THE BEGINNING

Chapter Five

I walk the dark and lonely house this night like a ghost who haunts. I can't sleep, can't lie still, not when my mind's in overdrive planning the next step. Calculating, plotting behind her back, knowing all the simple solutions have been exhausted and it's time I pull out the big guns.

She woke up in a sweat, whimpering, begging. Pressed against my side clawing at my chest. I've never seen someone in that much hell.

"Kill me Darrel. Please just kill me," she's quietly pleading with a voice raw and weakened by torment.

"Shhh..don't say that Maggie. Please darlin'," my whisper cracks, choking on all that pain as I hold her. "I'm gonna getcha better, ya hear me?"

I sit in a neglected and dirty kitchen and look again at the pamphlet I picked up at my visit to the doctor's. The visit I made alone. Without her. The visit Dr. Sherman recommended we have so we could speak freely about Maggie and the options available. He told me about some hospital over in Oklahoma City. A place where patients undergo more acute, more vigorous types of therapy and can come home fully recovered. But that day I bucked against him.

"I ain't sending my wife to no insane asylum."

"Mr. Curtis, I'm not calling Maggie insane. I'm calling her severely depressed." His voice remains as even and pleasant as his greetings and I don't know if that sits well with me. "Mental institutions are just like hospitals, but for the mind. And today there are very effective treatments being offered. Maggie could be cured in as little as a week or two in a place like that."

My mind is reeling imagining my Maggie in a straight jacket, sitting in a padded cell. I shake my head against the thought and swallow hard. "Treatments huh? I've heard about sick places like that."

"I've heard about them too, Darrel. But those asylums of...well, torture are way in the past. I'm talking about modern medicine. There've been so many advancements in psychiatry today." He takes his glasses off, and leans forward on his elbows, like he's really looking at me underneath those bushy white eyebrows. "I assure you I'd never recommend an abusive environment to any of my patients. And if Maggie stayed only a little while and had maybe a handful of electro-shock therapy sessions, I think you'd see great improvements. It's found to be very beneficial for depression, especially women suffering from severe postpartum disorder."

"Strapped down and shocked? Electricity? Nope, thanks Doc but that ain't for us." I stand to leave, I'm sure five shades paler than when I walked in.

"It's not as severe as it sounds," Sherman says and I can't believe I haven't yet walked out that door. I'm stuck in the same spot, waiting to hear him out. "Some patients don't even have a recollection of the sessions and they walk out wondering why they were depressed in the first place. Perhaps you're not at that point with Maggie yet, but just consider it as an option. It'd be a one shot cure all, save her years of therapy she may not even respond to, not to mention save you a lot of money in the long run. Just look this over and call me if you have questions or want to set something up." He stands now too, extending a hand.

"Thank you Dr. Sherman. I'm sure the medication'll get the job done just fine. I'm already seein' a little spark in those eyes of hers." I reach across the desk and notice his smile has a trace of pity sitting on it.

"That's good news then Darrel. Great news in fact. I do hope you're right." His handshake is firm.

Have we reached that point with Maggie? Is this really where we are? I'm desperate now, eyes closed as I lean back against the chair, its wood pressing cool against my bare skin, and I run my hands across my chest where Maggie's nails dug in.

She asked me to kill her. Please just kill me... her tortured words still float on stagnant air.

But how could I even begin to drive her there and leave her against her will? As her husband all it takes is my signature and she's forced to stay. Even if she got better, how could she ever begin to forgive me? But this isn't about me. This is about getting my wife better. And isn't that my job as her husband?

I've always been strong. I've never backed away from a fight, I survived a childhood of poverty, I've fought off everything from death to life's real monsters and didn't even blink. But from the day I set eyes on my girl, Maggie Castineaux has always been my weakness. No other person could so easily strip me of my strength and show me what true fear and pain really are.

I carefully fold up the paper and slip it into my tool box behind the wrenches. I check on the boys, each one sleeping in their own distinct positions. Ponyboy curled in a ball, Soda out of the blankets and sprawled sideways, and Darry on his back, arms thrown above his head. An unbearable ache slithers inside when I look at him.

But that ache turns hard, like bone, and I feel a stirring in my gut, and the Boxer's finally waking up. Maggie may leave me weak, but I'm a natural born fighter ain't I? And nothing on this Earth could make me fight harder than Pony, Soda and Darry Curtis. I'll do whatever it takes to save their momma. Even if it means hogtying her to the car and wrestling her all the way into the doctors' hands. I ain't afraid to get dirty. I work best in the mud and slop if that's what it comes down to. Cause losing ain't no option.

