The haze of grogginess greeted Soda, as his eyes opened, heavy with the late night dawn on unwanted dreams. He could hear his brothers yelling from one room to another, the voices of a morning routine beginning to lull him back to sleep.

Despite his closed eyes, Soda sensed a presence in his bedroom, jolting as a hand touched his back and a voice spoke to him. "I'll be home for lunch, little buddy."

Soda made his eyes open to see his big brother looking back at him. Somewhere within the fog of images that had disturbed his rest so often overnight, he found his own voice. "K, Dar."


I am not struggling, Steve told himself, as he walked in the school hallway. I'm fine. I have these feelings, but I'm fine.

TwoBit's eyebrow raised, the expression on Steve's face telling him he was hardly there with him, let alone listening. "Hey, Steve-O, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing, TwoBit."

"Nothing? Damn, no wonder you look so out of it."

Steve felt a smile tug at his lips, despite the thoughts in his mind. "Yeah, my head is about as empty as yours right now."


Drops of food coloring mixed with the freshly scrambled eggs, turning them from yellow to green.

Soda, focused on using his left hand, stirred his creation with a spatula, making the eggs move along the circular surface of the frying pan. He reached for a fork, piercing a piece of the green egg and lifting it to his mouth to take a bite.

Soda was still chewing when there was a knock on the door.


No sense in sticking around here today, Steve thought, as he turned the key in his car's ignition. He shifted into reverse, backing out of the space, before moving forward and peeling out of the school's parking lot.


"I'm sorry. It's really hard for me to talk about this."

Officer Rhodes regarded Soda with sympathy, the pen in his hand tapping softly against the pad of paper. "I'll be a little more specific then. Maybe that could help. Do you remember anything about the shooter's physical appearance?"

Soda shifted in his chair, his memory clear. "Yeah."

"Like what? Hair color? Eye color?"

Soda swallowed, able to see both of his hands shaking. "His hair, I think it was kind of brown. I saw his eyes, but not real close, so I don't know."

"Okay. Anything else you can tell me about his face?"

Soda's memory flashed, making his breath catch. "No. Cause he was-"

The front door opened, Steve's voice indicating his presence, before he stepped inside the house. "Hey, Soda, why is there a cop car in the-"

Soda turned to look at his best friend, the words he'd been about to speak still on the tip of his tongue. "Um, hey, Steve. This is Officer Rhodes. He just came to talk to me about, uh, what happened."

Steve moved to the chair closest to Soda, eyeing the officer. "I hope you didn't bring that partner of yours."

Officer Rhodes didn't take offense. "No. Just me this time."

Soda looked between Steve and the officer. "You two know each other?"

Steve was the first to explain. "I'll tell you later, but we met at the hospital when you were still in surgery."

Officer Rhodes got back to the conversation at hand. "All right. So what were you about to say about the shooter's face, Mr. Curtis?"

Soda felt Steve's hand come to rest on his shoulder, as he tried to go back to what he'd been saying. "I never- I never saw his face cause he was wearing a mask. A black one."

Officer Rhodes jotted down some notes about the details Soda had told him. "Okay. Can you tell me what his voice sounded like?"

Soda refused to acknowledge the tears in his eyes, blinking them back, before he answered the question. "Um, it was just a man's voice, I guess. Maybe kind of deep, but I was really scared so..."

Officer Rhodes shifted the focus to another detail. "What did he say to you?"

Soda's gaze locked with Steve's, silent support keeping him going. "Um, he said to give him the money, and I was trying to, but he didn't wait. I was shaking so bad cause the gun, it was right there and..."

Officer Rhodes heard the tremble in Soda's voice, dreading even to ask his last question. "Is there anyone you think would want to hurt you, Mr. Curtis?"

Soda felt Steve's hand grip his shoulder even tighter, as he shook his head. "No. No one. I get along with people, and no one would ever-"

Officer Rhodes made one last note, before he closed his pad of paper and stood to his feet. "Thank you. I think I have all I need."

Soda nodded at the officer, able to feel the shake in his body, as a pain moved through the fingers of his right hand, yet another reminder of the night he'd been shot.

Steve stayed close to Soda, as Officer Rhodes saw himself out. "You got through it, man. It's over."

Soda still didn't let the tears out, as he looked down at the bandage on his injured arm, the sound of the gun shot reverberating in his head.

"Sodapop?"

Soda covered his eyes with both hands, feeling the memory resurrecting itself, fresh from the place he'd tried to leave it.

Steve kept his hand on Soda's shoulder. "It's okay, man. You don't have to talk about it anymore."

