Well it's been a minute, hasn't it? Trying to get the writing muscle back after way too long, and also just missed you wonderful people. If you're here and don't know my universe (first of all, thank you for stopping in!), secondly, just as a little refresher, my Darry is a police officer, he has a wife Debbie and his three kids Jackie, Junior (Darrel) and Maddie. Sodapop has a wife named Grace, a daughter Marley, and some post-war ghosts that still follow him around. Pony is a successful freelance journalist who has been traveling the world, he has not yet settled down.
Daughter
All Junior really shared with his father was the same first name, and even then Junior had opted for something different. When it comes to the things that can make Darry Curtis snap, it pretty consistently comes down to the presence of his only son, Darry Curtis, Junior. He was supposed to be the next Bradshaw, after all, but when he declared at seven and a half that gymnastics was more his shtick and his big sister Jackie jumped in saying she was already pretty good at football, Darry managed some relief. He could always count on Jackie.
Of course, Jackie's best friend is Maria Delgado and Maria Delgado and her family's version of football is kicking the ball around on the ground with your foot like it's all some kind of joke and Darry's the butt of it.
Jackie probably should've clarified that earlier because her Daddy looks just downright disappointed.
"No, Dad, fútbol. It isn't the same thing." Jackie knows just how to match her Dad's pointedness, mirroring his hands on his hips, cocked head though instead of looking down she's got to look up, the white and black ball secured atop a pointed hip.
"Soccer isn't a sport, not in this household at least." He proclaims definitively, maybe just to see how she'll react since more than anything he likes to test her to teach her. The Curtis Method, he'd call it if he knew to claim it, if only he knew it didn't work on all kids. "You can't call soccer a sport."
But tell a girl like Jacqueline Curtis what she can't do, and well, you've just about granted her every fiber of willpower needed to prove you wrong. She hasn't decided yet if it's a quality that frees her or imprisons her, but at least she knows she's capable of more than a lot of people write off in themselves. At least she knows she's the one in control. Jackie's not really afraid of anything. Except losing. Father's daughter, yada yada yada…
The only time she prays is during board games when she's not sure she'll come around for the win.
Having just learned Newton's Third in science last week, Jackie's set on finding that opposite reaction, prove to her father that soccer might even be more of a sport than football. It is her favorite thing these days. Any game where you got to run more than any other action has to be considered sport. She just doesn't see her dad already knows that, or if she does see he knows she can't be bothered to care until he admits he's wrong.
"I've got a game on Saturday. You can show or not, I don't really care." She rolls her eyes, sticks up her nose and does sort of a flippant shoulder shrug she learned from her mama when her parents get into an argument, which happens almost never. Maybe that's why it stuck with her. Plus her dad always seems to lose whenever she does it. If her dad's really Superman, then her mother is Kryptonite, not Lois Lane, only because sometimes the power to disarm can actually be out of love. That and Debbie's far from a damsel in distress.
Junior walks in then, if you can call it walking when it happens on one's hands and not their feet. Junior's been way into Bruce Lee movies, and thinks his father's friend Keith is real funny. Things like gymnastics and martial arts seem to really resonate with him, he likes the quickness and precision of strength.
Debbie's quick enough to catch the left foot that desperately swings for balance, and near hooks onto the glass angel that sits on the shelf above the china case. She doesn't need to scold him, cause her tsk and the snap of her fingers reduces him to a two-legged again.
"Take your clown act outside, my little monkey child." And her eyes can be icy and warm all at once.
You don't mess with Mama Bear, when she's got a laundry basket in one hand and she doesn't have her 'face' painted on yet. Debbie's not a fan of feeling vulnerable, exposed. Stick on eyelashes, and creamy brown eyebrow pencils tend to do the trick.
She didn't used to need that to feel pretty, she just knew she was because people said it all the time. It means more when strangers call you pretty. Say her makeup ritual is a compromise for her hair that grew back thinner than it had been pre-chemo. That, and the compliments don't come so frequently anymore, just from those she loves most, which she wishes could be enough.
