AUTHOR'S NOTE
OK, chapter eleven. Good thing about this is I really like how Soda's part
is written. It may be out of character, but I think you guys should know
that I write him this way because he's changed now that Anya was jumped.
OK, thank you guys for reading. This has been a lot of reviews for a story with only ten chapters, and that's really good too (good for me)! I want to thank SodasGurl, thank you for clarifying; yes I got your e-mail and thank you for the information and clarifying that. Karlei, thanks for the flattering review, it means a lot to me these days to get reviews. And Bega, I really want to thank you for being specific about what you like and being helpful with ideas. These reviews actually do mean a lot to me, so.well, keep them coming!
Here's chapter eleven.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SODA
I've been scared. But never as scared as I had been then. Not even when Steve and I were throwing the football around and it broke a window and we ran off and were afraid to tell anyone. But that was just a football. Steve, the living time bomb, was now wandering around the streets, vengeance on his mind, with a gun. A real life heater. Dally used to carry them all the time, made a good bluff he said. Now Dally's six feet underground.
Everything seems louder and more distinct now that the three of us were so frantic. Two-Bit was silent, which was a real shocker for Darry and me. Darry himself was asking everyone he could find if they saw a greaser with dark hair combed in complicated swirls. Mostly those we asked spat on us or told us to go play cops and robbers somewhere else.
I squinted and saw someone. A hourglass figure standing by a telephone booth, chatting it up with two other kids our age, Bryon and Mark. The girl they were talking to was a classy Soc, cute looking brunette actually. I recognized her. She was the Soc at the party and the DX, the friend of the Soc Pony liked. She was blowing bubblegum and giggling at a joke Bryon was telling. Bryon was always a lady killer. He picked women up and then plummeted them straight back to the ground. This girl was no different. In a way I wanted to warn her about the heartbreak she'd be feeling, but I had more important thoughts at the moment.
"I recognize that Soc, she might know where Spike is," I told Darry. Darry nodded, and the three of us walked over to her. She didn't seem to mind our presence, which was rather odd. Then again, she was hitting on two other greasers like ourselves.
"You," I said, sounding rather stupid. "Gloria, right?"
"That's right," Gloria replied, smiling coyly. "You're the greaser at the DX, right?"
"Yeah," I answered. "We need to ask you a question."
"Aw, leave her alone," Bryon replied. "She's with us."
"It's okay," Gloria told him. So far she didn't seem "in love" with Bryon, but it was really a matter of time. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Spike lately?" Darry asked.
Gloria thought back. She sipped on the Coke Bryon had ordered for her as a token of his affection and then nodded, "Yeah, a greaser stopped by asking me not too long ago."
"Wait, what did he look like?" I asked.
Gloria shrugged, "So tall, dark hair, seemed really mad about something." She treated it all like it was common business, as if every person walked up to her asking for Spike's location. She was Spike's travel agent.
"Where'd he go?" I asked urgently. So Steve beat me to it. Now Steve would approach Spike and challenge him to a Southern duel, with swords and gloves and honor. Right? I didn't have time to play twenty questions with Gloria.
"Where'd Spike go?"
"I saw him stumble around by that Kitty Katz cabaret," Gloria said, "by the East Side. Then he came up to me and asked me for some cash. Bryon here bravely defended me." She giggled and wrapped an arm around a bored Bryon. I never liked him much. Always too conceited for my tastes. Now Gloria was his latest conquest, his latest game to win. Then he would place her neat little trophy on his shelf and move on to bigger fish. And Gloria would be bitter for the rest of her life wondering if Bryon was truly the one, pining for him until she died an old woman.
"Where else?" asked Darry.
"After that, by the warehouse, nearby the projects. By the black side of town," Gloria replied diligently. Like the good Socy girl she was. Where she would marry a "respectable" Soc, stay at home and breed more Socs. She would not marry Bryon, the love of her life. She would marry the runner up. Was that what Gloria wanted? Did Gloria care enough to notice?
"Thank you," I nodded, trying to sound sincere. I am. We can now save the day. Why? Because it was the right thing to do, according to Darry, and Darry always did the right thing. Maybe doing the right thing was allowing Spike to die. Maybe if Spike died we could right the wrong he did to Anya. My beautiful, little Anya. Who now would have to deal with the fact that she had been sexually abused for the rest of her beautiful, little life.
Who would truly miss Spike? His parents? The ones who bought his false affection? Maybe they would be glad he was gone, to cure the overpopulation problem, or not to deal with another little hooligan to pay for college, where he would get too drunk with the sorority sisters and be banished from the ranks of college. The cops? Would they miss another juvenile delinquent? They would miss him the same way they missed Dally. Except Spike would get a fancy little parade and a nicer little tombstone, and a neat little obituary in the paper. Maybe people would write in about what an inspiration he was. Chris would tell the paper how Spike was his best friend and they would tell all their secrets and fears and ambitions to one another. Adrienne would explain how much she truly loved Spike, and how she was just kidding when she dumped him. Sarah would say that deep down Spike could've been something. Wouldn't it just be beautiful?
And let's look at what would happen if we stopped Steve. Spike would go free, where he could attack and possibly rape other innocent little girls. Like Two-Bit's sister. Or a grownup Cloud. And then one of us, maybe this time it would be Two-Bit or Darry, would take a gun and threaten to kill Spike, and then we would remind them of how forgiveness saves all, and they would stop obediently. And the process would repeat all over again. Like watching "Howdy Doody" or something. Repetition is the process of learning.
We walked across the barren street to the projects. Maybe if Steve didn't get to Spike, the black guys would. They'd beat him until he bled saliva, and then he would beg for Steve to take the gun to him. It would be beautiful like the obituary.
