Hey Guys! I'm baaaaack. Now to explain my recent absence; frankly, I had
so many ideas and none of them worked the way I liked them. So in a way,
it was writer's block. I'm not really too happy with this chapter, but
hey, that's the way it goes.
OK, time to thank the reviewers. Seriously, these reviews and e-mails were really encouraging to me, especially because I was afraid people had lost interest in my story. Hope you guys haven't. Thank you, Starstruck, for the wonderful review. SodasGurl, wow, thanks also! CuteCarly, I got the e- mail you sent me, thanks and I just wanted to say that your story was really great! Hope, I hope you're happy, I continued! Bega, thanks for both the e-mail and review, I hope this lives up to yours and my standards. Karlei Shaynner, thank you as well. And for Grrr (Baah), thanks as well and wow, my story's a hot topic? Cool! Sorry, but I'd love to get that review about how great my story is! Hehe.I'm done.
Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of writing a "That was Then, This is Now" fanfic as well as some other stories, so keep your eyes open for some of those. Don't know what that'll turn into. Here's Chapter Twelve, hope it doesn't suck too much.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SANDY
Wake me up. This is some sort of horrible nightmare I'm living in. I want so badly to turn back, to walk away from all of this. I just keep repeating this to myself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if I say it enough it'll come true.
Julio is picking up speed in his car while I'm staring out at the stars, hoping for a shooting star. I'm hoping for a tunnel so I can make a wish and hold my breath. I should've listened to my grandparents, I should've stayed with them. None of this would've happened if I had listened to them. But no, I had to be the rebellious teenage prep and run out on them. With a total of twelve dollars in my purse. All of it being used by Julio for God-knows-what.
"This is it," hissed Julio, glancing over at me. "This is the big times, Sandy. I'm gonna getcha whatever you want. You wanted revenge on that Curtis kid, and boy did I get revenge for ya."
"How?" I asked. "By beating up that girl back there? All she needed was money for her kid--"
"Hey, you keep your trap shut about that, bitch," barked Julio. That was an order, and if Julio wanted me to shut up, then I would shut up. I knew Julio had drunk a couple of tequilas before he'd said we needed to pack up and leave. The scary thing was, Julio could think as malevolently whether he was drunk or not. He was the Venus woman trapper, and laid his traps cleverly and perfectly, so nearly any girl could be ensnared. And here I was, his latest meal. Who might just possibly be a little pregnant.
"Julio, slow down!" I cursed. The car was moving way too fast, so I gripped the wheel. He shoved me away.
"Oh my God, look!" I shouted. It was too late though. I can still remember it, I think maybe because it's been etched into my brain. I saw a girl standing in the street, a little younger then me. She had white blonde hair, natural of course, with piercing olive green eyes. She didn't look trashy or whorish, but rather refined and truly beautiful. Her hair was pinned up, and she was wearing a long coat.
Julio wasn't paying attention, though. He just merely kept driving, tapping his clipped, dirty fingernails on the steering wheel. It was too late though. The car hit her full on. Julio would've kept on driving if I hadn't stopped the car. Oh my God, what the hell just happened?
"Why the hell did you do that?" asked Julio, as if I was the one who'd run over the girl. "We got to make it to Oklahoma City before tomorrow morning, woman."
"If you didn't just notice," I replied back, "we just hit a young girl."
Julio shrugged indifferently, "So?"
"So?!" I asked. I threw up my arms in defeat and jumped out of the car. Julio sighed, as if I was asking him to cut off all his greasy, black hair and then burn it upon a funeral pyre for me.
I couldn't believe what I saw, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." The Socy girl wasn't moving. I looked around. This definitely was a Socy neighborhood. I always fantasized about living in one. All the houses were a perfect, Victorian white and they all had perfect lawns with beautiful topiaries. Yet as I peered into the windows, they all seemed empty, crowded with material things yet it was so hollow and empty, like nobody lived there. Enlarged dollhouses is what they really were.
"What are we gonna do?" I asked Julio. He shrugged and opened the door, "Pull her over to the sidewalk then drive off. C'mon, Oklahoma City!"
"What the hell?" I shouted. "We just hit, possibly killing, a Socy girl and now you're telling me to pull her over to the friggin' sidewalk?! Julio, we could've killed her!"
"So?" he asked. He didn't understand why I was making a big deal about this. I've never killed anything but bugs and certain rodents and reptiles; to me this was pretty big.
"Fine," I sighed. He helped me carry her over to somebody's lawn and we laid her down. She was unconscious, but I think I saw her breathing. That was a good sign. Her fingers went limp and a small, leather book fell out of her hands. It had pages of handwriting stuffed in it and nearly falling out of the little gold lock. I picked up the book and placed it back in her grip. It was the least I could do.
"C'mon, baby, we gotta get outta here!" Julio shouted.
I sighed and hopped into the car, "Julio, do you love me?"
"'Course, baby, now c'mon," he said. I sighed. That's what would make me stay. That's what would always make me stay.
PONY
They lied; being handcuffed and then locked up in smelly jail cells isn't as bad as they say. Sitting on a bench counting ceiling tiles is real peachy. They locked Two-Bit and Darry on either side of me, and Anya and Kat are across from me. They gave Cherry, Marcia and Gloria comfortable benches to sit on until someone picked them up. No one had seen Steve or Spike. I don't think anyone wanted to.
Dead skin from my thumb fell to the ground as I picked at it to amuse myself. I was detached from everyone now. I felt like I was trapped in a mental asylum, and simply expected doctors and nurses to come by and give me a straight jacket and move me to a comfy padded cell. No such luck.
Unfortunately, I kept thinking about Sarah. I kept imagining her still outside her house, sitting in the pouring rain in nothing but her nightgown. I actually missed her. Chuckling to myself, I couldn't believe I missed her. Leaning back against the cold cement wall with graffiti sketched into it like Aboriginal cave drawings, I began to ponder what drew me to Sarah. What else could I do, it wasn't like anyone was coming to pick us up?