Soda could see the image of the black mask erasing the line between the past and the present, as he was so still, the sound of his own breathing echoed in his ears. "Please help me. Please don't."

Steve fit together the clues in Soda's demeanor and his words, a cold feeling of recognition dawning on him. He reached for one of his friend's wrists, grasping it gently. "Soda, you need to look at me."

Soda saw the gun that had pointed at him, the memory of the panic from that night filling his senses. He could feel the pain that had ripped through him, the searing agony of traveling metal colliding with his flesh. "No. No. I can't. Please don't make me."

"It's over, buddy. It's not real. I promise you."

Within the painful spiral that melded the past and present into one entity, Soda felt Steve's arms wrap around him. He clutched onto his friend, pushing his face into his shoulder, but the mask didn't disappear.


"Damn. I meant to get here sooner. I got hung up trying to finish that job."

Steve glanced out the window at Soda, as he replied to Darry. "Don't sweat it, Superman. At least he wasn't alone. Hell, I was just going to come hang out for lunch time, but I couldn't leave him after that."

Darry followed Steve's gaze, seeing Soda on the porch swing, getting much needed fresh air. "Thanks, Steve. For being here. He still looks really shaken up. It pisses me off that that cop made him talk about it when he's clearly not ready. Shit, this is his first full day out of the hospital."

"At least he didn't bring his jerk of a partner with him."

"Be honest with me. How bad was it?"

"He kind of scared me, Darry. The cop left, and he wouldn't say anything else. He was still shaking all over and covering his face up, like he couldn't stand to look. Then, he started saying stuff, and it-" Steve felt the urge to deny the truth, even though he'd witnessed it himself. "-it reminded me of when I've had my flashbacks."

"What was he saying?"

"He asked for help, then said 'please don't.' I tried to get him to look at me, and he told me he couldn't."

"You really think Soda could've been having a flashback, like what you've had? It was that bad?"

"Sure seemed like it. I didn't ask him anything about it yet though. I just wanted to get him to calm down. But, man, when I hugged him, he held on so tight, it was like he was scared to death."


"Go back to work, Darry. I'm fine now. You guys can't hover over me all day, and I know we need the money."

Darry let out a sigh, as he sat down beside Soda on the porch swing, logic telling him his brother was right. "Okay. But I won't be late. Are you sure you're all right?"

Soda didn't spare the question a second of thought. "Yes. I'm sure. I just- I don't know. I got kind of upset."

Steve refrained from rolling his eyes or arguing with Soda's claim. Kind of upset, my ass, he thought, as he took a drag off his cigarette. "Go, Darry. I'll be here a little longer anyway. It'd be stupid for me to go back to school now. I'll just swing by my house before I have to go to work."

Darry gave Soda's hand a squeeze, before standing to his feet. "I'll see you when I get home, little buddy."

Soda nodded, then watched Darry head toward his truck. "I'm real sorry, Stevie."

Steve heard the slam of the truck's door, as he blew smoke from his lips. "What are you talking about, man?"

Soda waved to Darry, trying to give him a grin, as the truck's engine started, and he backed out of the driveway. "I mean, you missed a lot of school, you know, before. I'm sorry you missed more cause of me."

Steve put out the cigarette, tossing the butt to the ground. "It's not a big deal, Sodapop. My grades are good, and we don't have that long left."

"I'm glad you were here."

"Me too, buddy." I wasn't there for you that night, Steve thought. "I mean it." But I'm going to make damn sure I am now.


"I made sure to finish it up for him myself. It's starting much better now."

Steve watched as Mr. Coleman pulled the key from the ignition of Soda's car. "You have to replace some spark plugs?"

Mr. Coleman closed the driver's side door, then looked over the deep green Chevy that Soda had bought from his nephew to fix up as his own. "Yeah. It was a pretty routine repair, though it sure sounded like it would take more than that."

Steve followed Mr. Coleman out of the garage, back inside the station. "I'll be over there after my shift, so I'll tell Soda it's ready."

"How's he doing anyway? I can't help but think about what happened every time I look around this place."

"Me too, honestly. But he's doing okay, I guess. I know he's going to want to talk to you about coming back to work."

"Do you think it'll be a while before he can?"

"I'm not sure, but it won't be this week or anything. Just depends what the doctor says when he goes back to get the stitches out of his arm."

"I'll have him back as soon as he's able, but he can sure take all the time he needs."


"I just don't feel like it right now, Pone."

Pony looked at Soda, who was stretched out on his bed, a blanket completely covering him. "All right. I just thought you'd want to get out for a little while."

Soda turned over, so he could peek out at Pony. "Maybe tomorrow. I didn't sleep that great last night."