"I hear talking," Darry murmured. "Steve and Spike are definitely in there." Like the three Musketeers from that one book Pony was reading (or was he?), we kicked down the door to the warehouse and strode in bravely. That's what I love about people. They assume because I smile and act happy that I never think about stuff like this. And they're right. I didn't. But I could see Anya lying on the street, scratches and claw marks from the venomous monster Spike, not even crying because she was too afraid to make any sound.
I saw Steve and I saw Spike. Steve was standing upright, gun firmly in his left hand, pointing directly at Spike. Spike was leaning against a bale of hay, laughing silently to the point that the cigarette dangling from his mouth could easily slip and light the entire warehouse on fire, burning us all to a crisp. Just like Johnny and Dally. Pony used to describe their deaths like Southern gentlemen going off to war. Maybe we'd all go out as gallant as they did.
"Looky what we've got now, greaser," Spike smirked. "Huh? Look, it's your pallies. Are they all here to beat me up, or are you just gonna skip the small talk and cut straight to the chase?"
"You shut up!" Steve shouted.
"Steve," Darry said, "Steve, c'mon, put the gun down."
"Why?" asked Steve. "He did that.to Anya." I was fully expecting Spike to mouth off, but he apparently didn't have any witty remark to toss back at Steve, to mock his anger and pain. Like a wet towel slapping him in his face, his moment of defeat.
"Yes, but just come home," begged Darry. "We can sort this out. Spike's going to jail." Why wasn't I saying anything? I was Steve's best friend. I should be the one with the all the right answers, and Steve should obey them because he was the best friend.
"Ooh, bad boy Spike," snickered Spike, blowing a smoke ring. He didn't seem to be having any problem with the fact that a bullet could be lodged between his eyes at any second. In a way Spike was sort of like Dally, if Dally had been complete evil. Spike's cockiness would be his undoing. If Steve didn't pull the trigger, I would. I would watch as Spike clutched his chest and make choking sounds and twist his knees and fall to the ground like some sort of wrecked project. He would wallow in his own dishonest, dirty blood as if it was water. He would bathe himself in it because that's what he deserved. I didn't care if he was to be locked away in a little jail with no food or water and forced to work until his muscles turned to dust. That wasn't good enough. Not for me.
"Come on, Steve," urged Darry. There wasn't too much we could do other then talk. Steve had the gun in his hand, and he would kill Spike if he felt so. Maybe he'd toy with Spike like a bored cat tossing a mouse he was bound to eat anyway.
Darry looked to me, and said, "Tell him something, Soda. You're his best buddy." That's right, Darry, I'll do it for the team. I'll hit a homerun and Coach Darry will slap me on the back and buy us all pizza and lumpy root beer floats but we'd all be too grateful to say anything. That'd be it.
"Steve, drop the gun," I ordered. Steve didn't budge. "I know what Spike did was wrong, if anyone should know, it's me. But please, Steve. We can get through this, you, me, Anya, the whole gang. We'll survive, Stevie, honest." Ha! I was lying through my teeth. Like that great speech actually meant anything. If I had told Steve to shoot the bastard Spike would be nothing more then crisp, burnt flesh in seconds. I saw the way Steve's muscles were locked. Slowly, he began to lower the gun.
"Steve!" Another surprise, like ripping open all your Christmas presents only to find a smaller, but equally great present hidden underneath the tree. We saw Anya dash in through the opposite door. She had changed her clothes, shedding herself of what had happened. Her eyes glazed past Spike to see Steve with the gun.
"Oh my God," she whispered. As if she didn't know he was ready to shoot him. "Steve, don't do it."
"Soda here just convinced me of that," Steve murmured. "Time to here your excuse, Anya. You're the one wronged here, should I kill the bastard or let him rot in jail?" He said the last part mockingly. I think at that moment Anya ached to tell Steve to kill him, to murder her offender. She was thinking the same thing I was. Anya's eyes gazed to Darry, looking to him for support, and then me. I didn't know what to do other then nod. I'm not sure what signal that sent.
"Let him rot in jail," she said. "Gunshot would be too painless. I want him to feel the pain I felt."
"That's right, let the little whore tell you what to do with me," Spike laughed, tipping an imaginary hat. "Thank you for your pity, stripper."
"Shut up!" shouted Anya and Steve unanimously. Spike had struck a blood vein and was now watching its contents ooze out.
He shook his head, "Why don't you tell your lover boy here where you've been getting your money."
"Leave them out of this, bastard," Steve muttered, raising the gun again.
"No, don't!" shouted Anya.
"Tell them, woman of sin. Tell them that you've been working at a club, putting on nicely performed little shows," Spike replied.
"What?" I asked. It was my turn to be shocked. "Fuck you, Spike."
"Been there, done that," replied Spike calmly. "No, save that for your girlfriend, if you still want her after what she's done."
"Go to hell, Spike," muttered Anya bitterly. I remember never wanting Anya to harden herself and be bitter like the rest of us. Look where she is now.
"Gladly, dear, but I think you should tell the boy where you've been working lately," sighed Spike, toying with us. Now he was the cat.
"Tell him that he's lying," I said. "You? A stripper? Ha! Tell him." She didn't move, and looked off to the side, afraid to meet my eyes.
"Tell him!" I said indignantly, stomping my foot, repeating the sentence as if to take back what Spike said.
Anya shook her head; "We needed the money, Sodapop. I wanted to get married before anything happened to one of us. It wasn't full nudity, I had most of my clothes on, and it was only a few days job."
"How else do you think I'd have been able to track down such a lovely like her?" asked Spike. "Damn, East Side's cranking them out nicer then they used to." I wasn't even listening to him. Darry and Two-Bit were in shock. I don't think they knew how to handle it. I didn't know how to handle it. My girlfriend the stripper. Nice ring to it, huh?
"Get away from me," I said to Anya, disgusted.
"Soda, please!"