I imagined Sarah van Pelt, walking down the street with her white blonde hair and peeled olives for eyes. Her head high because she could take the abuse shouted from offenders. Then I imagined Sarah in the back of Spike's car, being raped. I shook my head. No. Did I care anymore?
And would Anya ever shut up? She just kept sobbing, soft moaning really. Kat said nothing, neither did Darry; they were the adults, so what were they supposed to say? That we did the right thing? Did we? I thought so. This was all a figment of my imagination. I was schizophrenic. That's it. Spike and Steve and Sarah and Anya and all of them were just personalities I'd created. To keep myself from being lonely. I'd wake up on the comfy counselor's couch at our school, and she'd smile and shake my hand and said we were making real progress. Gotta love those counselors.
Bored, I looked up to see Cherry standing up and talking to two well groomed males. They were definite Socs, clean cut with a farmer's tan. With the way the taller and leaner one had his hand on her back, I suspected they were going out.
"Let's go home, Sherri," he said.
Cherry looked to me and said "One moment, Zachariah." I saw her stride towards me and she knelt down beside me and stroked my cheek lovingly.
"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," she murmured. "About Steve and everything.Spike was always a jackass."
"It's okay," I replied. Those aren't my words. It's not going to be okay. This was an out of body experience. I wasn't talking to Cherry Valance down at the county jail. I'm colorblind to all of this.
"I just wanted to know you'll be okay," Cherry replied. She sighed, "First Dally and Johnny and Bob, now this. Life's just not what I'd planned it to be." Of course not. You open your fuzzy pink planner and take out your expensive pen and dot your I's with hearts. You're dating a city Soc with money to support you through the rest of your comfy lives. You didn't have to take a part time job as a stripper to support your marriage. I bet Zachariah would still love you then, right?
Cherry stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and then called to Marcia and Gloria, "Do you girls need a ride?"
Gloria nodded, "Yeah, I'd rather not have my father find out about this." Marcia nodded. Cherry then began to walk back to her boyfriend. They were all clear to go. Because they were Socs. We weren't; we were white trash. We were the garbage of the Earth. We were what many would spend their lives cleaning up. We were the fucking hole in the ozone layer. We killed dolphins because someone threw their excess beer packaging into the water.
"Hey Cherry," I called. My voice echoes.
She turned real slow. "Yeah?"
"Remember that night at the Nightly Double?"
"Yeah," she replied. Her boyfriend grew defensive, his square jaw clenching. Relax, I ain't hitting on her.
"Just curious," I murmured, sliding in my bench. Cherry turned to walk off again, but I just won't leave her alone, "Cherry!"
"What?" she asked again.
"Do you believe in fate?"
Cherry paused for a moment, not quite sure of what this had to do, then nodded slowly, "Yeah. Fate's the secret ingredient in the recipe of life, Ponyboy. Just add water." And then she was gone, whooshed away by her boyfriend. Gloria, Marcia and Marcia's boyfriend followed suit.
Hours later, Mrs. Mathews dropped by. She had a carrot dangling from her mouth since she was trying to quit smoking. She looked like a parody of Bugs Bunny. Boy, do I need Saturday morning cartoons.
As she yelled at the cop for hauling her boy down, I noticed little Chiffon Mathews. She was about thirteen, real cute with curly blonde hair and soft freckles painted across her face. Underneath all the make-up and peek-a- boo clothing was a lost, confused and generally sweet girl. But she didn't want to be a sweet, innocent girl. I shook my head. She would be the next Anya.
Two-Bit managed to sneak out of the jail (although he nearly got thrown back for making an inappropriate hand gesture to the fuzz) while the rest of us rotted away. Darry was leaning forward, face down. Kat was lying lazily across the bench, and Anya was huddled in a corner.
"Where the hell is she?" I heard Mr. Angus Randle yell. He stumbled into the jail, and shook his head, crying. "Dear God, Anya.I'd hoped I'd never see you here." Mrs. Julia Randle was behind him, cowering before him. That's how their relationship worked. Mr. Randle did the yelling and his wife timidly replied. It was really sad to watch.
"C'mon, Anya, dear, let's get you home," Mrs. Randle said. The fuzz opened Anya's cage and set her free. But how can Anya fly with a broken wing? She was no longer crying on the outside, but she was shaking badly. Her lip trembled with the thought of being truly alone. That was Anya's fear. And now she was facing it. Perhaps that hurt more then any bullet.
They took Anya away, whispering in her ear and patting her on the shoulders. Her face was lost, distant, afraid. Like the type of pictures that you see in the photos of Vietnamese children. No one wanted us to go to Vietnam. We were the scum of Tulsa. Maybe that's why they would want us to go to Vietnam because we were the scum of Tulsa.
And so Anya exited, whooshed away to see her beloved cousin. She was stripped of everything, her innocence, her cousin, and Soda, the love of her life. Maybe that's what being alone was truly about. I remembered after Dally and Johnny died, all I wanted to be was left alone, but I couldn't, because there was always someone, whether it be a gossipy classmate, or a greedy journalist, or some burnt out member of the faculty who wanted to "help" or know the full story.
"You want to know how to help?" I told them, staring blankly in their cold, beady eyes. "Leave me the fuck alone." I got detention for about a week afterwards.
Soda came to pick us up a long time after Anya left. I'm not sure whether that was good or not. At the time I wasn't too sure what was going on with Anya, but I had a general idea about it. He told the fuzz that he was here to see Darry and Kat and myself, and that they were mere witnesses to the entire thing. Didn't do any good. The fuzz then spent an hour interrogating us, asking everything about it.
