AUTHOR'S NOTE: Guess what? I finally updated! Been so busy, I nearly
forgot about this story all together. Hey, I have to say some thank-yous.
First of all, SodasGurl, thanks a lot for the reviews, you've given one
every chapter ever since I first posted so I just wanted to say thanks and
I do appreciate them a lot! Thanks also, Newyorkbabe, for going to Chapter
Twelve! P.S. Sorry about the weird step-sitting thing, I just got the e-
mail and went "ok, random person". Didn't know it was you. Tri.l.wagonk,
yeah, school sucks, but thanks for the great compliment on my story. Also,
thanks to Starstruck (yay, someone got the Flash Gordon reference), the
review was just great. I wanna thank you guys one last time, and here's
Chapter Thirteen!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PONY
Help me. That simple. Someone throw a lifesaver into the water and save me before I drown beneath the too cold waves. The water's seeping into my nose, my mouth, my ears, I can't breathe. The water takes the form of blonde Socs with unrelenting glares, of bright eyed blonde haired girls reluctantly taking off their clothing, of lonely and overworked people. It takes the form of Johnny and Dally. Somebody save me. Somebody. Anybody. Please?
A voice wakes me from the blackness, "Ponyboy? Ponyboy, get up!"
"Soda.?" I call, my eyes barely a slit. It's not Soda. It's Darry. In a hippie house. Not something you'd see everyday. Darry shook me harder, "Pony, get up!"
"I'm up, I'm up." I muttered, managing to swear softly under my breath as Darry helped me sit up. I rubbed my eyes several times and blinked heavily. The world was hazy. It always was. Especially around here. Nothing was clear cut. And while I get older, everything gets so complicated. I want it to be simple. I want to be 7 and playing with paint-by-numbers kits. Life should be a paint-by-numbers kit. Just dab on the color and you've got your beautiful picture. And then Mom will "ooh" and "aw" over it and then hang it up on the refrigerator. Now everyone can ooh and aw over my lovely paint-by-the-numbers picture. And no one can ruin it.
Strangely enough, Darry asked no questions. Hush, the hippie chick I met, was long gone. Nothing more then a fleeting memory of previous events. She spoke of fate and bastard children. Come home. I want her to come home and speak to me more. I want her dying marijuana and her dying body and her ever-present mind. Come home.
We walked out to the truck, and we silently stepped in. We did everything silently. Darry drove silently. I glanced over to his face. He hardly looked twenty. He looked stressed, eyes bloodshot. He was whispering softly to himself.
"What's wrong?" I croaked. That's it. I'm a frog. That's why I croaked. I'm a frog waiting for a beautiful princess to kiss me and turn me into a prince and make me all better. Sarah is my princess.
Darry swallowed the lump in his throat, "Nothing." Liar. I knew he was lying. He looked so weary and tired.
"Kat.?" I asked. Darry made a soft choking sound, closed his eyes briefly, and nodded, "Yes."
"What happened.?" I asked, scared of my answer.
"Crick. Brother. He died. She's going to Harlem for his funeral." Darry finally managed a full sentence.
I shrugged, "She'll be ok. She'll be back." I think Darry was scared. Darry was scared of Kat taking off and leaving and using her brother's death as a convenient escape. It was then that I realized how much Darry needed Kat.
"She makes me feel young, Ponyboy," Darry blurted. His eyes didn't leave the steering wheel, and he gripped it firmly, as if it was the last thing sticking around. "She's the first person that makes me feel this way, since Mom and Dad died. God, I love her, I LOVE HER!" He shouted to the wind. It didn't bother to listen.
SODA
I haven't spoken. I don't think I ever will. There's nothing left to say. Pony's gone, Steve's in jail, and Anya's.Spike might be dead. That's it. Simple little facts like that.