"Don't call me Soda again," I told her. "You showed something only I was meant to see to the entire underground world, and now you expect me to take you back? I'm sorry, Anya, it's over." I left Anya crying as I stormed out of the warehouse.
PONY
It was getting late out, dusk to be particular. The time where day and night kiss briefly before returning to their respective lairs. I walked on, thinking, my mind lost. Sarah. Get out of my head. I've banished you from my mind, out out! Please? If I ask nicely, would you leave?
I shook my head and kept trotting further and further away from the van Pelt mansion all together. The further away I strode the closer it felt to me. She just wouldn't go away, not even pretty please with sugar on top. I sighed. I've now resorted to carrying out conversations on my own.
Intense wailing filled my ears. I turned my heard to see Gloria, Sarah's best friend, sitting on a red Sting Ray in a vacant parking lot outside an old café, bawling her heart out. On either side of her were Cherry and Marcia, acting like supporting handmaidens. Did all Soc girls know one another?
"And then he dumped me!" sobbed Gloria, frustratingly tearing apart her tissue. Was she referring to Chris, her bum of a boyfriend, or a new flavor of the month? Some new Soc she was being paired up with because Daddy Dearest needed to be boosted up the social chain? That was her problem, not mine.
"That pig!" agreed Marcia, patting Gloria on the arm. "Don't cry, Gloria, there's others out there, besides Bryon."
Gloria shook her head, "No, I really think he was the one." So Gloria was crying her heart out because Bryon dumped her. Bryon was a lady killer; didn't she know that? And did Gloria truly expect to hold out a permanent relationship with a take-em-and-dump-em greaser? Apparently not.
"Hey Ponyboy," murmured Cherry. I smiled. Cherry was a familiar face. A nice familiar face. I liked familiar faces. Not familiar like Spike or Chris or Adrienne but familiar like Cherry. Her red hair was even longer then before and was blowing in the breeze. Gloria sort of glowered over at me and then went blew her nose on a handkerchief.
"So wait, what happened again?" asked Cherry.
Gloria sniffed, "Well, it was right after these bunch of greasers, Soda and all, came by looking for one of their own. They were going after Spike and all, I think it had to do with that girl they run around with, Soda's girl or something."
"Wait, what?" I asked.
"Oh, that's right, your brother came by looking for his friend, Steve right?" asked Gloria, looking to Cherry and Marcia for confirmation. They nodded. Gloria continued, "Steve came by, real pissed, kept muttering about Anya and Spike, Spike must've done something to piss them off."
"Spike's after me," I murmured. It slowly came back in pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle that's been tampered with. Spike wanting revenge, after he got his Socy life ripped right out from under him. Knowing him, he'd blame it on me. I had no idea what Steve or Anya had to with it. Then again, maybe I didn't want to know.
"Do you know where they went?" I asked.
Gloria the Informant shrugged, "Warehouse, I think."
"Can't get there in enough time," I muttered. I looked directly at Cherry Valance and asked, "Can you give me a ride?"
Cherry nodded, "Sure." As she leaned over to get to the driver's seat I could see a class ring on a silver chain on her dainty neck. Someone had found Cherry and taken her away. Maybe she was happy. I hoped she was. That would at least be one of us.
Cherry and I sat in the front seat while Marcia comforted Gloria in the back. She sped off towards the warehouse. I pushed Sarah to the back of my mind; I had more important problems to handle. Knowing Steve, he probably wasn't too happy with Spike. Knowing Steve, he was probably wild and dangerous. And then the final pieces fit in perfectly and snugly. Spike must've wronged Anya and now Steve was out to get revenge. Oh God.
Hell hath no fury like Steve scorned.
Cherry parked the Sting Ray in the back of the warehouse. I think she understood that she had no place in this, and offered to stay outside. I explained to her that I didn't want her or Marcia or Gloria to be hurt. Gloria said she wanted to stay outside anyway, before dissolving in tears about how she felt selfish. I would've comforted her but I didn't have the time.
I burst into the warehouse, like the superheroes or Zorro would do. I saw Anya kneeling on the floor, crying far more then Gloria was. It wasn't the loud, somewhat annoying sobbing. It as the soft moaning of a bride left at the altar, still haunting the church. Anya was Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham without the bride dress. And now she was on fire. Soda was nowhere to be found. Two-Bit was comforting Anya, while Steve was screaming wildly. Darry was clutching Kat in his arms, who was trying to explain that she got jumped and found Anya and then Anya ran out, and Cloud was hiding in the corner. Spike was watching all of this with relish.
"So whatcha gonna do Stevie?" asked Spike. "Huh? Your cousin's a two-piece broad, and now your best friend ditched ya. Make the choice pretty quickly, time's running out."
"Shut up!" shouted Steve. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Steve was broken. A broken record. Steve was broken. Steve was broken. Steve was broken. I was broken.
"Get out of here," muttered Darry to Spike. "You've got your opportunity, now scram." Spike sighed, as if his little game was over. I hated Spike. This was my fault. All of the mayhem before me, all the tears spilled unto the ground, I caused that. Look at me, I'm Ponyboy Curtis, and I professionally fuck up others' lives. Want my business card?
And Spike began to leave the building. Go! Run away! Hurt others viciously as you wonder the streets, you murderous bastard. We let you go, because we're the good guys who have to obey the law. How ironic of us greasers actually obeying the law. Who cares that you probably sexually assaulted Anya, the most innocent member of our gang who could not stand up for herself against a brute like you. Who cares that now your free to hurt others' the same way you hurt Anya, and in turn the rest of us.