"I don't remember." They shook their heads, or dunked their crusty donuts into their black coffee, or swore under their breath.
"For the last time, tell us--"
"I don't remember." I didn't. I remember Spike taking the gun and shoving it down his throat and pulling the trigger. That was it. I told them what really happened, and they didn't believe me.
"He'd be brains splattered across the street if he did that."
"Maybe he should've." The fuzz got fed up with me, and let me go. They released Cloud back to Kat, who immediately stopped fussing once she was in her mother's arms. I sat by the window in Darry's truck.
Darry was asking Soda, "Have you seen Steve yet?"
Soda shook his head.
"How'd you know to pick us up?"
Soda shrugged.
"Do you know about Spike?"
Soda shook his head again. Quite verbal today, aren't we? Kat was explaining to me about Julio and how he took her money, and how Cloud was looking too good. Darry was cradling Kat's head and kissed her on the forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed and even a little confused. Normally I would hate Julio, but I didn't. It was like listening to Kat talk to the dashboard radio. They weren't talking about Julio, they were talking about Elvis and the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. They were arguing about the next song they were to play; Kat wanted the Beatles, but the radio insisted on playing the Stones.
We parked the car in front of our house. It seemed so empty and cold. I wandered the halls, listening to the ghosts of past conversations. Of happier times. Of golden times. That's what Johnny meant. Normally I liked finding the deeper meaning in things. Today I didn't. Then again, I don't think anything's normal anymore.
Darry lay in the armchair, stroking Kat's raven black hair and cuddling a sleeping Cloud. Soda was stretched out on the couch. They were all expressionless. Nobody said anything. What was left to be said? Steve was in the slammer, Spike was (hopefully) dying and Anya was sexually abused. Now I realized it. I hated winter. I liked gold and spring. I liked dawn.
No one said a word as I slipped out of the house. Downtown was the best place to think about stuff like this. Like why hadn't we gone to see Steve? He was our buddy, we should go and support him. Support what? That he had shot a fellow teenager? Even a completely evil and corrupt one? Maybe Steve was some sort of renegade angel, and he took out demonic Spike and it was all for some unknown reason. Or what if it was the other way around?
Downtown wasn't making me feel any better. Everybody was going about their normal lives. I even saw a friggin' wedding proposal down at the fountain. A wedding proposal! On a day like this? I saw children laughing and riding on their bikes. I wanted to take their bikes and snap them in half. Ha ha! If I was going to be miserable, so would they. I'd love to hear what my counselor would have to say about this.
I stopped in the drug store and began flipping through comic books. Kabam! Pow! Boom! Flash Gordon's latest arch nemesis lay dead. Steve was Flash Gordon. Evie was Dale Arden. They would live happily ever after.
Speaking of Evie, I saw her at the drug store. She was trying to sell the cashier some worn records. She had on an old dress and a torn shawl. Our eyes met briefly. Her eyes were hollow, sad, worn. Maybe she was feeling what Steve was feeling. What was Steve feeling? I never got to know, for she went back to pleading with the cashier.
Resisting the urge to rip the little dinging bell off the door, I exited the drug store and continued to wander. I remember going to the dentist's office, when we could actually pay for it, and having the dentist proudly say "No cavities" and then hand me a toothbrush and a lollipop. I doubt it'd be no cavities if I ate the lollipop. I gave it to Soda, because I always gave my lollipops to Soda. And then he'd give it to the pretty blonde haired girl with the missing tooth who'd always get her hair cut at the barbershop. Her name was Sandy.
On the outskirts of Tulsa, I noticed a hippie House of Drugs. It was way too bright for the dull, wolfishly colored sky, with slogans spray painted all over it. I'd never been in a hippie house. Never wanted to. But that was before forever.
As I entered the house, there was a dead looking hippie chick sitting on the couch. She was blonde, slender and tall, and would've been pretty if she wasn't so pale. In one hand was the dying life of a joint of grass. Her eyes were a dying gray, and they glazed across the panorama until they landed on me. She weakly offered the joint, "Want some?"
Normally I would've said no. But as I've repeated, that was then. "Yes." She handed me the joint and I sat down beside her and smoke. It was actually somewhat comforting. I wanted it to drown out the voices of all the problems I had. I wanted to leave behind the chains I'd been dragging around.
"You look like you cold use it," the dead looking hippie chick said. I looked to her. I'd rarely seen her around town, though at school I'd seen her skipping school to smoke pot with the rest of the hippies on the front lawn. She was a senior, or had been one. In my Civics class, I think, always wanted to save the world and all that good shit. Her name was Hush, if I remember correctly.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Thanks."
"No problem," Hush replied. Hush looked truly dead. Like an undead zombie. She was the Grim Reaper, knocking on others' doors to take their souls away. This was her personal little Hell or Heaven, whatever you wanted it to be.
"Just a lot on my mind," I told her. I don't know why I was.
"Yeah," she replied. "Dig alright. I just found out my dad wasn't my dad."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Hush murmured, smoking again. "Mom kept it from me forever."
"Didn't that annoy you?" I asked. I began thinking blankly about Sarah again. She'd kept a secret from me. Forget about Sarah and just smoke.
"I guess," Hush shrugged. "I mean, she had her reasons. Mommy dearest was a prostitute, so she could make money. She didn't want to tell me I was a bastard, because it hurt her too much and she wanted me to live normally." Hush laughed. "Look at me now. I wish everyone could live like me." I wanted to say, you mean having your soul sucked from you to the point you laid around all day looking dead, but didn't say anything. I never do, anyway.
"I remember it clearly," she continued. "I was a 'good' girl then, before I saw the light and became a Buddhist, and I had just come home for cheerleading. No one was home, except this creepy guy on our couch. Mom later told me he was only checking up on us and was supposed to have headed out before I came home, but guess that didn't happen. They put him in the kitchen in the back room, but the front door was lock so I used the back door and found him there.