"I'm going," Junior assures with raised hands, heading out the door before she can tell him the exact reason they bought a house with a big yard in the first place. Or before his daddy can shove down his throat that gymnastics isn't a sport either, the only difference is, Darry's not testing him like he is Jackie, he means it.
Darry's not raising any sissies, whatever that means.
Junior slides open the glass door to the back to practice, because he'll be damned if the house rules keep him from mastering his craft. Determined, like his daddy, but not at all like is daddy.
It's more fun when you can show off, and sometimes all Junior needs is a pat from his dad, who's too busy arguing semantics with Jackie. It used to bother him real good, but now he just gets his pats from elsewhere, like Uncle Soda or his mother, or most importantly, himself which will end up serving him better than he'd have thought as he hears his father and perfect sister debate.
He turns to head out, but Debbie snags him by the back of his shirt collar and pulls him in for a kiss on the cheek as if she's a mindreader herself, which Junior thinks is probably true of all mothers. Junior's just glad she didn't have her shade of sass and seduction red lip tint that never washes off his forehead and gives the boys at school a chance to poke fun. Debbie's lip color is one of a kind, and it wasn't so cool when he had to admit those smooches were from his mommy when they came over after school one day. It seems Junior's already got a lot to prove being the shortest kid in his class. That does makes him the fastest, though, another thing that's served him well in his future under some unfavorable circumstances.
"I'll be at your game, sweetheart." Debbie offers to Jackie, making her way towards the laundry room after working to fix Junior's permanently matted blonde hair that makes him look a little like a lamp shade.
"Well I know you'll be there, Mom." Jackie, though accidentally, benches her own mother with those words and that hard stare. Eyes so hard that Darry himself feels frozen over.
Jackie thinks it funny both her parents could have blue eyes but her mother's eyes scream security and Jackie has seen has the right look from her dad can scare away the scariest of thugs when they go on the other side of town. She guesses it's got to do with the kind of work he's in, wonders if he's always had that or learned it, and if she can learn it too. She wants to be just like him.
"Oh, I'll be there. I have to see this little game for myself." He chimes in, harsh to anyone but her. Her challenge is met, and Jackie doesn't back down from a fight.
And they both know it, of course he'd be there, because he's always there when it counts and even when it doesn't.
Jackie likes consistency, at this time in her life, more than she likes anything else.
Maddie spins in the living room, completely unaware or maybe completely disinterested, as the showdown occurs.
And why should she care, anyhow? It seems Maddie's family's always fired up about something, so she finds it's easier just to stay bound to her thoughts. Social cues were always so complex, and ever-changing, and never did make much sense to her.
Junior's the one who understands Maddie the most, and it's often his presence she really acknowledges. Their Uncle Soda says being smushed in the middle of your siblings is kind of like a superpower in that way- you get to be close enough to either to make sense of them both. That and Junior and Maddie share the same heart somehow, though Junior's the trouble maker who always lips off to their father and Maddie quietly watches the bees pollinate her mama's flowers in the front yard while the rest of the kids play in the sprinklers.
Maybe it's because for Maddie's first three years of life, she didn't say a word, and nobody understood her timidity, her meltdowns, her sensitivity, not even her own mother, though not for lack of trying. But somehow Junior got real good at reading her face, and the right way her brow would furrow, and it was like they'd developed their own language after that. Junior was Maddie's voice for a long time in that house that was too harsh for both of them. There's something to be said about understanding being misunderstood.
It really doesn't take much convincing to get Jackie's Uncle Soda and Aunt Grace out to any sort of social gathering. In fact, their presence is pretty much expected, almost required, in the eyes of the family. Why even gather if the crazy Curtis' aren't going to be there? Uncle Soda brings the party wherever he goes, but Aunt Grace is the only reason it goes on without plummeting into disaster. Jackie likes consistency. There's only three of them, but with Marley Curtis as their one and only, there's really no more room for crazy in that family. More on those three later.
Their Uncle Pony, Jackie's dad's youngest brother, is probably the hardest to wrangle these days, what with his new book release, taking meetings all over the country and signing deals and the like. He's been traveling all over, spending long nights up and writing and getting a few hours of sleep here and there.
