seemed. She had asked him about Vietnam, but he was reluctant to share any of it with her, becoming distant. Of course, Evie understood, and she never pushed. In all honesty, she was just glad that she had been able to spend time with him, to be in his arms, at least for a little while.

She knew he was desperately worried about Soda, and behind his almost bitter stare was a brewing trauma that she knew she would never be able to understand. It was in the way he looked, in the way he moved, and sometimes, the way he spoke. He had never been direct or hard with her, but the sound of his voice . . . the tone was now more level, measured. Evie had heard enough stories to have an underlying idea of what went on in the military, but Steve had his own experience, most likely things that she would never know, and even though she did respect that, some part of it scared her.

Glory, but she sure was glad that Ella was coming by the house to hang for a while. Evie didn't know why she was feeling so overwhelmed right then—okay, so maybe it was right around that special time of the month, which would explain the brunette's milkshake craving. And she missed Steve like crazy, which was bothering her, too. For a moment, Evie wished that things could just rewind, wished that she could go back in time and just stay there, back to when her and Steve were still in high school—golly, they sure thought they had it hard.

Evie knew better now.

With a long sigh, the girl gave a light spritz of her perfume to the letter, a small smile touching her lips as she did so, before stuffing it into an already labeled envelope to be mailed off to Steve. She had to laugh at the thought of him coming home to seeing her with short hair. Evie had always kept her hair a few inches below her shoulder line, and when she was younger, it cascaded to the middle of her back. But now she was eager to try something different, or maybe she just really dug Ella's hairstyle. She could never picture the older girl with short hair, but seeing her with it had honestly inspired her, and she had to admit, it did look good on Ella. Then again, Ella's face had also thinned out, was more narrow, and the shortness added to the puff and the bounce, which made Ella's overall physique look less emaciated.

Still . . .

There was a knock on the door, which startled the girl from her thoughts. She hadn't even heard a car pull up. Peering out the window, she saw the top of Ella's brown head on the porch below, and she inwardly relaxed. She was glad that her mother didn't need her assistance at the salon that particular day, since she only had a few clients, for it gave her the day off, which meant that she and Ella, and Mary, were going to go out later that night and have fun. But before that, she and Ella were going to hangout and do some catching up. They had invited Mary, but the younger girl simply said that she would swing by later, and Evie secretly wondered if Mary was really okay. Ella had told her that she felt something was off with Mary, too, but she hadn't elaborated, and Evie didn't push.

"Hey," Evie said, opening the door a moment later. She grinned at the bag in her friend's hand. "I see you brought snacks."

Ella shrugged good-naturedly. "Of course I did."

The two girls ventured upstairs to Evie's shared room with Beth, and Ella dropped the bag onto Evie's bed, the contents spilling out as Evie grabbed them a bottle of wine. Ella laughed, throwing her head back as she did, the memories of yesterday swarming around in her mind. Oh, she could remember the first time she had come to Evie's house, remember how stunned she had been when Evie told her that she always kept a bottle of wine hidden under her bed for purposes like that. Like for sleepovers and getting together with the girls just to talk about this and that, or gossip, or whatever else. Ella recalled the day Evie had cut her hair, a smile brushing her lips. Those were the days . . .

Ella grabbed a candy bar, nearly tearing the wrapper off before indulging herself. "Mary didn't want to come, huh?" she asked. "I really feel bad for her."

"So do I," Evie replied, reaching for the bag of chips. "She just said she would come by later, before we actually go out." She popped a chip into her mouth. Oh, hail the salt! "I don't want to talk about it, really, but . . . I sure hope Soda is alright."

The older girl nodded emphatically. "I do, too."

"Well, I actually just finished writing a letter to Steve," Evie declared after a minute, and took a good swig of wine. "I told him I might cut my hair."

At that, Ella's eye broadened. "What? Really?"

She couldn't contain her bewilderment. Evie hardly ever cut her hair, unless it was a simple trim to keep it healthy, keep the ends from splitting, as she would always say. Now, Evie had always been the one to cut other people's hair, or style them up, but . . . Ella never imagined that Evie would want to cut her own hair off. It was long and thick and shiny. Truthfully, Ella had always envied Evie's hair, wished that her own could look that good without her having to do anything to it. The older girl was stunned at her comment, but remembered cutting her own hair off a little over a year ago. It had been an inch or two above her shoulders when she had first got it done, but since, it had grown out, now around her shoulder line or so, but because it was so curly and bouncy, it appeared shorter. But Ella liked it, liked it a lot, honestly. But Evie?