"So I talked to him and asked who he was and he said 'my father'. I thought he was kidding. He explained the whole story, how he met my mom and how they'd fooled around and how I was the product of that. It was in way too accurate detail to be made up. And then he just left." I had no idea why she was telling me about all of this, but I figured it served some sort of purpose to her.
"Anyway, I asked my mom about it and she broke down and told me the truth. That was the day I became a hippie. Here there's no biological fathers or mothers, we just live as one." Hush seemed real proud of that fact, and smoked some more. She then turned her gaze lazily to spot a pile of brownies on the table. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the brownies really were.
"Didn't that tick you off about her hiding that for years?" I asked.
"Nope," Hush replied. "I know why she did it. The man I grew up thinking my father would've always been my real dad." She chuckled, "Now that I look back on it, it's like it was fate." I opened my eyes widely. Sarah was doing the same thing to me. Why should I care about what her mother did? That was in the past. Sarah was just confused, afraid.
"Hey, you can stay here for a while," Hush offered. "Share the love and all."
I nodded. That's all I needed to do.
DARRY
I think Mom and Dad were probably rolling over in the graves. They had always raised the three of us to be respectable citizens despite the conditions we lived in. And now here we were, the two least likely to be jailed, in jail.
Basically, Soda came by and said he was here to pick up Pony, Kat and I and then the cops interrogated us about what happened. I answered the questions as realistically as I could; I tired making Steve appear less criminally then the cops were probably expecting. They just nodded, shrugged and then sent me on.
Kat and I waited outside the front of the police station. She was sitting on the bench, her knee bouncing because she was so nervous. Soda went around the back to have a smoke. He never smoked unless something bothered him. I think this incident would be put under that category.
I sat down next to Kat and looked around nervously. I didn't really have any idea of what to say. I never was good with words. I could hear Kat murmuring, "God, what if she finds out about this? She'll take Cloud away." Frankly, I couldn't blame her for worrying about her daughter. There'd be no doubt that Ms. Fisher could and might possibly would swoop down and snatch Cloud if she found out her "parents" were involved in something like this.
"Don't think that," I told her. "C'mon, Kat, they aren't going to take Cloud away."
"We don't know that," she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder she'd snap my eardrums. "I don't even know where they took my baby."
"We'll get through this," I comforted her. "C'mon, Kat, we'll get through this together."
"I sure hope so," sighed Kat. She gazed over at me. Her eyes were blurry, and it looked like she'd spent eternity crying. I knew she hadn't, because I'd been one cell away from her, but I think deep down she had been.
"Come here," I said. Kat found safety in my arms. I hadn't realized how much they'd ached to hold her until that moment. I brushed away her bangs and kissed her forehead. She kissed my forearm and held onto me like we were dying together.
"I'm worried," she whispered.
"I know," I murmured back. "I am too." A young cop with straw blonde hair pushed open the doors and looked around before reading his clipboard, "Is there a Darrel Shaynne Curtis and a Sodapop Patrick Curtis?"
"Yeah," I answered diligently, standing up. I didn't want to leave Kat, but I had to. Soda walked around the corner and threw out his cigarette. He held up a hand to indicate that he was Soda. I was wondering if he was ever going to speak again.
"Ponyboy's finished with interrogation," the cop announced with his heavy, Louisiana drawl.
"What about Steve?" I asked. "What's the verdict there?"
"Well," the cop replied, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops, "there's gonna be a trial, obviously. And I can guarantee the parents are gonna sue."
"What's the worst that he could get?" asked Kat, joining my side. That's where I always wanted her to be, right beside me. That's where I hoped we'd always be, after all of this calmed down.
"Considering that he's still technically a minor, five to ten years in jail," replied the cop. "Then probably some rehab work." I heard Soda make a choking sound. A lump formed in my throat as the cop led us in. Ponyboy looked dazed and confused like the rest of us. They told us that although we were free to go home, they'd be keeping a close eye on us. I nodded, signed all the papers, told them I'd never do it again, and then the rest of us left. Kat had Cloud back in her arms, and the two seemed a little happier.
The drive home took the sound and tone of a silent movie. Soda still hadn't spoken, which sort of scared us. Kat explained that Julio had jumped her and split with all her money. I swore and shook my head, but there was nothing I could do. I offered to loan Kat some of my money, but she refused. She wanted to earn the money, not live off others. I admired that about her. The minute we got home, Kat, Cloud and I collapsed in my armchair. Cloud was fast asleep already. Pony was too restless to stay home and just stood up and left. I didn't yell at him to stay home or interrogate about his whereabouts, just let him go. Maybe that's what I should do more often, just let him go.
The first real sound I heard was the phone ringing. No one wanted to get it. Kat, being the mature one, did. She walked over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" Her voice was crackling like broken china. "Yes, this is she. Oh, hi Larry." It was Larry, our black friend who went back to Harlem. Why was he calling for Kat?
"Oh my God," murmured Kat. "Are you serious." Soda and I met eyes. This couldn't be too good. "How? Why?" There were always long pauses and then short questions. As if Kat couldn't form
"When is it? This Friday? Ok, I'll be there. No, I'm okay. Thanks, Larry." She slowly dropped the receiver. A single tear rolled down her face.
"What's wrong?" I asked. I think I had an idea of what was wrong, but I didn't want to breathe the words, because then it might become true, like I had the Midas touch or something.
"That was Larry from Harlem," she answered. "It's about Crick, my brother. He was shot in a drive-by shooting. He.he's dead." There was nothing I could say that would make her feel any better. I was frankly shocked she hadn't burst into tears. Her only ally, with the possible exception of her stepfather, and now he was dead.