"He's an artiste!" Debbie says often.
Something about him never quite seems satisfied, even with all the accolades he gets from just about everyone. Uncle Pony's a bit of a mystery. When Jackie's teacher had them read 'The Raven', she couldn't help see that same expression in Poe's as the one she often saw in her Uncle Pony.
She's not sure how writing got to be such a dangerous job, after all, she does it for an hour every day in Mrs. Simpson's class, but her daddy and Uncle Soda always seem to worry on their little brother's safety.
Jackie slides out the station wagon first, the rip in her second hand jersey snagging on the seatbelt Junior accidentally snapped it into. She gives him a toothy glare, fangs that clamp into his skin, but he brushes it off no problem.
Debbie's the first the hear the rip, hops out and sees the damage shaking her head, and mentions how it'd be real easy to buy her a brand new jersey but Jackie jumps to her own defense. How dumb she'd look showing up with a jersey not faded and stretched out while the rest of the team didn't. She wanted to fit in and even though she tries real hard, she still doesn't quite feel like she's passing.
"JackAttack. Senior. Maddog." Uncle Soda greets them each with a pointedness that can only stir the armed umbrella hug he claws them in a at once after that. Jackie gets a good whiff of his strongly cheap aftershave, not that woody, spicy brand her father uses and her mother loves.
Neither mixes so well with the smell of hot dogs and sunbaked jungle gym tar, so she pulls away.
Uncle Soda's got his old red car, a prized possession according to himself. Marley's nearly six now, so she just barely fits in the back of that thing, but the three of them never seem to leave the city anyways, so it must not be too bad.
Marley nose dives into Jackie's belly for a big hug, wrapping those wild arms around her cousin, hair all disheveled though the bright blonde strands always capture even the weakest of the sun's rays and reflect out golden yellow, happy you-are-my-sunshine whisps. Jackie thinks her own hair looks like dirty mop water, but she tries not to compare.
But even if a little jealous, Jackie likes Marley. In fact, they're best friends the way cousins sometimes are, even with six years of life between them. It's not so much that they can talk about the same things, do the same activities (because they really can't), but there was a two month period a couple years ago where Jackie and her siblings stayed with Uncle Soda and Aunt Grace when Jackie's mother was at the height of chemo. Their house being not nearly as large as Jackie's parents, Junior and Maddie took the guest room which was really just a glorified storage closet with a twin bed and a Blade Runner poster Uncle Soda had taped up for them. But it was quiet, and that's what Maddie needed more of back then. Marley and Jackie shared the fold out couch in the living room, and became fast friends. They'd stay up late and Jackie would tell Maddie stories and Maddie would listen and laugh and giggle and have tickle fights, too.
Marley was four back then, but Jackie liked having somewhat of a little sister who let her take care of her, dare she say even looked up to her. It's something she's always felt she's supposed to do, but it seems her brother and sister don't always want her to play that part.
Marley takes to riding her skateboard in a circle around the family as they all work to unload and gather themselves. Marley's mama, Auntie Grace, bought that board for her on her fifth birthday, and it's the one thing Marley doesn't get tired of after a couple of weeks. She's real good, too, keeps up with the boys that work to pop wheelies and falls just as hard as they do.
"What got you into soccer, Jackie?" Uncle Soda asks, giving her a warm pat on the back, and high-fiving Marley as she zooms behind him. "I thought your daddy would've shut that down real quick."
Forgetting that it's just Uncle Soda, she sets her laser to kill before she launches in to her defense mode she was saving for the game, "Soccer's a sport just like any other game, and only a nitwit, fish for brains cog in the government's pinwheel would disagree." Uncle Soda staggers back from the impact of her gaze, grabbing hold of his chest like she's shot him with a bona fide bullet, and then he drops to his knees. He reaches out a shaky hand towards Grace who's wearing folded arms and a smirk, and Marley who's laughing hard and falling down off her board to the concrete with him.
"Avenge me!" He cries out before lying limp, gathering some confused stares from passerby's, and Jackie does like when her Uncle Soda can make her have a good belly laugh.