"Guess I'm just thinkin' of trying something new, you know?" A shrug. "And I like yours."

Now Ella looked as shocked as she felt, her jaw nearly dropping. "Thank you," she replied earnestly. "I reckon I'm just—"

"In shock?" Evie guessed, and laughed. "Clearly."

Ella chuckled, grabbing the wine bottle from the nightstand, swirling the liquid inside. It almost felt funny to be sharing a drink with Evie in the middle of the day when she had turned Mary down just the other week. Maybe it was just strange because it was Mary, who had always been the goody good of the group. Or that's what she told herself anyway. "How short are you thinking?" She took a drink, before pulling at a strand of her own hair. "Like mine?"

A nod. "Roughly, yeah."

"You must really be trying to give Steve a heart attack."

The brunette snorted at the remark, munching away on another chip. It was true, though, she thought with a wry grin. Steve had always loved her long hair, always ran his fingers through it whenever he hugged her, or kissed her, always told her how nice it smelled . . . Evie figured that a change wouldn't hurt her, and besides, it wasn't like Steve loved her only for her hair—and it would grow back. Her mind was made up, she was going to cut her hair. Or rather, Ella was going to cut her hair, which she didn't know just yet. She would just style it herself.

"He'll live," came the blatant response, and Evie stood up, moving to her vanity to grab her scissors as she eyed herself in the mirror. Yeah, she thought simply, she could pull off short hair. Maybe. "Alright, Ella," she went on, turning to face her. "If I pull my hair back into a ponytail, you can cut it, right?"

Ella really wanted to ask her if she was serious or not. But there was a look in Evie's eyes that told her that her younger friend had already made up her mind, and once her mind was made up, there was no changing it, as Ella had learned a while back. Evie was stubborn like that, a trait which she shared as well, just not to the extent.

A grin. "I hope so."

He'd been awake for four, maybe five, days now. Every day was blurring into the next, and Soda really couldn't even remember what in the hell had happened. One minute, he and Tyler were thrown into that fucking cage after being nearly beaten to death, and then . . . nothing. He could only briefly recall a bunch of lights all around him—or had it been fire?—and then he was being lifted off the ground and pulled up and up and . . .

That was it.

Now he was in some sort of hospital, had been for the last few days. He had barely touched the food they gave him, remained silent as they cleaned and bandaged his wounds, hardly spoke when any of the doctors asked him questions, or when the nurses asked him how he was feeling. Everything felt like he was in a daze, floating, as if nothing was real. Soda didn't really understand what was going on, but he remembered somebody—maybe a nurse—stating that he was in shock, or possibly experiencing severe PTSD. One of the doctors had asked him questions about himself, and then told him that some lieutenant had contacted so and so, and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but Soda couldn't keep up, merely staring at them, hearing them but not listening. He didn't feel right, didn't feel like he belonged there, and some part of him wondered if he even really was. Sometimes, he felt like he was spinning, and a few times, he had gotten sick. But he wouldn't hardly talk, and some part of him just didn't want to, afraid that he might say the wrong fucking thing.

He counted the minutes on the clock, which hung on the wall across from the bed he was in, and tried to imagine being home. Darry, Ponyboy. Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr., Ponyboy Michael Curtis. Those were the names of his brothers. And somewhere, in the very back of his mind, did he remember Mary Charlotte DeVaney, his girlfriend. And then there was Steve Randle, his best friend since grade school, who had been with him . . .

But Soda couldn't remember, couldn't seem to fit the pieces together.

It was like looking through thick fog, running into a barrier whenever he tried to remember anything at all, but there were certain images that came to mind, horrors that he couldn't get rid of, blurry people yelling in a foreign language . . . and then nothing. He drew a blank. He was very aware that he had been in Vietnam, that he and Tyler had been captured, but everything else was missing, as if his brain had shut down anything regarding his memories of that time. Part of him wanted to fucking scream, because he was scared. What the fuck had happened? How did he get here?