"That all you want hon? You don't want no burger or nothin'?" I ask Darry when the waitress leaves with our order.

"Naw, I'm not that hungry," he answers, his eyes darting everywhere like he's a trapped animal sitting here in this red booth with me, when all I wanted to do was buy him a nice lunch. Anything to lessen the blows of this awful conversation that waits for us like the gallows.

I may have ordered the Lunch Plate Special, but I give him a little smile and fess up, "I ain't all that hungry neither."

I tap my cigarette pack on the table and slide out a smoke, place it in the corner of my mouth and search my back pocket, watching Darry squirming in his seat. I'm still eyeing him when I strike my match against my belt buckle and I can't believe how big he's getting. I figure I won't leave him waiting any longer. I take a long smooth drag as I wave out the fiery match, and the "order up" bell gets slapped from the kitchen window. Three impatient dings ring out to start the round.

"Darry, we need to talk 'bout your Ma"...

Not once does he look at me while I try and explain to a nine year old why his mother tore him apart. He just continues to swirl his spoon through the vanilla pudding he ordered and gives me nothing. But I keep on explaining. About her sickness that isn't in her body but in her mind. Doesn't even flinch when I talk about Pony's twin we lost. Just when I'm starting to wonder if he's tuned me out entirely, I mention that Ma's going away for a little while to get better, and Darry's steel blue eyes suddenly jump from his dish and lock in with mine.

"Really?" he breathes. "How long she gonna be gone?"

"Long as it takes."

All of a sudden he reaches over and plucks one of the greasy fries off my plate and pops it in his mouth. And he keeps on popping one after another, dragging them through ketchup while he listens to me tell him there's hope.

xXx

The truck's on idle in the driveway and I won't let Darry go in just yet. I grab his arm before he even goes for the handle. "Hey, I need you to watch the boys for me tomorrow. Think you can handle that?"

His face turns to me from the passenger window and I notice hurt in his eyes. "That's what I been doin' this whole time Dad." My stomach sinks. He thinks I haven't noticed.

"That came out wrong Darry. I know all you been doin'," I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze, "and I appreciate it. We couldn't get along this summer without you takin' care of your brothers. I'm proud of you little man." He nods but doesn't smile.

I think back to what I was doing at his age and shit, compared to my childhood, Darry's living the dream. But it still doesn't ease my guilt I feel for laying all this on him.

I stare straight ahead, the atmosphere bends in hypnotic waves from the heat of the engine, and I remember. All the hard years when Dad moved us to New Orleans looking for any kind of work. For scraps. For some reason I picture myself as Darry when I look back.

"Ya know we're a lot alike you 'n me. I had to man up at a young age too. 'Fore we come up through Baton Rouge I was hustlin' for money on them dirty streets of N'Awlins. I was even younger than you are now, just knee high to a grasshopper." I turn to look at him now, and I wonder why I'm smiling about some of my cruelest years. "Lord I played that harmonica up 'n down the Quarter just tryin' to sell more papers. And I flat ran every corner, cause you know what? I was a pretty damn good player. Helped I was cute as hell too." Finally he smiles while mine slowly fades. "I'm sorry Darry. I always wanted you to stay young for far longer than I did."

"S'okay Dad. I still feel young." His hand sweetly grasps my forearm, wrapping around the tattoo I got when he was born. I take in a breath and tell him my plan.

"Darry, I'm gonna put Ponyboy in your bed tonight to sleep in y'all's room." I know he knows how serious this is cause he doesn't even roll his eyes at that. "Mom and I are leavin' 'fore dawn, so we'll be gone by the time you guys wake up." I don't tell him why I'm choosing this way, so that Maggie won't be tempted to stay, not wanting to leave her babies, especially a crying Ponyboy.

"Just tell the boys I'm drivin' Mom to visit some long lost aunt," and I'm making this up as I go.

"Oh, you mean old Aunt Mabel?" I look at Darry and start to wonder if we really do have a Mabel somewhere down our line. His grin is sly. Damn that boy's good.

"I'll be back by late afternoon, so not too long. I'll call you from the road and check in time 'n again." With each of Darry's nods, I feel more and more confident that maybe this'll work. Maybe I can really do this. Maybe she'll want to go. Maybe she's been waiting for me to take her, to save her. But I know that's wishful thinking. God only knows how tomorrow will play out. Which is why I have to plan for the worst. For the dragging and screaming. For the ugly. I put both my hands on Darry's shoulders and look at him like my life depends on this.