It was then I understood what Anya (or Miss Havisham) meant to our group. She was our comfort food. I think we felt comfort at someone as innocent and sweet as Anya, one who wasn't trashy and didn't swear and wore skirts at a decent level. Anya was not the typical greaser girl mold, and that's what we liked about her. We didn't ever want for Anya to become a greaser chick. It was comfortable for her to smile and act painfully nice. We all loved Anya. Anya was the catcher in the rye. In a way, Anya saved us all; she entered our lives permanently as Dally and Johnny exited. Good ol' Anya. How we love her.
I watched what Spike had done to all of us. He'd made Two-Bit serious. He'd made Anya cry. He'd ripped Darry straight out of the rabbit hole and made him be an adult. I shook my head and muttered. This all because I had talked to Sarah. Right now I wished I had never met Sarah. Look what the two of us had done together. We were just a pair of tornados, destroying all in our path. I wondered about that one song, "Suicide is Painless". Maybe it was. Maybe I could make this all go away by simply going away.
What happened next was a dream. Pinch me. None of this is happening. I didn't see Spike saunter over to Anya, who was glaring at him with pleading eyes. He then spat his cigarette out and smirked, "Pretty nice show you put on tonight, girly."
Steve snapped.
I still don't know what happened. Soda and Darry tried explaining afterwards. Maybe it was because Steve and Evie had broken up, and that Steve really cared about Evie and this was how he was showing it. Maybe it was because his father had exploded at him. Maybe it was because the one thing he truly cared about, lovely Anya, was now ruined. I have no idea. I don't think any of us know.
Five gunshots. Just five. I watched as blood erupted from mini volcanoes on Spike's body as he collapsed to the ground. I don't like this movie. I want my money back. I'm just going to walk out and not even see how it ends. Too late. Anya shrieked. Darry yelled. Spike lay limp. Steve lowered the gun and stared at Spike, goading him to bleed more.
All this yelling and shouting, like in the movies when something this traumatic or shocking had happened. Cloud was crying, Anya was crying, Kat was trying to hush Cloud but she was also crying too. Tears of the innocent mingling with the blood of the sinner. Two-Bit took Anya and led her outside, where I could hear Cherry and Marcia and Gloria all talking. Darry was tugging at Steve's arm, begging him to run before the cops came by. Some idiot must have called the cops, because sure enough sirens were everywhere. Just like in the movies. It was then that I looked down at my shirt and realized blood was splattered across it. Ha ha Spike. This is what you get. The villain got its sweet due. Maybe if we're lucky enough he'll die before anyone comes. Wouldn't that be nice?
"Steve, let's go!" shouted Darry. Kat had already hurried away, taken Cloud back to the house. Good for Kat. They'd seen too much blood already. All of us had seen too much blood. But this blood river that flowed from Spike, that was the right kind of blood. That was the blood of the sinner. Hopefully, Spike was already dead, and we could all make a run for it and hide out at our house, just like the good, old days.
"Get outta here, Pony," Darry yelled. He was struggling to drag Steve away. Darry's a pretty tough guy, he used to play football and he roofs houses for a living. But something in Steve did not want to leave. Maybe he hadn't fully grasped the fact that he could plausibly have killed Spike, or maybe he actually liked the thought. There wasn't too much we could do to save Steve.
I could hear the sirens blaring, just like they would on Two-Bit's Mickey Mouse program. I walked outside, stumbling. Fuzz surrounded the place in their neat little blue uniforms, yelling and reiterating like trained monkeys all that they were taught in cop school. No one had left. Miss Havisham (formerly known as Anya Randle) was sitting on the stairs, Two- Bit's members only jacket wrapped on her shoulders, her shoulders shaking violently. She was still crying uncontrollably. Kat was clutching Cloud close to her, singing a soft lullaby in Spanish. Cherry, Marcia and Gloria were now all playing the supporting handmaiden role, patting Anya on the back softly and whispering words of encouragement in her ear. Two-Bit was smoking a cigarette, just staring at the warehouse and out at the fuzz in total shock. He glanced over at me with a deer in headlight expression. I could read the tea leaves in the cup. No one was going to be okay anymore.
The fuzz stormed the warehouse, yelling into their nifty walkie talkies. They didn't need to scream; this wasn't a fucking episode of some television show. But it was. This was just the season finale; we'd be back in September with all the answers again. Several cops approached us, and grabbed Anya but not the other girls and put Anya in handcuffs. All because she was grease. The cops took Two-Bit and I too and read us our rights. I wasn't listening. The cops snatched Cloud from Kat's arms and then handcuffed her as well. Kat was screaming for her daughter, and vice versa. She needed medicine, she cried. Medicine to make her feel better. They couldn't care less.
Cherry was yelling at them, the blue coats. She was arguing about the handcuffs. The cops threatened to put her and her little friends in hand cuffs too. She yelled "Fine!" and they were little JDs too. They tossed Anya and Kat gruffly in one car, and then gently placed Cherry, Marcia and Gloria in the other. I caught a glimpse of the three Socy girls; I think they felt responsible for what happened. I shook my head. They didn't need to.
The cops threw us in a cop car, too. Two-Bit and I tried struggling, but it wasn't in us. Kat was still shrieking, her arms open, crying for Cloud. Cloud was fussing as well, her arms shaking. She couldn't form any words. Neither could the rest of us. The cops didn't care though.
Looking out the stained window I saw Darry and Steve. Darry was trying calmly to explain to the cops what had happened, but the cop just kept shaking his head and sent him away to the dungeons. Being the good guy, Darry nodded and let them hand cuff him. I don't think that was his proudest moment.
I watched as the first aid carried Spike out on stretchers. I saw his arms moving weakly, and his eyes were wide open. He wasn't dead. Damn. Too bad. Steve missed. Maybe if we were really lucky, Spike would die on the way to the hospital. Wouldn't that be something?
The cop car began to pull away, with Two-Bit, Darry and I in the backseat in handcuffs. I gazed out the window, and saw the cops yelling and shouting with their guns firmly in hand. As if Steve would shoot them as well. That was really funny.