Seeing his brother's eyes drift shut, Pony drew closer to him. He let a few moments of silence pass. "Sodapop?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you sleep?"

"I did sleep. Just not that much."

"Okay. But why?"

"I don't know. I just didn't."

"You didn't dream about-" Pony hesitated, as he touched Soda's shoulder. "-about getting shot, did you?"

Soda grabbed a fistful of the blanket, holding it over his face. "No. Of course not. I didn't dream about anything."

"You just don't usually have trouble sleeping unless something is bothering you. That's why I asked. Sorry if I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"That's all right, Pony. It's not a big deal. I'm okay."


"You gotta change it everyday, huh? Well, I guess that makes sense. You want to make sure it heals like it's supposed to."

Yet another bandage change complete, Soda didn't reply to Steve, before heading out into the backyard.

Darry watched him go, as he pulled the latex gloves off his hands. "It may not seem like it, but he's a lot better with this now than he was the first time."

Steve thought of how he'd shown up just about at the end of this temporary nightly routine, imagining he wouldn't find it easy to actually see Soda's wound either. "I can't blame him though. It's not hard to know what he must think of every time. Just hearing him talk to that cop earlier was even tough for me."

"I still haven't brought that up. I'm not sure if I should."


Soda stared at the cigarette he was smoking, flicking ashes on the ground beside the back porch steps. He put it between his lips, puffing on it, as he saw Steve sit down next to him. "It wasn't what you said. I just needed to come outside."

Steve spoke to his friend, not at all offended by Soda's retreat from the house. "I didn't think it was, buddy."

"Um, what you said earlier about that cop's partner. Why?"

"Guy pissed me off asking Darry stupid questions. You know how they can be just cause we're on this side of town."

"Oh." Soda took another drag off his cigarette, inhaling deeply, before exhaling the smoke into the air. "I'm fine now, Stevie. That today, it- well, it wasn't anything."

Steve kept his voice soft and unaccusing, as he questioned his best friend's assertion. "It wasn't, huh? Sure looked like something, Sodapop."

"I mean, maybe it was something, but it's over now. So it doesn't matter."

Steve laid a hand on Soda's shoulder. "If it didn't matter, you wouldn't have brought it up, buddy."

Soda tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it, as he pushed back the tears that were fighting to come out of his eyes. "You think you know me so damn well."

"Because I do, man. You know I do."

"Please, Steve. Please don't make a big deal out of it. Darry's already worried about me, and I think Pony is too cause I told him-"

"Told him what?"

"Nothing."

"Listen to me, buddy. No matter what you say, I'm not going to force you to talk. But you don't gotta sit here and deny anything. It's okay if shit is bothering you, man. You know I understand."

"But it's not bothering me. Nothing is bothering me. And what happened to me is nothing like what you went through anyway."

"It doesn't have to be. It's still hard to talk about and hard to get through. It's still traumatic."

Soda let a beat of silence pass, not finding it within himself to contradict the truth of Steve's last statement. "Can we just talk about something else? Please? I've kind of had a rough day, and I don't want to argue with you."

"Of course we can, man. As long as you tell me you know I'm here for you."

"I know that, Stevie. I always know that."

"All right. I'll stop being a pain in the ass for right now then."

"Something tells me that won't last long. You're too good at it."

Steve huffed out a laugh, as he elbowed Soda. "And you're not?"

"Not as good as you."

"Yeah. Whatever, buddy. Hey, Coleman finished fixing your car for you. So it's all ready to go."

"I want to talk to him anyway, so maybe I'll be up to walking over there tomorrow to pick it up."

"You okay to drive?"

"I think so. As long as nothing's hurting real bad or anything, it shouldn't be a problem."


Steve opened the cabinet that held his medication, still finding only the bottle that was close to empty. "Hey, Dad, did you remember to fill that new prescription today?"

Nicholas stirred the pot of soup that was on the stove. "I did, Son."

Steve took out one of the pills and put the bottle back in the cabinet, before replying. "Where is it?"

"It's in my room."

Steve swallowed the pill, then turned on the sink, refilling his water glass. "Oh. There's only one left in here now."

"I know."

Steve, glass of water in hand, went to stand beside Nicholas, noticing he was staring at the vegetable soup he'd put together. "Dad, is something going on?"

"No, nothing's going on at all."

"You insisted on picking up the prescription, and now, it's in your room. Are you trying to keep it from me?"

Nicholas turned off the burner, the flame underneath the pot extinguished. "No. I just got worried, so I didn't put it in the cabinet."

"Then, that's a 'yes,' Dad. You're wanting to keep it from me again. Why? Did I say something?"