The court was on a Wednesday. I've been in courtrooms before. When Pony was tried for "murdering" Bob, I was right there. Nervous, eyes shifting to Pony and Darry, I was there. But that was different. Pony had acted in self-defense. Steve acted in vengeance. Maybe Steve was acting in self- defense. Maybe by shooting Spike he stood up for any future girl who Spike would go on to rape. So technically vengeance and self-defense were the same. I had to believe that or otherwise I would be as dead as Spike should have been.
Oh yes, Spike was there. At the court. Boy, did he look like hell. According to the doctors, he's permanently paralyzed. His spinal collar shattered. Oh, he'll survive, but he'll never go through a moment of his life without feeling pain. He'd be feeling the same pain we felt.
We all were there. The gang, of course, the Randles, Cherry and Marcia and Gloria, Spike's parents, all of us. It was like a little reunion. And Steve had to be there too. They brought him in. He glared as he walked past Spike. I think he would've spat at him. Good. He deserved it. Anya let out a soft cry as she watched her cousin walk by, clad in black and white stripes and handcuffs. Steve glanced over his shoulder and nodded at her. I think that's what kept her from falling apart at the seams.
It was a nice little court. People spoke. People like myself and Darry and the Randles and Anya and even Socy Cherry. None of it did any good. We could've called Steve the next Messiah and it wouldn't have done any good. Our words bounced off the lawyers' ears and straight back into our mouths. Facts were facts; Steve shot Spike, end of story. It didn't matter that Anya had been sexually abused. The Randles' lawyer had tried as hard as he could to use that fact, and that Steve was young, but those were greaser facts. They weren't Socy facts, like that Steve had attempted murder. Which is why Steve was sentenced to four years in jail.
There was nothing left to do. Steve was going to jail. He was going to rot there, like Dallas' memory rotted there. Mrs. Randle bawled, her arms reaching for Steve as he walked down the aisle, with Mr. Randle's face contorted in agony, while Anya sat there, quietly, digesting what had happened. I cried. My best friend Steve was going to jail. In a way, I was going with him.
"He's not going to jail," Anya said, determined and through grit teeth. "I don't care what that judge or those lawyers or that jury think, but there's no way Stevie's going to jail." And she meant it. There was nothing that was going to stop Anya from getting Steve out of jail. She was different now. I have no idea what she changed into, but she wasn't and will never be sweet little Anya.
It was about midday Anya stopped by our house. She curtly nodded to me and asked if Darry was home. She didn't look me in the eye, rather she was looking at the couch behind us. Her eyes looked sad, worn out. Darry came to the door and Anya laid down her plan. She was going to bust Steve out of jail. We could either help, or stay out of it, but either way, she said, Steve was going free.
At first, Darry firmly was opposed to the idea. Two-Bit was for it, Kat was uneasy, and Pony was quiet. Two-Bit and Darry argued back and forth. Finally, Darry agreed to the plan. We would sneak into the county jail, dressed as jailers, and sneak out. Two-Bit and Darry went, since Pony and I would get sent to the boy's home. Which meant while they were gone, Anya and I had hours to spend with each other. We could've patched things up. We could've explained the others' point of view. But we said nothing. We never acknowledged the other the entire time. Kat talked to Anya while I simply sat out on the porch, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
When Darry and Two-Bit came back, with the addition of Steve, Anya burst into running and leapt into Steve's arms. It wasn't the same Steve though. Nor was it the same Anya. Steve's hair was a mess, and he had stubble growing on his jaw. His eyes had that same worn look everyone had been wearing these days.
"You and Evie," Anya began, "are you.?"
"Yeah," Steve said gruffly. "She stopped by. We worked things out." It wasn't gonna do any good though. He glanced around, until his worn eyes met mine. I walked down the steps and he pulled me into an embrace and we slapped backs. He then walked past me and gave Kat a warm hug. She was leaving. Steve was leaving. Everyone had a one-way ticket out of Tulsa.