Steve did not struggle when the police came to take him away.
OK, thank you guys for reading. This has been a lot of reviews for a story with only ten chapters, and that's really good too (good for me)! I want to thank SodasGurl, thank you for clarifying; yes I got your e-mail and thank you for the information and clarifying that. Karlei, thanks for the flattering review, it means a lot to me these days to get reviews. And Bega, I really want to thank you for being specific about what you like and being helpful with ideas. These reviews actually do mean a lot to me, so.well, keep them coming!
Here's chapter eleven.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SODA
I've been scared. But never as scared as I had been then. Not even when Steve and I were throwing the football around and it broke a window and we ran off and were afraid to tell anyone. But that was just a football. Steve, the living time bomb, was now wandering around the streets, vengeance on his mind, with a gun. A real life heater. Dally used to carry them all the time, made a good bluff he said. Now Dally's six feet underground.
Everything seems louder and more distinct now that the three of us were so frantic. Two-Bit was silent, which was a real shocker for Darry and me. Darry himself was asking everyone he could find if they saw a greaser with dark hair combed in complicated swirls. Mostly those we asked spat on us or told us to go play cops and robbers somewhere else.
I squinted and saw someone. A hourglass figure standing by a telephone booth, chatting it up with two other kids our age, Bryon and Mark. The girl they were talking to was a classy Soc, cute looking brunette actually. I recognized her. She was the Soc at the party and the DX, the friend of the Soc Pony liked. She was blowing bubblegum and giggling at a joke Bryon was telling. Bryon was always a lady killer. He picked women up and then plummeted them straight back to the ground. This girl was no different. In a way I wanted to warn her about the heartbreak she'd be feeling, but I had more important thoughts at the moment.
"I recognize that Soc, she might know where Spike is," I told Darry. Darry nodded, and the three of us walked over to her. She didn't seem to mind our presence, which was rather odd. Then again, she was hitting on two other greasers like ourselves.
"You," I said, sounding rather stupid. "Gloria, right?"
"That's right," Gloria replied, smiling coyly. "You're the greaser at the DX, right?"
"Yeah," I answered. "We need to ask you a question."
"Aw, leave her alone," Bryon replied. "She's with us."
"It's okay," Gloria told him. So far she didn't seem "in love" with Bryon, but it was really a matter of time. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Spike lately?" Darry asked.
Gloria thought back. She sipped on the Coke Bryon had ordered for her as a token of his affection and then nodded, "Yeah, a greaser stopped by asking me not too long ago."
"Wait, what did he look like?" I asked.
Gloria shrugged, "So tall, dark hair, seemed really mad about something." She treated it all like it was common business, as if every person walked up to her asking for Spike's location. She was Spike's travel agent.
"Where'd he go?" I asked urgently. So Steve beat me to it. Now Steve would approach Spike and challenge him to a Southern duel, with swords and gloves and honor. Right? I didn't have time to play twenty questions with Gloria.
"Where'd Spike go?"
"I saw him stumble around by that Kitty Katz cabaret," Gloria said, "by the East Side. Then he came up to me and asked me for some cash. Bryon here bravely defended me." She giggled and wrapped an arm around a bored Bryon. I never liked him much. Always too conceited for my tastes. Now Gloria was his latest conquest, his latest game to win. Then he would place her neat little trophy on his shelf and move on to bigger fish. And Gloria would be bitter for the rest of her life wondering if Bryon was truly the one, pining for him until she died an old woman.
"Where else?" asked Darry.
"After that, by the warehouse, nearby the projects. By the black side of town," Gloria replied diligently. Like the good Socy girl she was. Where she would marry a "respectable" Soc, stay at home and breed more Socs. She would not marry Bryon, the love of her life. She would marry the runner up. Was that what Gloria wanted? Did Gloria care enough to notice?
"Thank you," I nodded, trying to sound sincere. I am. We can now save the day. Why? Because it was the right thing to do, according to Darry, and Darry always did the right thing. Maybe doing the right thing was allowing Spike to die. Maybe if Spike died we could right the wrong he did to Anya. My beautiful, little Anya. Who now would have to deal with the fact that she had been sexually abused for the rest of her beautiful, little life.
Who would truly miss Spike? His parents? The ones who bought his false affection? Maybe they would be glad he was gone, to cure the overpopulation problem, or not to deal with another little hooligan to pay for college, where he would get too drunk with the sorority sisters and be banished from the ranks of college. The cops? Would they miss another juvenile delinquent? They would miss him the same way they missed Dally. Except Spike would get a fancy little parade and a nicer little tombstone, and a neat little obituary in the paper. Maybe people would write in about what an inspiration he was. Chris would tell the paper how Spike was his best friend and they would tell all their secrets and fears and ambitions to one another. Adrienne would explain how much she truly loved Spike, and how she was just kidding when she dumped him. Sarah would say that deep down Spike could've been something. Wouldn't it just be beautiful?
And let's look at what would happen if we stopped Steve. Spike would go free, where he could attack and possibly rape other innocent little girls. Like Two-Bit's sister. Or a grownup Cloud. And then one of us, maybe this time it would be Two-Bit or Darry, would take a gun and threaten to kill Spike, and then we would remind them of how forgiveness saves all, and they would stop obediently. And the process would repeat all over again. Like watching "Howdy Doody" or something. Repetition is the process of learning.
We walked across the barren street to the projects. Maybe if Steve didn't get to Spike, the black guys would. They'd beat him until he bled saliva, and then he would beg for Steve to take the gun to him. It would be beautiful like the obituary.