"No. It's not because of anything you said, Son. But I know it's been hard for you since Sodapop and the shooting, and I'm not saying it shouldn't be-"

"You think I'd try to kill myself again because of all the stuff I've been feeling."

"No. I just didn't know if you might feel bad enough to have thoughts about hurting yourself or if you could start wanting to."

"You could've just asked. Damn, you've been listening to me. I want to be there for Soda. I can't do that if I'm overdosing on my pills."

"I know, Son. I know you do. But that doesn't mean you couldn't feel like you have before."

"I'm not feeling like that right now, Dad. I'm not even having those thoughts at all. If I do, or if I get afraid I could do something to myself, I promise I'll tell you."


"How many of those have you taken today, Sodapop?"

Soda shrugged in reply to Darry's question, as he swallowed a dose of ibuprofen. "I don't know. Just a few. It's not the strong stuff, and I ain't like Pony is with the aspirin."

Darry followed Soda into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. "Have you been hurting a lot today?"

"Sometimes, I guess. But the pills help."

"What's been hurting, little buddy?"

"Nothing different, Dar. Just what you already know about. My arm's sore too, and I guess I can't expect it not to be."

Darry stared at Soda, picturing the thoughts that must be playing in his head.

"You're looking at me like you want to say something."

"Steve told me about how you were after you talked to that cop."

"I figured he would. I'd do that same thing. Hell, I have done the same thing."

"So what was happening?"

"I already told you. I just got kind of upset."

"Steve didn't tell me about it because you were 'kind of upset,' little buddy."

"He asked me a bunch of questions, and it was hard talking about what happened. But that's all. It was nothing."


"I'm sorry, Son. I should've asked you, not just assumed."

Steve stood in the doorway of Nicholas' bedroom, the apology one he knew he could accept. "It's okay, Dad. Please don't worry about it."

Nicholas put the green ribbon bookmark in the place he'd been reading, before closing the Bible and setting it on his nightstand. "Thanks. The last thing I wanted is to upset you."

"I'm not upset. Really. I can't even blame you for doing something you think could protect me. Besides, I have other stuff on my mind tonight."

"Stuff like what? You were kind of late coming home. Is anything going on with Sodapop?"

Steve stepped farther into the room, settling at the foot of Nicholas' bed. "Yeah. There is. He says nothing is bothering him, but I know it is."

"How do you know?"

"A cop came to talk to him today. You know, cause they have to do that since there was a shooting. It was the decent one who came to the hospital. But still, Soda didn't want to talk about any of that. I ended up being there with him because I went over at lunch time."

"So how'd it go?"

"I mean, he answered the questions. He told the cop what he remembers. But after... Damn, it was hard seeing Soda like that, Dad."

"Like what?"

"He kept telling me tonight that it's nothing, and it doesn't matter, but I really think he went back to it. I think he had a flashback of the shooting."


In the sleeping silence of night, Soda carried a pillow and blanket from his bedroom to the living room. He flicked on the TV, turning the volume down low, so he could just hear the laughing voice of Johnny Carson. Lying down on the couch, Soda didn't look around the house or out the windows. He focused on the glow of the TV screen and the softness of the pillow, letting his head sink into it.

His eyes still open, Soda drew the blanket up to his face, the down material touching his cheek. His gaze bore into the TV screen, the present series of pictures distracting his mind from those of the past, until he lost the resolve to keep himself awake, falling into the world of perilous dreams.


"We have plenty of time to figure everything out, honey. You're only a couple of months along."

Vivian, thankful for the reassurance, kissed Samuel's cheek. "I know. I think I'm just excited too, so I want to get things ready."

Samuel pinned his name tag to the front of his shirt, as he smiled. "I can tell you are. Nicholas called me yesterday to let me know Soda went home a couple of days ago, so I think I'm going to drop by and see him this afternoon."

"That's sweet of you. You've been such a good friend to all of them, honey. I know they appreciate you."

"And I appreciate them. Both Nicholas and Steve really mean a lot to me now, so Sodapop does too. I want to see if he needs anything."


"He told me he didn't sleep that much Monday night."

Darry spread mayonnaise on a slice of bread, tossing a slice of tomato on top, as he spoke to Pony. "It would make sense for him to have trouble sleeping right now."

Pony put plastic wrap around the sandwich Darry had made for him, as he glanced at Soda, who was fast asleep on the couch. He was flat on his back, one foot hanging off the side, a blanket covering only his middle. "Yeah, it would. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I asked him if he was having dreams about, you know, getting shot. It was just the first thing that popped into my head."

"What'd he say?"

"He said no, but he wouldn't say why it was hard to sleep. Just that it wasn't a big deal."