Dusk settled upon Tulsa. The cops were now searching for Steve, and he had to run. Anya had packed his things, and all of us stood beside Buck Merril's Thunderbird. Anya had pulled some strings and had guilt Merril into lending Steve the car. I don't think Merril wanted it anymore either.
Like a general to his troops, Steve went down the line. He grinned when he saw Two-Bit, "You take care of my kid cousin."
"You know I will," Two-Bit said. When Two-Bit gave his word, he meant it. He'd protect Anya with his life if it came to that. The Randles and Mrs. Mathews had decided that it was for the best if Anya stayed with the Mathews. Not us. The Mathews. He gave Kat a hug and shook Darry's hand, "Thanks for everything."
"You're always welcome," Kat smiled warmly. Steve twirled Cloud around one last time before returning her to her mother. He nodded to Ponyboy, "Take care, kiddo." They had never had a good relationship. Never. Steve didn't like Pony and Pony didn't like Steve. Yet Pony smiled, and said, "You too, Steve."
He nodded at his father. I don't think he thought words were necessary. They'd somewhat patched things up, but I don't know how or why or any of the details. His mother kissed him on the cheek. And then it was me and Anya. Like it always was. He hugged Anya, and whispered some words into her ear. She nodded, and looked like she was going to cry some more. This was her plan, and she knew that in the end Steve would have to go.
And then it was me and Steve. Best buddies since for as long as anyone can remember. We'd spent forever talking. And now we had nothing left to say. How ironic was that? We'd just run out of things to say. I wasn't going to see him for two, three, four years because he'd be away, in Las Vegas is where he'd told us he'd be.
"Soda."
"Steve." I didn't want to say anything. I was afraid of having the words leave my lips and hang in the air for all eternity. Because then if I spoke, it'd ruin the nice bubble of silence we had, and then that would shatter the surreal quality of all this.
"Yeah," Steve coughed, clearing his throat. "I wish that this hadn't ended this way, me leaving. I guess we all thought Dally would be the first to get jailed for murder." We laughed.
"Take care of yourself, Steve," I told him.
Steve shrugged, "I can't do any worse." And then he stepped into the Thunderbird and drove off. Everyone else slowly turned, branched off and left, after a suitable mourning period, which was until the Thunderbird could not be seen. In the morning the fuzz would stop by and question us, and we'd all shake our heads and said we hadn't heard from him but that they'd be the first to know if we received any word. Everyone left but Anya and I. I glanced over at her. Her hair was lifted in the breeze, and occasionally clouded her eyesight, but I don't think she cared. For a brief moment she was Anya Randle, the love of my life. And then it was gone in a second, just as quickly as Steve had left.
PONY
I didn't know that things would get worse. First Steve left, then Kat and Cloud had to go for a funeral. Now this. It was just the next day, in the late afternoon. Two-Bit and I were at a Dairy Queen getting a quick bite to eat when we saw, lo and behold, Adrienne and Trista, the two Socy whores (one of whom had been Spike's consolation prize), in front of us. They were gossiping about something or other. Meanwhile, Two-Bit was gone, flirting with Tallulah Beckett (yet again), so I just happened to listen in.
Adrienne's penciled in lips moved, "And for your information, I never liked Spike. It was just a thing, a phase."
"That's good," Trista said. "Looks like he's not the only one in the hospital. Did you hear about that bitch Sarah?"
"I know!" giggled Adrienne. "She so deserved what she got. She got hit by a car. A fucking car!" Giggle giggle, snort snort. I couldn't believe it. At first I thought they were kidding. Despite the fact that they were Socs and were undeclared whores, I asked, "What do you mean about Sarah?"
"What?" asked Adrienne, blinking. Her lip curled in disgust at me, "Get lost, greaser. She'd probably be your type anyway."
"I said," I snapped indignantly. "What happened to Sarah?!" I think I had scared them into submission, for neither of them had any expression on their face. Then it sunk in, and Adrienne began spilling the details, "Sarah van Pelt got hit by a car the other day."
"I feel so bad for her," Trista lied, acting sympathetic.