"I-I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to," Kat replied. "That's what I like about you, Darry. We don't ever need words." And then she went into her room to pack for the impending funeral.
OK, time to thank the reviewers. Seriously, these reviews and e-mails were really encouraging to me, especially because I was afraid people had lost interest in my story. Hope you guys haven't. Thank you, Starstruck, for the wonderful review. SodasGurl, wow, thanks also! CuteCarly, I got the e- mail you sent me, thanks and I just wanted to say that your story was really great! Hope, I hope you're happy, I continued! Bega, thanks for both the e-mail and review, I hope this lives up to yours and my standards. Karlei Shaynner, thank you as well. And for Grrr (Baah), thanks as well and wow, my story's a hot topic? Cool! Sorry, but I'd love to get that review about how great my story is! Hehe.I'm done.
Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of writing a "That was Then, This is Now" fanfic as well as some other stories, so keep your eyes open for some of those. Don't know what that'll turn into. Here's Chapter Twelve, hope it doesn't suck too much.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SANDY
Wake me up. This is some sort of horrible nightmare I'm living in. I want so badly to turn back, to walk away from all of this. I just keep repeating this to myself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if I say it enough it'll come true.
Julio is picking up speed in his car while I'm staring out at the stars, hoping for a shooting star. I'm hoping for a tunnel so I can make a wish and hold my breath. I should've listened to my grandparents, I should've stayed with them. None of this would've happened if I had listened to them. But no, I had to be the rebellious teenage prep and run out on them. With a total of twelve dollars in my purse. All of it being used by Julio for God-knows-what.
"This is it," hissed Julio, glancing over at me. "This is the big times, Sandy. I'm gonna getcha whatever you want. You wanted revenge on that Curtis kid, and boy did I get revenge for ya."
"How?" I asked. "By beating up that girl back there? All she needed was money for her kid--"
"Hey, you keep your trap shut about that, bitch," barked Julio. That was an order, and if Julio wanted me to shut up, then I would shut up. I knew Julio had drunk a couple of tequilas before he'd said we needed to pack up and leave. The scary thing was, Julio could think as malevolently whether he was drunk or not. He was the Venus woman trapper, and laid his traps cleverly and perfectly, so nearly any girl could be ensnared. And here I was, his latest meal. Who might just possibly be a little pregnant.
"Julio, slow down!" I cursed. The car was moving way too fast, so I gripped the wheel. He shoved me away.
"Oh my God, look!" I shouted. It was too late though. I can still remember it, I think maybe because it's been etched into my brain. I saw a girl standing in the street, a little younger then me. She had white blonde hair, natural of course, with piercing olive green eyes. She didn't look trashy or whorish, but rather refined and truly beautiful. Her hair was pinned up, and she was wearing a long coat.
Julio wasn't paying attention, though. He just merely kept driving, tapping his clipped, dirty fingernails on the steering wheel. It was too late though. The car hit her full on. Julio would've kept on driving if I hadn't stopped the car. Oh my God, what the hell just happened?
"Why the hell did you do that?" asked Julio, as if I was the one who'd run over the girl. "We got to make it to Oklahoma City before tomorrow morning, woman."
"If you didn't just notice," I replied back, "we just hit a young girl."
Julio shrugged indifferently, "So?"
"So?!" I asked. I threw up my arms in defeat and jumped out of the car. Julio sighed, as if I was asking him to cut off all his greasy, black hair and then burn it upon a funeral pyre for me.
I couldn't believe what I saw, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." The Socy girl wasn't moving. I looked around. This definitely was a Socy neighborhood. I always fantasized about living in one. All the houses were a perfect, Victorian white and they all had perfect lawns with beautiful topiaries. Yet as I peered into the windows, they all seemed empty, crowded with material things yet it was so hollow and empty, like nobody lived there. Enlarged dollhouses is what they really were.
"What are we gonna do?" I asked Julio. He shrugged and opened the door, "Pull her over to the sidewalk then drive off. C'mon, Oklahoma City!"
"What the hell?" I shouted. "We just hit, possibly killing, a Socy girl and now you're telling me to pull her over to the friggin' sidewalk?! Julio, we could've killed her!"
"So?" he asked. He didn't understand why I was making a big deal about this. I've never killed anything but bugs and certain rodents and reptiles; to me this was pretty big.
"Fine," I sighed. He helped me carry her over to somebody's lawn and we laid her down. She was unconscious, but I think I saw her breathing. That was a good sign. Her fingers went limp and a small, leather book fell out of her hands. It had pages of handwriting stuffed in it and nearly falling out of the little gold lock. I picked up the book and placed it back in her grip. It was the least I could do.
"C'mon, baby, we gotta get outta here!" Julio shouted.
I sighed and hopped into the car, "Julio, do you love me?"
"'Course, baby, now c'mon," he said. I sighed. That's what would make me stay. That's what would always make me stay.
PONY
They lied; being handcuffed and then locked up in smelly jail cells isn't as bad as they say. Sitting on a bench counting ceiling tiles is real peachy. They locked Two-Bit and Darry on either side of me, and Anya and Kat are across from me. They gave Cherry, Marcia and Gloria comfortable benches to sit on until someone picked them up. No one had seen Steve or Spike. I don't think anyone wanted to.
Dead skin from my thumb fell to the ground as I picked at it to amuse myself. I was detached from everyone now. I felt like I was trapped in a mental asylum, and simply expected doctors and nurses to come by and give me a straight jacket and move me to a comfy padded cell. No such luck.
Unfortunately, I kept thinking about Sarah. I kept imagining her still outside her house, sitting in the pouring rain in nothing but her nightgown. I actually missed her. Chuckling to myself, I couldn't believe I missed her. Leaning back against the cold cement wall with graffiti sketched into it like Aboriginal cave drawings, I began to ponder what drew me to Sarah. What else could I do, it wasn't like anyone was coming to pick us up?