Uncle Soda likes things that don't remind him of anything, which Jackie assumes is because he's just carefree and adventurous, but she'll learn later that there's a whole lot to be disturbed under those surfaces. Things that arise even with the smallest of triggers. Her mama said that people can have scars on their skin that you can see, like Junior's stitched up eyebrow after he ran full force into that fence trying to fly a kite for Maddie. But then Debbie blew her daughter's mind by saying people could have scars on the inside that you don't even know are there, scars that can hurt worse, scars that don't always get to heal.
Jackie could understand that, but of her family members, she's most wary around her Uncle Soda. He seems a bit too wild for her liking.
Jackie likes consistency, rules, order.
Tag goes in the back.
Uncle Pony's got a little more of the melancholic spirit, and Jackie doesn't totally understand him because of it. His discussions tend to delve into the news, what he's writing, and Debbie tells Jackie it's because he's a feeler, not a doer like her father. Jackie wonders what it is about her mother that makes her able to see so much about people. She's always thought maybe it's that streak of purple lightening through Sinatra blue eyes.
Uncle Pony always asks the best questions, and really listens to the answers, and really works to get to the heart of something, which Jackie doesn't get but sure appreciates it when she's the one he's listening to.
"Uncle Soda ain't nothing but a goofball." Jackie had said, maybe a little bitter albeit subconsciously, until her Mama smacked her on the bottom and told her off. In her defense, Jackie's mind just likes to categorize, that's how she best understands, it isn't her fault. Why she's good at math and science like her mother.
To Jackie, things should be black and white, but the older she gets, the grey space that seems to be most of things seems like it's trying to swallow her up whole. She shakes her head, thinking about that young, naive girl she used to be back in fourth grade, since the start of fifth grade this year has brought a lot of reality checks with it. The first being that Joey Gilmore doesn't like her back, what the hell?
"Not everyone's like you and your father, Jaqueline Hélène Curtis." Her mama had said. Jackie likes it when her mom uses her full name because she's the only one who pronounces it right, even as she reverts right back to that southern drawl to finish her schooling. "And there's a lot you don't know about your father and his brothers. Don't let him hear you talking about Uncle Soda or Uncle Pony like that, or he'll set you straight, and we both know how much you hate being wrong. Trust me, you're wrong on this one, little lady."
This had hit Jackie hard. She was a smart girl, top of her class, matter of fact. But she didn't notice some of the things others seemed to. How Mrs. Quinn talked about the rambunctiousness of the East side of Tulsa in a way that seemed to make her afraid of them. How her father's job seemed to send him there more than anywhere else, how those were his longer nights. How the houses over there all seem a bit more weathered and ill-maintained, almost scarier. The people matching the decor quite well, like an old photograph, like time was trying to erase them. All of which were things she could stomach just fine until she realized that Marley lives on the East side, so does Maria Delgado, and they're two of her favoritest people in the whole world. It wasn't consistent.
Jackie may have thought everything was a product of effort, and that's why you buy nice things so people could know you worked hard, but her daddy shut that down real quick. Now Jackie's really not sure of anything, but she wonders if that's a good thing because it gives her mind a bit of break from having to be an expert on all things. Her mind wheels turn a lot, sometimes too much, sometimes so quickly she can't get off.
"You work hard and you take what this world gives you, Jackie." Her daddy had said, "But you don't expect nothing because sometimes the world ain't going to give you nothing. I don't want to see you looking down your nose anymore, either. It ain't right."
"Isn't, Daddy. It isn't right, nobody says ain't anymore."
That was one of the few times he didn't jump on his high horse to meet her in the challenge. Even if she was just messing around, she wonders if she might've accidentally hurt him then when he shook his head and walked off in silence. Trouble is, Jackie wants to be just like her daddy, but it's hard when there's so much she doesn't know about him. He doesn't share a whole lot, especially about anything other than the now.
But her daddy works real hard, maybe that's why Jackie thought how she used to about nice things. He comes home tired and beaten down after a long day's work 'catching the bad guys', is what Jackie tells her friends when she gets picked up for their lunch dates in that squad car. Sometimes he comes home so tired and hollow that her mama makes the kids play outside, sunshine or snowstorm, so Daddy can have some peace and quiet. Jackie thinks her dad deserves the nice house and nice cars they have, because she sees how he works.