"I hear talking," Darry murmured. "Steve and Spike are definitely in there." Like the three Musketeers from that one book Pony was reading (or was he?), we kicked down the door to the warehouse and strode in bravely. That's what I love about people. They assume because I smile and act happy that I never think about stuff like this. And they're right. I didn't. But I could see Anya lying on the street, scratches and claw marks from the venomous monster Spike, not even crying because she was too afraid to make any sound.
I saw Steve and I saw Spike. Steve was standing upright, gun firmly in his left hand, pointing directly at Spike. Spike was leaning against a bale of hay, laughing silently to the point that the cigarette dangling from his mouth could easily slip and light the entire warehouse on fire, burning us all to a crisp. Just like Johnny and Dally. Pony used to describe their deaths like Southern gentlemen going off to war. Maybe we'd all go out as gallant as they did.
"Looky what we've got now, greaser," Spike smirked. "Huh? Look, it's your pallies. Are they all here to beat me up, or are you just gonna skip the small talk and cut straight to the chase?"
"You shut up!" Steve shouted.
"Steve," Darry said, "Steve, c'mon, put the gun down."
"Why?" asked Steve. "He did that.to Anya." I was fully expecting Spike to mouth off, but he apparently didn't have any witty remark to toss back at Steve, to mock his anger and pain. Like a wet towel slapping him in his face, his moment of defeat.
"Yes, but just come home," begged Darry. "We can sort this out. Spike's going to jail." Why wasn't I saying anything? I was Steve's best friend. I should be the one with the all the right answers, and Steve should obey them because he was the best friend.
"Ooh, bad boy Spike," snickered Spike, blowing a smoke ring. He didn't seem to be having any problem with the fact that a bullet could be lodged between his eyes at any second. In a way Spike was sort of like Dally, if Dally had been complete evil. Spike's cockiness would be his undoing. If Steve didn't pull the trigger, I would. I would watch as Spike clutched his chest and make choking sounds and twist his knees and fall to the ground like some sort of wrecked project. He would wallow in his own dishonest, dirty blood as if it was water. He would bathe himself in it because that's what he deserved. I didn't care if he was to be locked away in a little jail with no food or water and forced to work until his muscles turned to dust. That wasn't good enough. Not for me.
"Come on, Steve," urged Darry. There wasn't too much we could do other then talk. Steve had the gun in his hand, and he would kill Spike if he felt so. Maybe he'd toy with Spike like a bored cat tossing a mouse he was bound to eat anyway.
Darry looked to me, and said, "Tell him something, Soda. You're his best buddy." That's right, Darry, I'll do it for the team. I'll hit a homerun and Coach Darry will slap me on the back and buy us all pizza and lumpy root beer floats but we'd all be too grateful to say anything. That'd be it.
"Steve, drop the gun," I ordered. Steve didn't budge. "I know what Spike did was wrong, if anyone should know, it's me. But please, Steve. We can get through this, you, me, Anya, the whole gang. We'll survive, Stevie, honest." Ha! I was lying through my teeth. Like that great speech actually meant anything. If I had told Steve to shoot the bastard Spike would be nothing more then crisp, burnt flesh in seconds. I saw the way Steve's muscles were locked. Slowly, he began to lower the gun.
"Steve!" Another surprise, like ripping open all your Christmas presents only to find a smaller, but equally great present hidden underneath the tree. We saw Anya dash in through the opposite door. She had changed her clothes, shedding herself of what had happened. Her eyes glazed past Spike to see Steve with the gun.
"Oh my God," she whispered. As if she didn't know he was ready to shoot him. "Steve, don't do it."
"Soda here just convinced me of that," Steve murmured. "Time to here your excuse, Anya. You're the one wronged here, should I kill the bastard or let him rot in jail?" He said the last part mockingly. I think at that moment Anya ached to tell Steve to kill him, to murder her offender. She was thinking the same thing I was. Anya's eyes gazed to Darry, looking to him for support, and then me. I didn't know what to do other then nod. I'm not sure what signal that sent.
"Let him rot in jail," she said. "Gunshot would be too painless. I want him to feel the pain I felt."
"That's right, let the little whore tell you what to do with me," Spike laughed, tipping an imaginary hat. "Thank you for your pity, stripper."
"Shut up!" shouted Anya and Steve unanimously. Spike had struck a blood vein and was now watching its contents ooze out.
He shook his head, "Why don't you tell your lover boy here where you've been getting your money."
"Leave them out of this, bastard," Steve muttered, raising the gun again.
"No, don't!" shouted Anya.
"Tell them, woman of sin. Tell them that you've been working at a club, putting on nicely performed little shows," Spike replied.
"What?" I asked. It was my turn to be shocked. "Fuck you, Spike."
"Been there, done that," replied Spike calmly. "No, save that for your girlfriend, if you still want her after what she's done."
"Go to hell, Spike," muttered Anya bitterly. I remember never wanting Anya to harden herself and be bitter like the rest of us. Look where she is now.
"Gladly, dear, but I think you should tell the boy where you've been working lately," sighed Spike, toying with us. Now he was the cat.
"Tell him that he's lying," I said. "You? A stripper? Ha! Tell him." She didn't move, and looked off to the side, afraid to meet my eyes.
"Tell him!" I said indignantly, stomping my foot, repeating the sentence as if to take back what Spike said.
Anya shook her head; "We needed the money, Sodapop. I wanted to get married before anything happened to one of us. It wasn't full nudity, I had most of my clothes on, and it was only a few days job."
"How else do you think I'd have been able to track down such a lovely like her?" asked Spike. "Damn, East Side's cranking them out nicer then they used to." I wasn't even listening to him. Darry and Two-Bit were in shock. I don't think they knew how to handle it. I didn't know how to handle it. My girlfriend the stripper. Nice ring to it, huh?
"Get away from me," I said to Anya, disgusted.
"Soda, please!"
"Don't call me Soda again," I told her. "You showed something only I was meant to see to the entire underground world, and now you expect me to take you back? I'm sorry, Anya, it's over." I left Anya crying as I stormed out of the warehouse.