I imagined Sarah van Pelt, walking down the street with her white blonde hair and peeled olives for eyes. Her head high because she could take the abuse shouted from offenders. Then I imagined Sarah in the back of Spike's car, being raped. I shook my head. No. Did I care anymore?
And would Anya ever shut up? She just kept sobbing, soft moaning really. Kat said nothing, neither did Darry; they were the adults, so what were they supposed to say? That we did the right thing? Did we? I thought so. This was all a figment of my imagination. I was schizophrenic. That's it. Spike and Steve and Sarah and Anya and all of them were just personalities I'd created. To keep myself from being lonely. I'd wake up on the comfy counselor's couch at our school, and she'd smile and shake my hand and said we were making real progress. Gotta love those counselors.
Bored, I looked up to see Cherry standing up and talking to two well groomed males. They were definite Socs, clean cut with a farmer's tan. With the way the taller and leaner one had his hand on her back, I suspected they were going out.
"Let's go home, Sherri," he said.
Cherry looked to me and said "One moment, Zachariah." I saw her stride towards me and she knelt down beside me and stroked my cheek lovingly.
"I'm sorry, Ponyboy," she murmured. "About Steve and everything.Spike was always a jackass."
"It's okay," I replied. Those aren't my words. It's not going to be okay. This was an out of body experience. I wasn't talking to Cherry Valance down at the county jail. I'm colorblind to all of this.
"I just wanted to know you'll be okay," Cherry replied. She sighed, "First Dally and Johnny and Bob, now this. Life's just not what I'd planned it to be." Of course not. You open your fuzzy pink planner and take out your expensive pen and dot your I's with hearts. You're dating a city Soc with money to support you through the rest of your comfy lives. You didn't have to take a part time job as a stripper to support your marriage. I bet Zachariah would still love you then, right?
Cherry stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and then called to Marcia and Gloria, "Do you girls need a ride?"
Gloria nodded, "Yeah, I'd rather not have my father find out about this." Marcia nodded. Cherry then began to walk back to her boyfriend. They were all clear to go. Because they were Socs. We weren't; we were white trash. We were the garbage of the Earth. We were what many would spend their lives cleaning up. We were the fucking hole in the ozone layer. We killed dolphins because someone threw their excess beer packaging into the water.
"Hey Cherry," I called. My voice echoes.
She turned real slow. "Yeah?"
"Remember that night at the Nightly Double?"
"Yeah," she replied. Her boyfriend grew defensive, his square jaw clenching. Relax, I ain't hitting on her.
"Just curious," I murmured, sliding in my bench. Cherry turned to walk off again, but I just won't leave her alone, "Cherry!"
"What?" she asked again.
"Do you believe in fate?"
Cherry paused for a moment, not quite sure of what this had to do, then nodded slowly, "Yeah. Fate's the secret ingredient in the recipe of life, Ponyboy. Just add water." And then she was gone, whooshed away by her boyfriend. Gloria, Marcia and Marcia's boyfriend followed suit.
Hours later, Mrs. Mathews dropped by. She had a carrot dangling from her mouth since she was trying to quit smoking. She looked like a parody of Bugs Bunny. Boy, do I need Saturday morning cartoons.
As she yelled at the cop for hauling her boy down, I noticed little Chiffon Mathews. She was about thirteen, real cute with curly blonde hair and soft freckles painted across her face. Underneath all the make-up and peek-a- boo clothing was a lost, confused and generally sweet girl. But she didn't want to be a sweet, innocent girl. I shook my head. She would be the next Anya.
Two-Bit managed to sneak out of the jail (although he nearly got thrown back for making an inappropriate hand gesture to the fuzz) while the rest of us rotted away. Darry was leaning forward, face down. Kat was lying lazily across the bench, and Anya was huddled in a corner.
"Where the hell is she?" I heard Mr. Angus Randle yell. He stumbled into the jail, and shook his head, crying. "Dear God, Anya.I'd hoped I'd never see you here." Mrs. Julia Randle was behind him, cowering before him. That's how their relationship worked. Mr. Randle did the yelling and his wife timidly replied. It was really sad to watch.
"C'mon, Anya, dear, let's get you home," Mrs. Randle said. The fuzz opened Anya's cage and set her free. But how can Anya fly with a broken wing? She was no longer crying on the outside, but she was shaking badly. Her lip trembled with the thought of being truly alone. That was Anya's fear. And now she was facing it. Perhaps that hurt more then any bullet.
They took Anya away, whispering in her ear and patting her on the shoulders. Her face was lost, distant, afraid. Like the type of pictures that you see in the photos of Vietnamese children. No one wanted us to go to Vietnam. We were the scum of Tulsa. Maybe that's why they would want us to go to Vietnam because we were the scum of Tulsa.
And so Anya exited, whooshed away to see her beloved cousin. She was stripped of everything, her innocence, her cousin, and Soda, the love of her life. Maybe that's what being alone was truly about. I remembered after Dally and Johnny died, all I wanted to be was left alone, but I couldn't, because there was always someone, whether it be a gossipy classmate, or a greedy journalist, or some burnt out member of the faculty who wanted to "help" or know the full story.
"You want to know how to help?" I told them, staring blankly in their cold, beady eyes. "Leave me the fuck alone." I got detention for about a week afterwards.
Soda came to pick us up a long time after Anya left. I'm not sure whether that was good or not. At the time I wasn't too sure what was going on with Anya, but I had a general idea about it. He told the fuzz that he was here to see Darry and Kat and myself, and that they were mere witnesses to the entire thing. Didn't do any good. The fuzz then spent an hour interrogating us, asking everything about it.
"I don't remember." They shook their heads, or dunked their crusty donuts into their black coffee, or swore under their breath.