"There's a good chance she might not make it," continued Adrienne. "Oh, I'm so worried!" I took off, and heard Adrienne calling, "Send her our regards!" Yeah. I'll tell her you're just another phony. My God. Sarah. Dead. In a hospital. Just like Johnny.
I rushed into the hospital door's arms, and it let me flow right past it. I stumbled, my mind ablaze. No, not my Sarah. Take me. I stopped the first doctor I could find, "Can you tell me where Sarah van Pelt is."
"Whadya know, I'm on my way to her," the doctor said, good-natured. "Are you a relative?"
I lied like Adrienne, "Yeah. Yeah." He ushered me up a couple floors and into a bland looking hospital room painted with flowers and get-well cards. As if Sarah had just had her tonsils removed. I saw the maid and a tall, slim man with a thin mustache who I had to assume was Mr. van Pelt, though he bared no resemblence to his daughter. And then lying in the bed was Sarah van Pelt, the one girl I ever truly loved. She looked so trashed, her eyes dazed, her hair matted with sweat.
"Sarah?" I managed to say.
"Pony.?" she asked, her head tilting over to see me. "Pony.!"
"Are you Ponyboy Curtis?" Mr. van Pelt asked. From town gossip I'd heard, he was a banker, rather snobby elitist. I didn't care. He was Sarah's father, and that's all that mattered. I nodded, "Yes."
"She's been calling for you ever since she got here," Mr. van Pelt said, shaking my hand as if I'd won some sort of Olympic event. The maid blew her nose. Mr. van Pelt whispered, as if he didn't want Sarah to hear, "She's not going to.to make it." He seemed calm and collected, despite the fact that Sarah.that Sarah would be taking a holiday.
"Pony!" It was Sarah, her voice urgent. She needed me. Now. I knelt beside her bed, and with all her strength she clutched my arms, "Pony, Pony, Pony."
"Yeah, I'm here," I said. "Shhh.calm down."
"Pony, I'm so sorry," she said. Tears slowly squeezed themselves out of her eyes and drifted down her porcelain face. "I need to.need to give you this, Pony. It'll explain everything." She handed me a worn book, with a leather binding and pages bursting from the lock. I took it and clutched it. It was my Bible.
"I've heard the doctors whisper. I don't have much longer," she said. She lifted her free arm to beckon her father and her maid. They immediately hurried over and her father stood beside her. He'd stand beside her until Death came and took her away.
Sarah smiled contently, "I'll die with the three people I love most."
"Sarah, no." I whispered. "I love you so much, dear God, don't leave."
Sarah shook her head. She was stubborn. She was intent on dying; "It's my time, Ponyboy. Everything happens for a reason. But." her voice drifted off, "I love you too. And for the end of time, I'll love you. It's because our love is a love beyond love, Ponyboy. We're greater then Antony and Cleopatra, Bonnie and Clyde, Romeo and Juliet, all of them. We leave them in the dust. And that's where we'll be, Ponyboy Curtis. We'll be in first place." She was quoting Edgar Allen Poe. Of all times to quote a morbid poet now seemed the least appropriate, and yet I didn't care. We were silent, our breaths held, waiting for the climax. Waiting for Sarah to die.
Sarah smiled yet again, "And now I can die in peace." And Sarah closed her eyes, smiled one last time and died peacefully on June the 22nd. The maid burst into tears, Mr. van Pelt stood silently behind his daughter, but tears were streaming down his face as well. And I stood up, wandered back to my house, and then quietly died as well.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PONY
Help me. That simple. Someone throw a lifesaver into the water and save me before I drown beneath the too cold waves. The water's seeping into my nose, my mouth, my ears, I can't breathe. The water takes the form of blonde Socs with unrelenting glares, of bright eyed blonde haired girls reluctantly taking off their clothing, of lonely and overworked people. It takes the form of Johnny and Dally. Somebody save me. Somebody. Anybody. Please?