The front door swung open, signaling the arrival of TwoBit Mathews. "Good mor-"

Darry interrupted their friend's usual loud greeting. "Shh. Soda is asleep on the couch. I don't want you waking him up. He needs the rest."

TwoBit put a finger over his lips, before turning to Pony, his voice a dramatic whisper. "Come on, Kid. Ride to school with me. It'll be a blast."

Pony rolled his eyes, as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. "You don't have to be that quiet, TwoBit." He turned to Darry. "Track practice starts this afternoon, so I'll be back kind of late, Dar."

Darry nodded, as he put the lunch meat and condiments back in the refrigerator. "All right, Pone. I'll see you tonight."

Pony started to follow TwoBit out to his car, but paused, not finished talking to his oldest brother. "I always like running, but I think I really need it right now. I'm worried about Soda."

Darry closed the refrigerator door, leaning up against it. "I know. Me too."

Pony took another glance at his middle brother, always seeing him as the one who'd helped him through his worst nights, just with his comforting presence. "It was the scariest thing to almost lose him, Darry. And now, I can't shake the feeling he wasn't telling the truth. Soda's not the best liar, you know? He doesn't hide stuff well, and I think he is dreaming about it."


Soda slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and started to tie them. The fingers of his right hand struggled to grip the laces, but he slowly managed to get a beginning knot. The trouble only increased, as he attempted to create the loops and pull them through.

Soda heard himself sigh, the sound so distressed from this simple task that he gave up, tucking the undone laces inside the shoe.


I need to call Laura, Steve thought, as his English teacher, Mrs. Thompson, handed them back their most recent essays. Despite his current distress, he grinned at the grade on the paper, an "A."

Steve read over Mrs. Thompson's comments that were written in blue pen. Each one, minus a few corrections, praised his work. He turned to the end of the essay, seeing a longer note below his own concluding paragraph: "This is excellent work, Steve. You've improved so much in your writing. Good job expressing yourself! I'm glad you're so determined to work hard and do the best you can do."


The DX came into view, the sight of it making Soda come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. His eyes swept the front of the building, as he took a deep breath, making his feet move forward again. It's fine, he told himself. It's just the DX. Nothing has changed.

Soda approached the edge of the parking lot, recognizing Mr. Coleman's car in a space close to the garage. He walked across the pavement, drawing closer to the station's door. It's not a big deal, he told himself. You've been working here for a long time.

Soda stopped beside the door, his eyes wandering to the gas pumps and the handful of cars in line for service. One of his coworkers was there, sliding a squeegee over a windshield, completely unaware he was near.

Soda found himself looking all around, his heart beat going faster, as he imagined the places where the robber could've hidden. Had he been waiting in the bushes? Had he been around the corner of the building, his mask blending into the night, as he prepared to make his presence and intentions known? Had he been just outside the entrance, watching Soda through the glass?

Soda turned and opened the door, the sight of the inside of the station making him freeze, the bell that announced his arrival now a threatening sound.

"Give me the money, kid!"

Soda's hands went to his ears, at the same time his eyes registered Mr. Coleman returning from the back of the store.

"Where's the key? Hurry up and unlock the damn thing. I don't got all night!"

Soda's gaze moved to the counter and to the register, remembering where he'd been standing.

"I said hurry up, kid! Don't think I won't shoot you!"

Soda saw Mr. Coleman right in front of him, his lips moving, though he couldn't make out his boss' words.

"I'm done with you, kid. I don't have time for this."

Soda stared at the spot, where he'd fallen, stricken by both the force of the shot and the sudden pain. He saw the blood that had begun to pour from his arm, as the masked man was quick to fully unlock the cash register and remove the cash, before disappearing back out into the night.

Soda felt Mr. Coleman's hands on his shoulders, finally hearing his voice. "Sodapop, I know it must be hard to be here again. But, come on. Let me know you're in there."

Soda moved his eyes to Mr. Coleman, blinking away the image of the mask, as he let his hands fall from his ears. "I- I am. I'm right here."

"I know you probably came to get your car, but do you need to sit down? You're white as a sheet."

"Um, maybe. I feel kind of funny. It's weird to come in here after- after what happened."

"I keep thinking about it, so I know you must."

Soda forced his feet to go forward, walking over to the counter. He stood behind it, looking at the cash register, then at the door. You're fine, he told himself. There's nothing to be scared of.

"Sodapop? Are you still with me?"

Soda heard the sound of the bell, the jingle making him jump, the incoming customer's face transforming into the mask he'd seen the night of the shooting. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm with you. I'm here, and I'm fine." I'm okay, he told himself. It's not real.