"For the last time, tell us--"
"I don't remember." I didn't. I remember Spike taking the gun and shoving it down his throat and pulling the trigger. That was it. I told them what really happened, and they didn't believe me.
"He'd be brains splattered across the street if he did that."
"Maybe he should've." The fuzz got fed up with me, and let me go. They released Cloud back to Kat, who immediately stopped fussing once she was in her mother's arms. I sat by the window in Darry's truck.
Darry was asking Soda, "Have you seen Steve yet?"
Soda shook his head.
"How'd you know to pick us up?"
Soda shrugged.
"Do you know about Spike?"
Soda shook his head again. Quite verbal today, aren't we? Kat was explaining to me about Julio and how he took her money, and how Cloud was looking too good. Darry was cradling Kat's head and kissed her on the forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed and even a little confused. Normally I would hate Julio, but I didn't. It was like listening to Kat talk to the dashboard radio. They weren't talking about Julio, they were talking about Elvis and the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. They were arguing about the next song they were to play; Kat wanted the Beatles, but the radio insisted on playing the Stones.
We parked the car in front of our house. It seemed so empty and cold. I wandered the halls, listening to the ghosts of past conversations. Of happier times. Of golden times. That's what Johnny meant. Normally I liked finding the deeper meaning in things. Today I didn't. Then again, I don't think anything's normal anymore.
Darry lay in the armchair, stroking Kat's raven black hair and cuddling a sleeping Cloud. Soda was stretched out on the couch. They were all expressionless. Nobody said anything. What was left to be said? Steve was in the slammer, Spike was (hopefully) dying and Anya was sexually abused. Now I realized it. I hated winter. I liked gold and spring. I liked dawn.
No one said a word as I slipped out of the house. Downtown was the best place to think about stuff like this. Like why hadn't we gone to see Steve? He was our buddy, we should go and support him. Support what? That he had shot a fellow teenager? Even a completely evil and corrupt one? Maybe Steve was some sort of renegade angel, and he took out demonic Spike and it was all for some unknown reason. Or what if it was the other way around?
Downtown wasn't making me feel any better. Everybody was going about their normal lives. I even saw a friggin' wedding proposal down at the fountain. A wedding proposal! On a day like this? I saw children laughing and riding on their bikes. I wanted to take their bikes and snap them in half. Ha ha! If I was going to be miserable, so would they. I'd love to hear what my counselor would have to say about this.
I stopped in the drug store and began flipping through comic books. Kabam! Pow! Boom! Flash Gordon's latest arch nemesis lay dead. Steve was Flash Gordon. Evie was Dale Arden. They would live happily ever after.
Speaking of Evie, I saw her at the drug store. She was trying to sell the cashier some worn records. She had on an old dress and a torn shawl. Our eyes met briefly. Her eyes were hollow, sad, worn. Maybe she was feeling what Steve was feeling. What was Steve feeling? I never got to know, for she went back to pleading with the cashier.
Resisting the urge to rip the little dinging bell off the door, I exited the drug store and continued to wander. I remember going to the dentist's office, when we could actually pay for it, and having the dentist proudly say "No cavities" and then hand me a toothbrush and a lollipop. I doubt it'd be no cavities if I ate the lollipop. I gave it to Soda, because I always gave my lollipops to Soda. And then he'd give it to the pretty blonde haired girl with the missing tooth who'd always get her hair cut at the barbershop. Her name was Sandy.
On the outskirts of Tulsa, I noticed a hippie House of Drugs. It was way too bright for the dull, wolfishly colored sky, with slogans spray painted all over it. I'd never been in a hippie house. Never wanted to. But that was before forever.
As I entered the house, there was a dead looking hippie chick sitting on the couch. She was blonde, slender and tall, and would've been pretty if she wasn't so pale. In one hand was the dying life of a joint of grass. Her eyes were a dying gray, and they glazed across the panorama until they landed on me. She weakly offered the joint, "Want some?"
Normally I would've said no. But as I've repeated, that was then. "Yes." She handed me the joint and I sat down beside her and smoke. It was actually somewhat comforting. I wanted it to drown out the voices of all the problems I had. I wanted to leave behind the chains I'd been dragging around.
"You look like you cold use it," the dead looking hippie chick said. I looked to her. I'd rarely seen her around town, though at school I'd seen her skipping school to smoke pot with the rest of the hippies on the front lawn. She was a senior, or had been one. In my Civics class, I think, always wanted to save the world and all that good shit. Her name was Hush, if I remember correctly.
"Yeah," I murmured. "Thanks."
"No problem," Hush replied. Hush looked truly dead. Like an undead zombie. She was the Grim Reaper, knocking on others' doors to take their souls away. This was her personal little Hell or Heaven, whatever you wanted it to be.
"Just a lot on my mind," I told her. I don't know why I was.
"Yeah," she replied. "Dig alright. I just found out my dad wasn't my dad."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Hush murmured, smoking again. "Mom kept it from me forever."
"Didn't that annoy you?" I asked. I began thinking blankly about Sarah again. She'd kept a secret from me. Forget about Sarah and just smoke.
"I guess," Hush shrugged. "I mean, she had her reasons. Mommy dearest was a prostitute, so she could make money. She didn't want to tell me I was a bastard, because it hurt her too much and she wanted me to live normally." Hush laughed. "Look at me now. I wish everyone could live like me." I wanted to say, you mean having your soul sucked from you to the point you laid around all day looking dead, but didn't say anything. I never do, anyway.
"I remember it clearly," she continued. "I was a 'good' girl then, before I saw the light and became a Buddhist, and I had just come home for cheerleading. No one was home, except this creepy guy on our couch. Mom later told me he was only checking up on us and was supposed to have headed out before I came home, but guess that didn't happen. They put him in the kitchen in the back room, but the front door was lock so I used the back door and found him there.