A voice wakes me from the blackness, "Ponyboy? Ponyboy, get up!"
"Soda.?" I call, my eyes barely a slit. It's not Soda. It's Darry. In a hippie house. Not something you'd see everyday. Darry shook me harder, "Pony, get up!"
"I'm up, I'm up." I muttered, managing to swear softly under my breath as Darry helped me sit up. I rubbed my eyes several times and blinked heavily. The world was hazy. It always was. Especially around here. Nothing was clear cut. And while I get older, everything gets so complicated. I want it to be simple. I want to be 7 and playing with paint-by-numbers kits. Life should be a paint-by-numbers kit. Just dab on the color and you've got your beautiful picture. And then Mom will "ooh" and "aw" over it and then hang it up on the refrigerator. Now everyone can ooh and aw over my lovely paint-by-the-numbers picture. And no one can ruin it.
Strangely enough, Darry asked no questions. Hush, the hippie chick I met, was long gone. Nothing more then a fleeting memory of previous events. She spoke of fate and bastard children. Come home. I want her to come home and speak to me more. I want her dying marijuana and her dying body and her ever-present mind. Come home.
We walked out to the truck, and we silently stepped in. We did everything silently. Darry drove silently. I glanced over to his face. He hardly looked twenty. He looked stressed, eyes bloodshot. He was whispering softly to himself.
"What's wrong?" I croaked. That's it. I'm a frog. That's why I croaked. I'm a frog waiting for a beautiful princess to kiss me and turn me into a prince and make me all better. Sarah is my princess.
Darry swallowed the lump in his throat, "Nothing." Liar. I knew he was lying. He looked so weary and tired.
"Kat.?" I asked. Darry made a soft choking sound, closed his eyes briefly, and nodded, "Yes."
"What happened.?" I asked, scared of my answer.
"Crick. Brother. He died. She's going to Harlem for his funeral." Darry finally managed a full sentence.
I shrugged, "She'll be ok. She'll be back." I think Darry was scared. Darry was scared of Kat taking off and leaving and using her brother's death as a convenient escape. It was then that I realized how much Darry needed Kat.
"She makes me feel young, Ponyboy," Darry blurted. His eyes didn't leave the steering wheel, and he gripped it firmly, as if it was the last thing sticking around. "She's the first person that makes me feel this way, since Mom and Dad died. God, I love her, I LOVE HER!" He shouted to the wind. It didn't bother to listen.
SODA
I haven't spoken. I don't think I ever will. There's nothing left to say. Pony's gone, Steve's in jail, and Anya's.Spike might be dead. That's it. Simple little facts like that.
The court was on a Wednesday. I've been in courtrooms before. When Pony was tried for "murdering" Bob, I was right there. Nervous, eyes shifting to Pony and Darry, I was there. But that was different. Pony had acted in self-defense. Steve acted in vengeance. Maybe Steve was acting in self- defense. Maybe by shooting Spike he stood up for any future girl who Spike would go on to rape. So technically vengeance and self-defense were the same. I had to believe that or otherwise I would be as dead as Spike should have been.
Oh yes, Spike was there. At the court. Boy, did he look like hell. According to the doctors, he's permanently paralyzed. His spinal collar shattered. Oh, he'll survive, but he'll never go through a moment of his life without feeling pain. He'd be feeling the same pain we felt.
We all were there. The gang, of course, the Randles, Cherry and Marcia and Gloria, Spike's parents, all of us. It was like a little reunion. And Steve had to be there too. They brought him in. He glared as he walked past Spike. I think he would've spat at him. Good. He deserved it. Anya let out a soft cry as she watched her cousin walk by, clad in black and white stripes and handcuffs. Steve glanced over his shoulder and nodded at her. I think that's what kept her from falling apart at the seams.