"Mr. Curtis?" His head snapped toward the door, eyes broad, but when he realized it was only one of the nurses carrying a tray of food, he slightly relaxed. "I brought you some dinner. Are you hungry?" She didn't wait for him to answer, and placed the tray on the table beside him. "I figured you might like something comforting, so I brought up corn chowder and tea. Is that okay?"

Soda barely registered nodding.

When she walked out of the room, offering him a sympathetic look, the twenty year old felt his fingers curl back into a fist. He didn't want anyone's fucking pity. His heart began hammering in his chest, and his teeth pressed together hardly. His nostrils flared back in absolute anger, and before he could even process his actions, his fist hit the table, sending the tray crashing into the wall, the contents splashing out everywhere. In his mind, voices were screaming at him, and he felt the need to fight back in any way that he could. Somewhere, he knew that none of this was right, but he was filled to the brim with such intense and raw emotion that he didn't know how to combat, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Soda felt his eyes filling with tears.

". . . and I was thinkin' about getting a head start, you know, so—" Dallas paused, his gaze focusing on Ponyboy, who didn't even seem to be hearing him. He was leaning against the fence, chin resting on his arms, eyes all dreamy like. It wasn't exactly the first time this had happened, but Dallas hadn't gotten angry about it, instead biting his tongue. The damn kid was good enough to help him out, payment or not, and he had been faithful on his promise. "You even listening to me?"

Ponyboy jerked in Dallas's direction, seeming to come back to life. "What'd you say, Dal?"

Oh, for the love of— He wouldn't say it, but sometimes—times like this particular one—Dallas really just wanted to whack the kid in the head. He wasn't pissed, not really, at least, but he just didn't get how in the hell Ponyboy could just . . . drop off like that. He had literally been talking to him, in the middle of a fucking conversation . . . and then he was talking to himself. Some things just hadn't changed, as far as Dallas could tell; Ponyboy would always be a fucking space cadet. Good Lord, no wonder he and Ella were such great friends—they were both up in the clouds. Still, that didn't excuse the fact that the kid was supposed to be helping him train for the upcoming Independence Day race, for Christ's sake.

The blond scowled, looking down at the kid, who actually wasn't that much shorter than him. "Well, if you weren't such a damn airhead, you would have heard me the first time." Oh, blast it. "Jesus, Pony, I was telling you that I wanted to get a head start for next Friday's race."

"Oh," Ponyboy said, and rubbed the back of his head. "Shoot, I'm sorry," he continued lamely. "What did you have in mind?" He made a face. "Your timing is real good, and you handle Stella like she's actually your own pony."

"Turns."

"I thought you said you had that under control."

Yes, he did have that under control, meaning that he would be practicing more. With all them brains of his, Dallas sometimes wondered how in the fuck Ponyboy was so stupid at times. Two and a half years and nothing had changed there, good God. But the kid was right, Dallas thought, though it wasn't meant to be condescending. He was good with Stella, real good, and his timing was almost better than what it used to be, which was saying something, considering that he was somewhat rusty. Well, it wasn't that he hadn't done any sort of racing in the past two years—he had—just not like this one. But still, the fact remained that he wanted to practice his turns a little more, make sure he was good on all ends.

He lit a cigarette, and leaned one arm against the fence beside the kid. "I did," he replied, inhaling deeply. "And that meant your ass is gonna help me perfect it."

"Sure."

Before Dallas could say anything else, though, he caught a full glimpse of Ponyboy's face, and nearly busted out laughing. From where the sun had been harshly beating on his left side, he was all red, his right cheek untouched. It looked as though he'd laid out in the sun with a towel or something covering only one side of his face, the other looking like a ripened tomato. Oh, Dallas thought, that was surely priceless, and couldn't help the laughter that spilled from his lips. Glory.

"What's so funny?" Ponyboy inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

But Dallas merely shook his head, figuring that the kid would see it for himself. If he had been any bit annoyed just a few minutes ago, it was forgotten about. Boy howdy, Dallas really wished that he had a mirror, though, or better yet . . . a fucking camera. Where in the hell was Saint Ella and her crew of apparent photographers?