"Darry, please honey, whatever you hear tomorrow, promise me, swear to me and God above you won't come outta that room."

I never knew how loud the quiet is. Or how many times Soda turns over and flops around in a night. I stare at his bunk every time those mattress coils squeak and I start to wonder if the wooden frame that holds his bed above mine is gonna fail someday. I haven't slept and I'm miserable next to Pony who's dug into my side, and when he's not loudly sucking, his gross spit-soaked thumb keeps touching my face and neck. But I'm just trying to tune all this out.

Cause I'm listening for it. I'm waiting. I'm on edge wondering when it's gonna happen. What's gonna happen.

Please don't let it be too loud, please God make her be quiet.

The more I think about it, the more my stomach hurts. I try and think of something else. In the glow of the bumblebee nightlight that Pony brought with him, I stare at Soda's hand that hangs down from his bed. I see his bandaid that covers Ponyboy's bite from last week. I can tell it's the same bandaid, dirty and furling around the edges, showing a grimy outline. Mom's thankfully stopped with her brutal hand washing tirades, but I don't know if this feels much better. She's quit caring if we're even clean at all. Maybe we'll play in the hose today.

I hear a bump. Is this it? Do I hear a heated conversation? My ears are playing tricks on me cause the clock says only two. Dawn's a long long way away.

I pray that Soda and Pony don't wake up. Then when the sun's shining I can just tell them Mom's off on a pleasant visit with good ole Aunt Mabel. And only Ponyboy will cry, but that's okay cause he cries for just a little while when Mom's not in his sight. And then Mom'll come back and we'll be a normal family.

Normal. Maybe I ask for too much. I'd settle for running free outside on summer afternoons, for not always having to take up the slack in this house, for a mom I recognize and who recognizes me back, for a hallway cleared of people getting dragged down it. Will it happen again in a couple of hours? I think back to the night we watched Dad drag Mom violently to the bathroom. I wince when I think of the other day, the same long hall, how she slapped me the entire way to my room.

My eyes are getting heavy. I just want us to be normal. My room grows dimmer each second and eyelashes begin to close in. I'm fading. Just a normal family...of ordinary people...just...people..

"Darry?" My eyes shoot open and my breath sucks in. Where am I? What time is it? "Darry, I have to go pee." Pony's shaking my shoulder, whining.

I wipe my drool and squint at the clock I can barely see, remembering I still haven't told Dad how everything looks fuzzy these days and Mrs. Hammons had to move me to the front so I can see the chalkboard. I pull the clock closer and make out 4:13. Now Pony's poking me in the ribs. "Darry, I gotta go potty." Oh fuck. Of course he does now. Four's close to dawn ain't it? And he said they'd leave before dawn. But I'm not about to let Pony wet this bed with me in it.

"C'mon and make it quick," I tell him, jerking him out of the bed by his arm. "Shh, and tiptoe," I whisper as I open up my door slowly to make sure the coast is clear.

I hold his hand down the hallway trying to move him faster, and put my finger to my lips when he tries to tell me to look at his shirt. He made me give him one of mine to wear to bed last night, a big boy shirt for the big boy room, and it's draped over him like a damn nightgown.

I turn on the bathroom light and go in with him, closing the door behind us to contain the harsh glare. "Now do your business and hurry up," I instruct him without any kind of patience, pushing him forward to the toilet. He stumbles a little but doesn't complain and lifts up the seat and drops his drawers.

"Darry help me," he says, having a hard time managing, not able to hold himself to pee while holding onto all that material. I roll my eyes and step behind him, lift the bottom of the gray Cowboys t-shirt and tell him fire away. And it's taking forever. I'm wound so tight I know I'm about to come undone. And every time I think Pony's finished another stream starts up.

We're safe back in bed but my panic is only beginning. I need Ponyboy to get back to sleep before the shit hits the fan. I don't know how much time I have to work with. So I wrap him up beside me and start dragging soft fingers down his arm. I try to will myself calm so it can rub off on him. And it just might be working. His breathing is steady, he's quit moving and his thumb's back in place.

As Pony drifts off, I still hold onto him and wait. My breathing speeds up and I cover my mouth with my hand so it doesn't wake anybody up. My heart pounds in my ears and I listen. And wait. And pray. And breathe. And worry. And lose my mind.

Then I hear the first sign of it. A faraway thump shatters the silent house and feels like it shattered me. I jerk my head towards my door and cringe. Is this it? Has the morning really started? I flinch at another slamming bang. My chest works hard for air.

My God, it's here.

A/N: The Outsiders by SE Hinton