It was a nice little court. People spoke. People like myself and Darry and the Randles and Anya and even Socy Cherry. None of it did any good. We could've called Steve the next Messiah and it wouldn't have done any good. Our words bounced off the lawyers' ears and straight back into our mouths. Facts were facts; Steve shot Spike, end of story. It didn't matter that Anya had been sexually abused. The Randles' lawyer had tried as hard as he could to use that fact, and that Steve was young, but those were greaser facts. They weren't Socy facts, like that Steve had attempted murder. Which is why Steve was sentenced to four years in jail.
There was nothing left to do. Steve was going to jail. He was going to rot there, like Dallas' memory rotted there. Mrs. Randle bawled, her arms reaching for Steve as he walked down the aisle, with Mr. Randle's face contorted in agony, while Anya sat there, quietly, digesting what had happened. I cried. My best friend Steve was going to jail. In a way, I was going with him.
"He's not going to jail," Anya said, determined and through grit teeth. "I don't care what that judge or those lawyers or that jury think, but there's no way Stevie's going to jail." And she meant it. There was nothing that was going to stop Anya from getting Steve out of jail. She was different now. I have no idea what she changed into, but she wasn't and will never be sweet little Anya.
It was about midday Anya stopped by our house. She curtly nodded to me and asked if Darry was home. She didn't look me in the eye, rather she was looking at the couch behind us. Her eyes looked sad, worn out. Darry came to the door and Anya laid down her plan. She was going to bust Steve out of jail. We could either help, or stay out of it, but either way, she said, Steve was going free.
At first, Darry firmly was opposed to the idea. Two-Bit was for it, Kat was uneasy, and Pony was quiet. Two-Bit and Darry argued back and forth. Finally, Darry agreed to the plan. We would sneak into the county jail, dressed as jailers, and sneak out. Two-Bit and Darry went, since Pony and I would get sent to the boy's home. Which meant while they were gone, Anya and I had hours to spend with each other. We could've patched things up. We could've explained the others' point of view. But we said nothing. We never acknowledged the other the entire time. Kat talked to Anya while I simply sat out on the porch, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
When Darry and Two-Bit came back, with the addition of Steve, Anya burst into running and leapt into Steve's arms. It wasn't the same Steve though. Nor was it the same Anya. Steve's hair was a mess, and he had stubble growing on his jaw. His eyes had that same worn look everyone had been wearing these days.
"You and Evie," Anya began, "are you.?"
"Yeah," Steve said gruffly. "She stopped by. We worked things out." It wasn't gonna do any good though. He glanced around, until his worn eyes met mine. I walked down the steps and he pulled me into an embrace and we slapped backs. He then walked past me and gave Kat a warm hug. She was leaving. Steve was leaving. Everyone had a one-way ticket out of Tulsa.
Dusk settled upon Tulsa. The cops were now searching for Steve, and he had to run. Anya had packed his things, and all of us stood beside Buck Merril's Thunderbird. Anya had pulled some strings and had guilt Merril into lending Steve the car. I don't think Merril wanted it anymore either.
Like a general to his troops, Steve went down the line. He grinned when he saw Two-Bit, "You take care of my kid cousin."
"You know I will," Two-Bit said. When Two-Bit gave his word, he meant it. He'd protect Anya with his life if it came to that. The Randles and Mrs. Mathews had decided that it was for the best if Anya stayed with the Mathews. Not us. The Mathews. He gave Kat a hug and shook Darry's hand, "Thanks for everything."
"You're always welcome," Kat smiled warmly. Steve twirled Cloud around one last time before returning her to her mother. He nodded to Ponyboy, "Take care, kiddo." They had never had a good relationship. Never. Steve didn't like Pony and Pony didn't like Steve. Yet Pony smiled, and said, "You too, Steve."
He nodded at his father. I don't think he thought words were necessary. They'd somewhat patched things up, but I don't know how or why or any of the details. His mother kissed him on the cheek. And then it was me and Anya. Like it always was. He hugged Anya, and whispered some words into her ear. She nodded, and looked like she was going to cry some more. This was her plan, and she knew that in the end Steve would have to go.
