THE BEGINNING

Chapter Two

This ain't how it was supposed to be. Ain't nowhere near how we imagined this day, this homecoming. Maggie's not left our bed since we got home, and it's way past nine o'clock. The boys wore themselves out with their excitement, and are thankfully passed out in their bed they share, still wearing their clothes. I didn't have the energy, the care enough to get them changed. I just sit at the kitchen table, not knowing what to do next, swept up in a thousand different emotions at battle with each other, and I'm a bystander to my own feelings, wondering which one will win the fight. I guess that'll be the one I go with. But right now….well, I'm lost.

Nora Thompson comes from the back bedroom and her hand, gentle but firm, now rests on my shoulder. I look up at her, so thankful she's our neighbor and Maggie's trusted friend. She's been over the past couple days with the boys, tonight with Maggie, and because she's older and wiser, I've let her take over my household. She's acted as a kind of mother to Maggie since we moved in this little house, and tonight she's a Godsend. I hang on to her soothing words like a lifeline, desperate for some direction. "She's asleep again, Darrel. I'll be back in the morning to check on y'all." She pats my hand and starts toward the back door.

"Thank you Nora," I choke out, and I have to stop myself from begging, from physically holding on to her legs so she can't leave me here like this, so unsure.

Maybe she senses this somehow, cause she stops and turns around. "It's gonna be okay Darrel. All of it," she tells me in her kind voice. "She needs only time. She just lost and gained so much. Both of you did, honey." She smiles her sorrow and then gives her last instruction. "I've pre-made some bottles for Ponyboy. They're in the refrigerator. But remember, you mustn't give it to him cold. Heat them up in a saucepan of water and test a little on your wrist. I'm sure Maggie will feel up to nursin' soon." All of a sudden her eyes sparkle and her face lights up. "He took down that last bottle like a hungry colt. He's beautiful Darrel." And she walks back to her house of garden gnomes and wind chimes.

Her last words swirl through me and all my warring emotions. And with them, somehow my pain and loss are contained, for this moment anyway, and pride and love burst forth, triumphant. Ponyboy…Ponyboy is beautiful.

I always hear the joyful chaos before I ever reach the door, the radio and tv blaring, Soda's shouts louder than all of it, and I love comin' home from work on Saturdays. These are the nights I don't work a late shift and can enjoy a nice family supper. I walk in to find Darry sitting Indian style in front of the tv, preferring to watch The Lone Ranger while wearing his football helmet. I give it a few knocks as I pass through to the kitchen. "Hi Daddy," he answers, but doesn't budge from his spot.

The kitchen is warmed by the oven and Maggie hasn't noticed I'm home. She's singing along with Perry Como as she mashes the potatoes, and her growing stomach only adds to her beauty. "What's cookin' good lookin'?" I say and kiss her neck from behind, reaching my arm around to embrace her. My kiss tickles a sensitive spot and she shivers and her laugh comes out as a squeal.

"Darrel, you scared me. Look at my goosebumps." I take the arm she extends and rub it, then turn my attention to Soda who's been tugging at my jeans since I walked in.

"Hey Partner," and it ain't no surprise he's only in his underwear and cowboy boots, with his toy pistol tucked through on his hip.

"Oh Darrel, you gotta hear this," Maggie says, suddenly excited, and she turns down the radio, pulls the kitchen chair from the table, then turns it to face us. She lifts Soda up, boots and all, to stand in it, and his grin is huge, cause he's so happy to be taller and in the limelight. "Okay Soda, 'member what you learned today? Sing it for Daddy," she urges him sweetly.

Soda starts going to town on a jazzed up rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In." Maggie's hands are up and over her mouth, and I watch her melt at the cuteness of him feeling the rhythm, a two and a half year old singing like he means it. Her eyes are shining with delight when she looks at me after he finishes. "Is that the cutest thing you ever saw in your life?"

And I agree and clap, resisting the urge to ask her what in the world she's doing to my rough and tumble boy. I make a mental note to spend more time with him.

Maggie rushes to pull out the pot roast and I swing Soda down from his perch, rub his hair and say, "A cowboy who sings for his supper, huh? Run along, show Darry them wrestlin' moves I taught ya," and I go wash up.

Maggie's cutting the boys' meat and I grab a beer, sitting down with a sigh of relief after a long day. I ask Maggie how she's feelin' and she tells me all about the baby kicks that are aimed at her rib cage, but I can tell she's holding something back.

"Darry, napkin in your lap," I say firmly. That boy's having a hard time with his table manners and I'm getting tired of reminding him every meal.

Maggie falls back in her chair and instead of diggin' in, she watches the boys eat and helps Soda when he has trouble.

I didn't want to make this the topic at the table tonight, but I go on and tell her I've put in for a job with the highway department. It pays better than the ranch and I'll keep my night job at the factory. I know Maggie's look and she's feeling sorry. "Darrel, I don't want you to have to quit the only job you've ever loved."

I hate the thought of walking away from it, only to go dig ditches. Breaking in them horses is what I'm actually really good at, but I'm even better at hiding my disappointment, and I smile at my plate and shrug it off. "Ain't a big deal. It'll help when the baby's here, and who knows. Maybe I'll go back to it one day."

Soda's milk spills across the table and Maggie's struggling to get back up, so I get the dish towel for her and start wiping the table and Soda down. He's crying and blaming Darry, who quickly calls him a liar. The table is as loud and messy as it always is, making it difficult to carry on any conversation. "I went to the doctor today, everything's fine," Maggie says matter of fact.

"That's real good,"I answer and I return to my seat, putting Soda up in my lap. I notice she still hasn't eaten a bite.

"Somethin' interesting did happen though," and her eyes are so locked on me, I'm startin to get real uncomfortable.

"Oh?" I wait.