"So I talked to him and asked who he was and he said 'my father'. I thought he was kidding. He explained the whole story, how he met my mom and how they'd fooled around and how I was the product of that. It was in way too accurate detail to be made up. And then he just left." I had no idea why she was telling me about all of this, but I figured it served some sort of purpose to her.
"Anyway, I asked my mom about it and she broke down and told me the truth. That was the day I became a hippie. Here there's no biological fathers or mothers, we just live as one." Hush seemed real proud of that fact, and smoked some more. She then turned her gaze lazily to spot a pile of brownies on the table. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the brownies really were.
"Didn't that tick you off about her hiding that for years?" I asked.
"Nope," Hush replied. "I know why she did it. The man I grew up thinking my father would've always been my real dad." She chuckled, "Now that I look back on it, it's like it was fate." I opened my eyes widely. Sarah was doing the same thing to me. Why should I care about what her mother did? That was in the past. Sarah was just confused, afraid.
"Hey, you can stay here for a while," Hush offered. "Share the love and all."
I nodded. That's all I needed to do.
DARRY
I think Mom and Dad were probably rolling over in the graves. They had always raised the three of us to be respectable citizens despite the conditions we lived in. And now here we were, the two least likely to be jailed, in jail.
Basically, Soda came by and said he was here to pick up Pony, Kat and I and then the cops interrogated us about what happened. I answered the questions as realistically as I could; I tired making Steve appear less criminally then the cops were probably expecting. They just nodded, shrugged and then sent me on.
Kat and I waited outside the front of the police station. She was sitting on the bench, her knee bouncing because she was so nervous. Soda went around the back to have a smoke. He never smoked unless something bothered him. I think this incident would be put under that category.
I sat down next to Kat and looked around nervously. I didn't really have any idea of what to say. I never was good with words. I could hear Kat murmuring, "God, what if she finds out about this? She'll take Cloud away." Frankly, I couldn't blame her for worrying about her daughter. There'd be no doubt that Ms. Fisher could and might possibly would swoop down and snatch Cloud if she found out her "parents" were involved in something like this.
"Don't think that," I told her. "C'mon, Kat, they aren't going to take Cloud away."
"We don't know that," she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder she'd snap my eardrums. "I don't even know where they took my baby."
"We'll get through this," I comforted her. "C'mon, Kat, we'll get through this together."
"I sure hope so," sighed Kat. She gazed over at me. Her eyes were blurry, and it looked like she'd spent eternity crying. I knew she hadn't, because I'd been one cell away from her, but I think deep down she had been.
"Come here," I said. Kat found safety in my arms. I hadn't realized how much they'd ached to hold her until that moment. I brushed away her bangs and kissed her forehead. She kissed my forearm and held onto me like we were dying together.
"I'm worried," she whispered.
"I know," I murmured back. "I am too." A young cop with straw blonde hair pushed open the doors and looked around before reading his clipboard, "Is there a Darrel Shaynne Curtis and a Sodapop Patrick Curtis?"
"Yeah," I answered diligently, standing up. I didn't want to leave Kat, but I had to. Soda walked around the corner and threw out his cigarette. He held up a hand to indicate that he was Soda. I was wondering if he was ever going to speak again.
"Ponyboy's finished with interrogation," the cop announced with his heavy, Louisiana drawl.
"What about Steve?" I asked. "What's the verdict there?"
"Well," the cop replied, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops, "there's gonna be a trial, obviously. And I can guarantee the parents are gonna sue."
"What's the worst that he could get?" asked Kat, joining my side. That's where I always wanted her to be, right beside me. That's where I hoped we'd always be, after all of this calmed down.
"Considering that he's still technically a minor, five to ten years in jail," replied the cop. "Then probably some rehab work." I heard Soda make a choking sound. A lump formed in my throat as the cop led us in. Ponyboy looked dazed and confused like the rest of us. They told us that although we were free to go home, they'd be keeping a close eye on us. I nodded, signed all the papers, told them I'd never do it again, and then the rest of us left. Kat had Cloud back in her arms, and the two seemed a little happier.
The drive home took the sound and tone of a silent movie. Soda still hadn't spoken, which sort of scared us. Kat explained that Julio had jumped her and split with all her money. I swore and shook my head, but there was nothing I could do. I offered to loan Kat some of my money, but she refused. She wanted to earn the money, not live off others. I admired that about her. The minute we got home, Kat, Cloud and I collapsed in my armchair. Cloud was fast asleep already. Pony was too restless to stay home and just stood up and left. I didn't yell at him to stay home or interrogate about his whereabouts, just let him go. Maybe that's what I should do more often, just let him go.
The first real sound I heard was the phone ringing. No one wanted to get it. Kat, being the mature one, did. She walked over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" Her voice was crackling like broken china. "Yes, this is she. Oh, hi Larry." It was Larry, our black friend who went back to Harlem. Why was he calling for Kat?
"Oh my God," murmured Kat. "Are you serious." Soda and I met eyes. This couldn't be too good. "How? Why?" There were always long pauses and then short questions. As if Kat couldn't form
"When is it? This Friday? Ok, I'll be there. No, I'm okay. Thanks, Larry." She slowly dropped the receiver. A single tear rolled down her face.
"What's wrong?" I asked. I think I had an idea of what was wrong, but I didn't want to breathe the words, because then it might become true, like I had the Midas touch or something.
"That was Larry from Harlem," she answered. "It's about Crick, my brother. He was shot in a drive-by shooting. He.he's dead." There was nothing I could say that would make her feel any better. I was frankly shocked she hadn't burst into tears. Her only ally, with the possible exception of her stepfather, and now he was dead.
"I-I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to," Kat replied. "That's what I like about you, Darry. We don't ever need words." And then she went into her room to pack for the impending funeral.