But when Jackie lived at Marley's house, Uncle Soda worked long hours, too. And Auntie Grace worked right alongside him. Jackie's mama hadn't had a job in years. She didn't understand how Marley's house was far from nice, how Jackie didn't like how it creaked underneath her feet like it was about to fall apart. It didn't seem right.
Sure, Uncle Soda was a bit creaky too, but he was still part of the family.
The only time Jackie ever saw her Uncle Soda's face turn from anything other than a smile was at New Years Eve party hosted by her daddy's old friend Mr. Randle in 1978. As the oldest of the kids, Jackie was trying to organize the little ones into a single file order to march out with their respective musical instruments from her play drawer and put on a show for the adults. Sheet music not included, improv is the Curtis way anyhow. But just as she was about to pull the trigger, she was interrupted by the extremely unusual sound of Uncle Soda's voice raised, defensive, almost angry.
"Pony, I never been one to tell you what you can and can't do, but you can't do this."
"It's not the same as '67, Soda, and I wouldn't be fighting, I'd be writing, reporting." Uncle Pony had one hand on his solo cup and the other on Uncle Soda's shoulder. Usually it was the other way around.
Jackie remembers the passionate head shake that followed, the way Uncle Soda leaned in close to Uncle Pony with eyes of fire and desperation, Jackie had wondered if maybe Uncle Soda had drunken too much out of his own red solo cup and gotten the way Jackie's mama can get if she has too much of her red wine. ('What can I say? Oklahoma can't take the France out of a dame!')
"I know I ain't all caught up on the worldly news like you, Pony. But I watch the TV sometimes, I seen what it looks like over there, it's the same exact thing 'far as you'd be concerned. They call 'em the killing fields for a reason." He had run a shaky hand through his hair, and Jackie had thought on how her Uncle Soda never seemed in the least bit shaken, even when the stovetop caught fire when he was babysitting them years ago and he put it out by dancing around with handfuls of salt like it was a big joke. Junior laughed, Jackie shook her head and crossed her arms, and Maddie stuck her fingers so deep in her ears that two days later they'd found out she'd ruptured an eardrum in doing so.
"I asked for the assignment, nobody's forcing me to go."
Uncle Soda looked like he could've cried, Jackie didn't like that one bit. "That's why I don't understand why you'd do it."
Wasn't he supposed to understand everyone, though?
"Journalists aren't the target there. It'll be fine, Soda, it's just a couple of months and I can extend or terminate the contract at any point. Somebody's got to tell these stories, and nobody wants to, but I do. What was the point of that hard work and schooling if I'm not even going to use it where it matters most?"
"Please, Pony, please don't do this."
It took Aunt Grace tugging him away from Uncle Pony for Uncle Soda to finally seem to find some sense of normalcy. 'Course his face never turned back to bliss really until Uncle Pony's vacation or whatever it was was over several months later.
Jackie never did send out that musical parade that night, Maddie ran out of the room soon as Marley started blowing on that recorder anyhow. It wasn't too long after that when Uncle Pony went on that trip for a long time, and her daddy seemed to hide away more than usual. Mama would have them play out in the yard even longer during that time, past when the street lights came on.
When Uncle Pony came back, he was different, but maybe in a way that was more purposeful even if melancholic. But that was in 1978, things change a lot.
Now, here they all were gathered at the edge of the soccer field with Jackie playing mid center, checking in every few minutes or so to make sure her team off the field, her family, was watching her. Jackie did like the attention, especially when she was kicking ass as much as she was today.
Her daddy's favorite number is 3 (three brothers, three kids) so that was the number she requested, demanded, really, when Coach Delgado signed out jerseys. She wonders if her daddy's noticed the white number clad against bright red polyester and cotton yet, if he'll put it together. Marcus Weaver had even tried to arm wrestle her for that number, but when she proudly took him up on it, he backed down, saying 'he don't fight no girls'. Seemed to her like in that exact moment, he just had and she'd won just fine. Fighting and winning is hardly ever a question of physicality.