Darry finished ironing the last of the shirts, placing the folded laundry in the basket. There was a time when he enjoyed the quietness of the house, but now, he missed it being loud. It seemed more full then, more like a home, and Darry found that, even though Ponyboy was home for the Summer, it just wasn't the same anymore. He could remember being a child, remember his mother calling him and his brothers inside for supper, the smell of baked chicken and potatoes filling his nostrils. He recalled his father telling jokes and laughing with them, relaying how his day went while he seemed larger than life from where he sat at the head of the table. A smile touched the dark-haired man's lips as he remembered Soda trying to tag along with him and his friends whenever he went out, the tickle fights their father had started in the mornings to get them out of bed, which they had carried on for a while after their parents had passed, and he recalled the house itself being filled with their friends, the ear-shattering laughter and voices loud enough to be heard down the block.

Lord, but Darry wasn't so sure where time had gone, or what had happened to him. He suddenly felt old, or outdated. He lived his life in a routine, which was going to work, hitting the gym, doing some housework here and there, and then do it all over again. He didn't hangout with anyone that much these days, couldn't really find the time to do so, especially with two jobs. Sometimes, Darry wished he had a girl, but he wasn't sure he could truly commit time to her, time to even build a relationship. He'd watched his kid brother date a few nice girls in the past two years, watched him enter his first real relationship with a girl he had met at college by the name of Julia, and watched him get his heart broke for the first time.

Hell, Darry could hardly remember what it was like to date. He had been out of the game for so long that he wondered what things were even like these days. Oh, he had heard some good and juicy stories from Soda about different women around the country and overseas, not that he had engaged himself with them, especially with Mary waiting for him at home. But still . . . there were times when Darry wanted a companion, or at least, someone to come home to.

He placed his folded laundry in his room, before dropping Ponyboy's off in his. Before he turned to leave, though, something on the desk caught his eye, and for a second, Darry felt a small smile brush the corners of his lips upward. Ponyboy had been going through the old family album. Lordy, Darry hadn't looked through it in quite some time, but he found himself sitting on his brother's bed only a moment later, fingering through the old pages as pictures of him and his brothers and his parents passed on by. Hell, there were even a few scattered pictures of the boys in there, one of Johnny and Ponyboy, another of Soda and Steve on the first day of school . . .

Darry chuckled a little, absorbed in the memories of days gone by.

Too engrossed was he in looking through the album that he hadn't heard the door open and close, or maybe he subconsciously had, simply assuming that it was Ponyboy. Or Dallas. Ponyboy was always back at the house before Dallas, though, but that was because Dallas always had other things to tend to, like getting his due from Buck Merril, or running some light errands for Darry. Either way, he was too busy staring at an old photograph of his parents, one taken when they were still kids, not even married yet, the childish looks of their faces causing the young man to swallow the building lump in his throat.

"Well, howdy," came a familiar voice, and Darry nearly jerked, not expecting to see Two-Bit Mathews standing in Ponyboy's bedroom doorway. "I called your name, figured you might not have heard me." His eyes landed on the album in the older man's lap. "Reckon you didn't."

Darry shook his head. "It was on Pony's desk. I saw it and started lookin'."

Two-Bit grinned. "Any good ones of me in there? I was always the best of the bunch, you know?" A laugh. "Never made any lenses break in my day, not one."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Darry came back with, his tone light. He placed the album on the bed beside himself as he stood up. "But you're out of luck. The only picture of you in that one is with me when we tried out for the bowling league."

Two-Bit chuckled. "Hell, I remember that. Your dad drove us there, and when he left, we snuck off into the boy's room and packed away a few beers with Roger Andrews and Danny Burns." He shook his head, fondly recalling that day. "I was sure he knew we were drinking. We reeked of booze!"

"He always knew," Darry replied. Ah, good times. "That sure was a day."

A nod. "It was." Yeah, Two-Bit could certainly remember him and Darry back in the day, along with all the havoc they had stirred up. There was a time when the two of them had been real good friends, being closer in age and all, but even though they had gotten older, drifted apart, and did their own thing, both of them knew that the other was always there if they needed them. Two-Bit was glad that Ponyboy had mentioned the idea of him working with Darry—funny how things worked out like that. It was a good minute later when Two-Bit spoke again. "I just wanted to stop by and let you know that Mike called me up today." When Darry's eyes met his, he continued. "He's havin' me start Monday." He stuck his hand out for him to shake. "And I wanted to thank you."