PONY
It was getting late out, dusk to be particular. The time where day and night kiss briefly before returning to their respective lairs. I walked on, thinking, my mind lost. Sarah. Get out of my head. I've banished you from my mind, out out! Please? If I ask nicely, would you leave?
I shook my head and kept trotting further and further away from the van Pelt mansion all together. The further away I strode the closer it felt to me. She just wouldn't go away, not even pretty please with sugar on top. I sighed. I've now resorted to carrying out conversations on my own.
Intense wailing filled my ears. I turned my heard to see Gloria, Sarah's best friend, sitting on a red Sting Ray in a vacant parking lot outside an old café, bawling her heart out. On either side of her were Cherry and Marcia, acting like supporting handmaidens. Did all Soc girls know one another?
"And then he dumped me!" sobbed Gloria, frustratingly tearing apart her tissue. Was she referring to Chris, her bum of a boyfriend, or a new flavor of the month? Some new Soc she was being paired up with because Daddy Dearest needed to be boosted up the social chain? That was her problem, not mine.
"That pig!" agreed Marcia, patting Gloria on the arm. "Don't cry, Gloria, there's others out there, besides Bryon."
Gloria shook her head, "No, I really think he was the one." So Gloria was crying her heart out because Bryon dumped her. Bryon was a lady killer; didn't she know that? And did Gloria truly expect to hold out a permanent relationship with a take-em-and-dump-em greaser? Apparently not.
"Hey Ponyboy," murmured Cherry. I smiled. Cherry was a familiar face. A nice familiar face. I liked familiar faces. Not familiar like Spike or Chris or Adrienne but familiar like Cherry. Her red hair was even longer then before and was blowing in the breeze. Gloria sort of glowered over at me and then went blew her nose on a handkerchief.
"So wait, what happened again?" asked Cherry.
Gloria sniffed, "Well, it was right after these bunch of greasers, Soda and all, came by looking for one of their own. They were going after Spike and all, I think it had to do with that girl they run around with, Soda's girl or something."
"Wait, what?" I asked.
"Oh, that's right, your brother came by looking for his friend, Steve right?" asked Gloria, looking to Cherry and Marcia for confirmation. They nodded. Gloria continued, "Steve came by, real pissed, kept muttering about Anya and Spike, Spike must've done something to piss them off."
"Spike's after me," I murmured. It slowly came back in pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle that's been tampered with. Spike wanting revenge, after he got his Socy life ripped right out from under him. Knowing him, he'd blame it on me. I had no idea what Steve or Anya had to with it. Then again, maybe I didn't want to know.
"Do you know where they went?" I asked.
Gloria the Informant shrugged, "Warehouse, I think."
"Can't get there in enough time," I muttered. I looked directly at Cherry Valance and asked, "Can you give me a ride?"
Cherry nodded, "Sure." As she leaned over to get to the driver's seat I could see a class ring on a silver chain on her dainty neck. Someone had found Cherry and taken her away. Maybe she was happy. I hoped she was. That would at least be one of us.
Cherry and I sat in the front seat while Marcia comforted Gloria in the back. She sped off towards the warehouse. I pushed Sarah to the back of my mind; I had more important problems to handle. Knowing Steve, he probably wasn't too happy with Spike. Knowing Steve, he was probably wild and dangerous. And then the final pieces fit in perfectly and snugly. Spike must've wronged Anya and now Steve was out to get revenge. Oh God.
Hell hath no fury like Steve scorned.
Cherry parked the Sting Ray in the back of the warehouse. I think she understood that she had no place in this, and offered to stay outside. I explained to her that I didn't want her or Marcia or Gloria to be hurt. Gloria said she wanted to stay outside anyway, before dissolving in tears about how she felt selfish. I would've comforted her but I didn't have the time.
I burst into the warehouse, like the superheroes or Zorro would do. I saw Anya kneeling on the floor, crying far more then Gloria was. It wasn't the loud, somewhat annoying sobbing. It as the soft moaning of a bride left at the altar, still haunting the church. Anya was Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham without the bride dress. And now she was on fire. Soda was nowhere to be found. Two-Bit was comforting Anya, while Steve was screaming wildly. Darry was clutching Kat in his arms, who was trying to explain that she got jumped and found Anya and then Anya ran out, and Cloud was hiding in the corner. Spike was watching all of this with relish.
"So whatcha gonna do Stevie?" asked Spike. "Huh? Your cousin's a two-piece broad, and now your best friend ditched ya. Make the choice pretty quickly, time's running out."
"Shut up!" shouted Steve. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Steve was broken. A broken record. Steve was broken. Steve was broken. Steve was broken. I was broken.
"Get out of here," muttered Darry to Spike. "You've got your opportunity, now scram." Spike sighed, as if his little game was over. I hated Spike. This was my fault. All of the mayhem before me, all the tears spilled unto the ground, I caused that. Look at me, I'm Ponyboy Curtis, and I professionally fuck up others' lives. Want my business card?
And Spike began to leave the building. Go! Run away! Hurt others viciously as you wonder the streets, you murderous bastard. We let you go, because we're the good guys who have to obey the law. How ironic of us greasers actually obeying the law. Who cares that you probably sexually assaulted Anya, the most innocent member of our gang who could not stand up for herself against a brute like you. Who cares that now your free to hurt others' the same way you hurt Anya, and in turn the rest of us.
It was then I understood what Anya (or Miss Havisham) meant to our group. She was our comfort food. I think we felt comfort at someone as innocent and sweet as Anya, one who wasn't trashy and didn't swear and wore skirts at a decent level. Anya was not the typical greaser girl mold, and that's what we liked about her. We didn't ever want for Anya to become a greaser chick. It was comfortable for her to smile and act painfully nice. We all loved Anya. Anya was the catcher in the rye. In a way, Anya saved us all; she entered our lives permanently as Dally and Johnny exited. Good ol' Anya. How we love her.