Her daddy's got his hands on his hips again, and Jackie likes that when he's watching something, he's really paying attention. She knows he's figuring the game, the rules, the strategy, how to win because he hates losing as much as she does, though Jackie's never really lost anything you can't live without like her daddy has. Jackie grew up with a daddy who taught her at seven years old how to change the oil of his station wagon, how to safely (but effectively) play tackle instead of flag, and how to throw just the right amount of force into a kick in the balls in case anyone gives you the right amount of trouble.
Flavio Delgado, Maria's oldest brother, passes the ball diagonally across the field then and right into Jackie's reach, a move they've been practicing on the streets outside of city limits since Jackie first started to fall in love with the game, and perhaps Flavio himself.
The other team starts to close in on her alone, but she isn't the least bit afraid like they want her to be, as the only girl on the field. She may have been purposefully placed on defense, but she knows just as well how to sub in for offense. A trait she gets from her mother.
Knowing Daddy's eyes are trained right on her, that this is one of those moments she knows he'll probably still love her even if she messes up but somehow she can't figure the risk, she winds up to kick and sends her foot hard into the base of the white and black ball with cleats much nicer than the rest of them on the field, watching as it goes flying right into the beams of the sun rays through the hands of the goalie and bounces off the netting in the back.
First goal of the game, and the crowd goes wild. It isn't until she looks over that she realizes all of the ruckus is just from her family, mostly Uncle Soda and Marley.
The first pair of eyes Jackie searches for are her daddy's, and while everyone else is whooping and hollering her name, while Uncle Soda's hopping around like the ground's a trampoline, Jackie's daddy stands looking completely still, rigid and uncomfortable if you didn't know him. But Jackie sees the smile and the wink, and that's all she needs.
Flavio gives her a big hug, but the rest of the boys ignore her like they do on the practice field. Doesn't matter, Jackie's ecstatic.
Even Mom's inevitable scoop and tickle fight that'll follow just doesn't quite match up to seeing the warmth seemingly icy blues eyes can have. She's her father's daughter, and you can love your mom more than anything in the world but it won't change that Darry's and Jackie's hearts beat in perfect time. Something about having someone who might be exactly like you, especially when so many misunderstand you, mistake you for hard when you know you feel a whole lot.
They all celebrate that old renovated restaurant on the East side of Tulsa for lunch that afternoon, doesn't matter Jackie's team lost five to one, Jackie's the reigning champion of the family tonight, she hopes forever.
Uncle Soda sends a cheers up high with his glass of Coca Cola, ice cubes jingling. Jackie's daddy says he doesn't drink because he doesn't like the taste of alcohol which Jackie can believe no problem since Uncle Soda's a lot like a kid himself, but she also feels there might be a little more to that story.
"To Jackie," he declares, Marley tugging on his shirt for some attention and a sip of his Coke. "The family's star athlete who may have just converted the likes of Darry Curtis to fútbol." He doesn't quite hit the accent right but it never quite matters how Uncle Soda does anything, you just can't be offended.
"Not an easy feat, kid." Uncle Pony chimes in, Jackie likes his green eyes because they twinkle.
"So'what do you say, Dad?" Jackie grills, looking over at Darry who had to have known this was coming all along.
"I talked to Mr. Delgado about a coaching position. Looks like I'll be teaming up with y'all starting Tuesday's practice. I've got a lot to learn about this sport before then." He says, deliberate in his vocabulary though drawing no attention to it. Jackie's satisfied.
"I'll teach ya." She says, gives him a wink and he winks back.
"That's my daughter."
Author's Note
Thanks again if you got this far. It's always fun to experiment with different times, places, and voices, and so Jackie's perspective of her father and uncles seemed like it could be a cool new take and interesting way to view our aged Curtis boys- even if she's not a canon character. Not really sure what to say about the narration style other than it is what it is, haha.
'Daughter' by Loudon Wainwright III (2007) was the inspiration for this one-shot and Darry and Jackie's relationship.
Hope everyone is happy and healthy!