It was Darry's turn to grin, and he shook his friend's hand with a firm grip. "Glad to have you with us."

Mary was still in awe over Evie's new hairdo, stunned that she had actually cut it. Thing was, it looked good, or at least, Evie made it look good on her. It was a little shorter than Ella's hair, feathered back and styled nicely. But that was the thing about Evie, Mary noted, she could pull off almost any style and make it her own fashion statement. Mary wasn't jealous, though, but in some weird way, she felt like the oddball out with long hair next to her friends. When she had asked Evie what made her decide to chop her hair off, the older girl simply told her that it was all in the heat of the moment. Apparently, Ella had been the one to do it, cut it off, but Evie herself had added the choppy feathered look.

Still . . .

It felt good to get out with her friends after all this time being cooped up in the house. Mary had been regretting her decision of not hanging out with both Evie and Ella earlier . . . when she had been invited to Evie's house. Perhaps it was because she had a terrible headache from the night before, still being stuck in a viscous cycle of day and night drinking. She had tried to stop a few days ago, but all to no avail. The nightmares had started up again, and Mary had found herself in the bathroom on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest while she sobbed, a half-empty bottom of vodka in her hand. She was also afraid of Dallas Winston telling Darry Curtis what she had divulged to him about her aunt, and that thought alone was enough to make the girl worry herself sick.

Maybe she would tell him, or maybe she would wait a little.

It felt too strange to her to relay that information to Darry, because everyone would know the truth about her, about what she had done. In the beginning, Mary had felt free, safe because her aunt was no longer there, no longer able to control her. Things had only taken a rotten turn once she had found out the truth about her aunt and Mr. Webberly . . . and Soda. Mary felt almost disgusting living in that house with her, felt nauseous just looking at the woman. It was as though she wasn't her aunt anymore, incapable of even being human. And Mary had been so terribly afraid of what else her aunt was capable of, what else she could do. She was worried sick for Soda, and for herself, not to mention what would ever become of them if they had a future together.

So, she had taken matters into her own hands.

She hated the fact that she had relayed this information to Dallas Winston, of all people, but she had been half crocked and scared stiff. She had a choice to make, though, one that she wasn't sure she would be able to go through with, one that made her feel worse than ever. Oh, why did she have to open her mouth in the first place?

The sound of Ella's laughter snapped the girl from her thoughts, and she turned to see what Evie was pointing at. A couple was doing the boogie out on the dance floor at the downtown club they had decided to go to, and judging by both of their facial expressions, they were plastered. Still, it brought a smile to Mary's face, and she found herself laughing beside Ella and Evie, attempting to shove her darker thoughts aside for the time being. No, she wanted to have a good time with her friends, forget all of her troubles and cares for the time being. Perhaps, when her mind was clear and she was able to think straight, she would be able to find a better solution to her problems. But for now, she was going to have fun.

Ella downed a shot in one fluid motion, and then Mary felt her arm around her neck. She watched Evie light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she gently asked if she could bum a smoke, the question seeming to surprise both girls.

"You ever smoke before?" Evie asked, cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow.

Mary shook her head. "No, but . . . I don't know." A shrug. "Is it bad that I want to try?"

"Reckon not," the brunette replied, offering her one. "I mean, I've been smoking for a few years now, and so has Ella." She smirked. "Just don't get sick on us."

Even though Ella didn't say anything, she still felt somewhat concerned for the girl. She knew that she was dealing with a lot, remembering how she felt when she had lost both of her parents nearly back to back, and then went through a breakup that really hurt her. And then she had moved all the way to New York, all of which took place in just a few months. Oh, hell, if Mary wanted to bum a lousy cigarette, if that was going to make her feel better, who was she to judge?

Instead, both she and Evie chuckled as Mary took her first drag and coughed just a little on the smoke, the music drowning out their laughter as smiles adorned their faces.

So maybe I'll see you there

We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares

Thank you for reading! :3