"Dr. Altman used his special stethoscope on me today, that horn lookin' thing he listens through, presses on my stomach, real deep. Took him a long time." Her smile, though nervous and unsure, spreads across her face. "He heard two heartbeats," she says and just so I understand her correctly, she adds, "We're havin' twins."

What kind of mother rejects her baby? They put him against my chest, and he knew me by smell. Nature took over, so he was rooting for my breast right away, and I just handed him right off to the nurse. How can I give him any milk when I'm an empty shell? Darrel explained it away, said "She just ain't ready yet," and they all started talking about me like I wasn't in the room. And I wasn't.

I can't begin to think about mothering right now, not this baby, not Soda or Darry, when the loss is a throbbing ache so deep and unbearable. I want to escape myself, my own wretched body, and the only reason I don't bring my hands up to claw away at my face like I want to, is because there's already pain and blood seeping from between my legs, and that gives me a bit of consolation right now. I want, I need to be bleeding out and hurting. Anything to try and match the twisting agony I carry inside me now, in place of the boys I carried a few days ago.

One is gone. He's gone.

I feel Darrel looking in on me and I act asleep, but I'll never sleep again. I just stare at my crucifix, and remember the night I found out I was expecting. What a fool I was to be so upset. It's no wonder God has punished me.

I can still hear my father shouting after me when Darrel took me out of Louisiana. "The devil's already dancin' on your grave, little girl," and I just kept my eyes on Darrel and watched him drive us away from there. Not believing a word of it. But maybe I'm thinking Daddy was right. I didn't follow any of the rules, and now there's Hell to pay for all these sins.

I know Darrel's hurting too. I'm so lost though, I can't find him to help him, even if I could. He had to handle everything at the hospital, and I saw him cry for the very first time in my life. But unlike me, he's built so solid. He can't keep from moving forward, and though he reaches out in the dark to drag me along, I can't go with him this time. I guess I'm losing him too.

Ponyboy's cries break the silence and I know they're hungry cries. For the first time, I feel somewhat of a tug. I feel something inside me that wakes up and screams for Ponyboy. But I can only lie there and listen to Darrel tend to him. I wonder at how he can handle scooping him up, and talk to him with such loving tenderness, gently shushing and soothing. When he's the carbon copy of who we lost. Should I dare to think us lucky that we'll always know what our missing boy would look like as years go on? Or is it a cruel reminder?

No, not Ponyboy. Something so beautiful could never be made as penance.

If I should ever pull myself out of this misery, this torture, I vow to do whatever it takes to never let Ponyboy know of this tragedy. I don't want him living with the grief, aware of what's missing. Why should he suffer with this too? Sodapop will forget, and I'll just make Darry promise to never speak of it again. This might be the only way I can move forward from all this. Can I? Should I? The only answer is so far down in me it's primal, and it's starting to rise up, ancient and maternal.

I'm pacing the floor with Ponyboy. His face is red from his fit and his little arms break from the blanket I failed at swaddling them in. His hands are in fists and reach wildly at the air, and I feel sorry for him, fighting for all the comforts that he's been used to receiving only a few days ago, in the safety of Maggie's womb. And he needs her now. And so do I.

"Boys, they're here," I overhear Nora telling Sodapop and Darry as we slowly make our way up the porch. Soda bursts through the screen door and I have to intercept him before he tackles Maggie, who's walking very carefully, her body still sore. We make it in, and after Maggie stiffly hugs both boys, she says she's not feeling well and hands Pony to me, heading for the bedroom.

"Where's the other one?" Darry asks innocently and I know Maggie hears, but she keeps walking, and I can almost see her body crumbling in on itself.

"There's only gonna be one baby now," I tell him, and it's enough to satisfy, cause they're so wrapped up in oohing and aahing over their new and perfect baby brother. They each take turns holding him in their laps and I take pictures. And Nora takes one of the four of us all together on the couch, Maggie noticeably missing. I swallow down the grief and the worry as I answer all their excited questions.

"I love his name," Darry decides and Soda agrees.

He really is beautiful. Perfect eyes, lips, nose. I've fallen in love, just as I have with all my boys. And this day that I've spent bonding with him has healed me, not entirely, but in so many ways. I know it'll be the same for Maggie. When she can get to the point to let him in. I set Pony back in his crib and go to heat up a bottle, but I find myself heading in the opposite direction of the kitchen. I want to try with Maggie one more time.

She's choking on sobs when I enter and I go to bend down by her side of the bed, take her hands and try and tell her we're gonna make it through this. She frantically sits up and I'm startled she's even moving, since she's been still all day.

Her eyes are spilling their tears but her words are firm and forceful, though roughly whispered. "Promise me we'll never tell Ponyboy this happened. Promise me Darrel. You have to. And that you'll make Darry swear to never speak of this to him when he grows up."

I'm shocked by her request. It feels wrong to me, turns my stomach. But she's the mother. And she's bordering on hysteria. And she needs this promise desperately. So I nod my head and against my gut, I find myself agreeing to make a six year old carry something this big to his grave.

Pony's sobs grow louder, to the point he's losing his voice and I stand up to get him, but I beg Maggie, plead with her. "Ponyboy needs you, Maggie. He's crying for you." I somehow sense I'm reaching her. And her head is finally nodding, though I don't even think she realizes it. "He needs you," I repeat, and then I notice the wet spots on her shirt, where her milk is soaking through. "You need him too, see."

And she looks down and sees it for herself. She can't deny this bond now as her body's responding to the cries of her baby.

I bring Ponyboy to her, still flailing, screaming himself raw, and Maggie already has her shirt opened and is reaching for him. And I can feel the entire world settling when Ponyboy latches on, and I can no longer tell where she ends and he begins.

A/N: Outsiders by SE Hinton