I watched what Spike had done to all of us. He'd made Two-Bit serious. He'd made Anya cry. He'd ripped Darry straight out of the rabbit hole and made him be an adult. I shook my head and muttered. This all because I had talked to Sarah. Right now I wished I had never met Sarah. Look what the two of us had done together. We were just a pair of tornados, destroying all in our path. I wondered about that one song, "Suicide is Painless". Maybe it was. Maybe I could make this all go away by simply going away.
What happened next was a dream. Pinch me. None of this is happening. I didn't see Spike saunter over to Anya, who was glaring at him with pleading eyes. He then spat his cigarette out and smirked, "Pretty nice show you put on tonight, girly."
Steve snapped.
I still don't know what happened. Soda and Darry tried explaining afterwards. Maybe it was because Steve and Evie had broken up, and that Steve really cared about Evie and this was how he was showing it. Maybe it was because his father had exploded at him. Maybe it was because the one thing he truly cared about, lovely Anya, was now ruined. I have no idea. I don't think any of us know.
Five gunshots. Just five. I watched as blood erupted from mini volcanoes on Spike's body as he collapsed to the ground. I don't like this movie. I want my money back. I'm just going to walk out and not even see how it ends. Too late. Anya shrieked. Darry yelled. Spike lay limp. Steve lowered the gun and stared at Spike, goading him to bleed more.
All this yelling and shouting, like in the movies when something this traumatic or shocking had happened. Cloud was crying, Anya was crying, Kat was trying to hush Cloud but she was also crying too. Tears of the innocent mingling with the blood of the sinner. Two-Bit took Anya and led her outside, where I could hear Cherry and Marcia and Gloria all talking. Darry was tugging at Steve's arm, begging him to run before the cops came by. Some idiot must have called the cops, because sure enough sirens were everywhere. Just like in the movies. It was then that I looked down at my shirt and realized blood was splattered across it. Ha ha Spike. This is what you get. The villain got its sweet due. Maybe if we're lucky enough he'll die before anyone comes. Wouldn't that be nice?
"Steve, let's go!" shouted Darry. Kat had already hurried away, taken Cloud back to the house. Good for Kat. They'd seen too much blood already. All of us had seen too much blood. But this blood river that flowed from Spike, that was the right kind of blood. That was the blood of the sinner. Hopefully, Spike was already dead, and we could all make a run for it and hide out at our house, just like the good, old days.
"Get outta here, Pony," Darry yelled. He was struggling to drag Steve away. Darry's a pretty tough guy, he used to play football and he roofs houses for a living. But something in Steve did not want to leave. Maybe he hadn't fully grasped the fact that he could plausibly have killed Spike, or maybe he actually liked the thought. There wasn't too much we could do to save Steve.
I could hear the sirens blaring, just like they would on Two-Bit's Mickey Mouse program. I walked outside, stumbling. Fuzz surrounded the place in their neat little blue uniforms, yelling and reiterating like trained monkeys all that they were taught in cop school. No one had left. Miss Havisham (formerly known as Anya Randle) was sitting on the stairs, Two- Bit's members only jacket wrapped on her shoulders, her shoulders shaking violently. She was still crying uncontrollably. Kat was clutching Cloud close to her, singing a soft lullaby in Spanish. Cherry, Marcia and Gloria were now all playing the supporting handmaiden role, patting Anya on the back softly and whispering words of encouragement in her ear. Two-Bit was smoking a cigarette, just staring at the warehouse and out at the fuzz in total shock. He glanced over at me with a deer in headlight expression. I could read the tea leaves in the cup. No one was going to be okay anymore.
The fuzz stormed the warehouse, yelling into their nifty walkie talkies. They didn't need to scream; this wasn't a fucking episode of some television show. But it was. This was just the season finale; we'd be back in September with all the answers again. Several cops approached us, and grabbed Anya but not the other girls and put Anya in handcuffs. All because she was grease. The cops took Two-Bit and I too and read us our rights. I wasn't listening. The cops snatched Cloud from Kat's arms and then handcuffed her as well. Kat was screaming for her daughter, and vice versa. She needed medicine, she cried. Medicine to make her feel better. They couldn't care less.
Cherry was yelling at them, the blue coats. She was arguing about the handcuffs. The cops threatened to put her and her little friends in hand cuffs too. She yelled "Fine!" and they were little JDs too. They tossed Anya and Kat gruffly in one car, and then gently placed Cherry, Marcia and Gloria in the other. I caught a glimpse of the three Socy girls; I think they felt responsible for what happened. I shook my head. They didn't need to.
The cops threw us in a cop car, too. Two-Bit and I tried struggling, but it wasn't in us. Kat was still shrieking, her arms open, crying for Cloud. Cloud was fussing as well, her arms shaking. She couldn't form any words. Neither could the rest of us. The cops didn't care though.
Looking out the stained window I saw Darry and Steve. Darry was trying calmly to explain to the cops what had happened, but the cop just kept shaking his head and sent him away to the dungeons. Being the good guy, Darry nodded and let them hand cuff him. I don't think that was his proudest moment.
I watched as the first aid carried Spike out on stretchers. I saw his arms moving weakly, and his eyes were wide open. He wasn't dead. Damn. Too bad. Steve missed. Maybe if we were really lucky, Spike would die on the way to the hospital. Wouldn't that be something?
The cop car began to pull away, with Two-Bit, Darry and I in the backseat in handcuffs. I gazed out the window, and saw the cops yelling and shouting with their guns firmly in hand. As if Steve would shoot them as well. That was really funny.
Steve did not struggle when the police came to take him away.