And then it was me and Steve. Best buddies since for as long as anyone can remember. We'd spent forever talking. And now we had nothing left to say. How ironic was that? We'd just run out of things to say. I wasn't going to see him for two, three, four years because he'd be away, in Las Vegas is where he'd told us he'd be.
"Soda."
"Steve." I didn't want to say anything. I was afraid of having the words leave my lips and hang in the air for all eternity. Because then if I spoke, it'd ruin the nice bubble of silence we had, and then that would shatter the surreal quality of all this.
"Yeah," Steve coughed, clearing his throat. "I wish that this hadn't ended this way, me leaving. I guess we all thought Dally would be the first to get jailed for murder." We laughed.
"Take care of yourself, Steve," I told him.
Steve shrugged, "I can't do any worse." And then he stepped into the Thunderbird and drove off. Everyone else slowly turned, branched off and left, after a suitable mourning period, which was until the Thunderbird could not be seen. In the morning the fuzz would stop by and question us, and we'd all shake our heads and said we hadn't heard from him but that they'd be the first to know if we received any word. Everyone left but Anya and I. I glanced over at her. Her hair was lifted in the breeze, and occasionally clouded her eyesight, but I don't think she cared. For a brief moment she was Anya Randle, the love of my life. And then it was gone in a second, just as quickly as Steve had left.
PONY
I didn't know that things would get worse. First Steve left, then Kat and Cloud had to go for a funeral. Now this. It was just the next day, in the late afternoon. Two-Bit and I were at a Dairy Queen getting a quick bite to eat when we saw, lo and behold, Adrienne and Trista, the two Socy whores (one of whom had been Spike's consolation prize), in front of us. They were gossiping about something or other. Meanwhile, Two-Bit was gone, flirting with Tallulah Beckett (yet again), so I just happened to listen in.
Adrienne's penciled in lips moved, "And for your information, I never liked Spike. It was just a thing, a phase."
"That's good," Trista said. "Looks like he's not the only one in the hospital. Did you hear about that bitch Sarah?"
"I know!" giggled Adrienne. "She so deserved what she got. She got hit by a car. A fucking car!" Giggle giggle, snort snort. I couldn't believe it. At first I thought they were kidding. Despite the fact that they were Socs and were undeclared whores, I asked, "What do you mean about Sarah?"
"What?" asked Adrienne, blinking. Her lip curled in disgust at me, "Get lost, greaser. She'd probably be your type anyway."
"I said," I snapped indignantly. "What happened to Sarah?!" I think I had scared them into submission, for neither of them had any expression on their face. Then it sunk in, and Adrienne began spilling the details, "Sarah van Pelt got hit by a car the other day."
"I feel so bad for her," Trista lied, acting sympathetic.
"There's a good chance she might not make it," continued Adrienne. "Oh, I'm so worried!" I took off, and heard Adrienne calling, "Send her our regards!" Yeah. I'll tell her you're just another phony. My God. Sarah. Dead. In a hospital. Just like Johnny.
I rushed into the hospital door's arms, and it let me flow right past it. I stumbled, my mind ablaze. No, not my Sarah. Take me. I stopped the first doctor I could find, "Can you tell me where Sarah van Pelt is."
"Whadya know, I'm on my way to her," the doctor said, good-natured. "Are you a relative?"
I lied like Adrienne, "Yeah. Yeah." He ushered me up a couple floors and into a bland looking hospital room painted with flowers and get-well cards. As if Sarah had just had her tonsils removed. I saw the maid and a tall, slim man with a thin mustache who I had to assume was Mr. van Pelt, though he bared no resemblence to his daughter. And then lying in the bed was Sarah van Pelt, the one girl I ever truly loved. She looked so trashed, her eyes dazed, her hair matted with sweat.
"Sarah?" I managed to say.
"Pony.?" she asked, her head tilting over to see me. "Pony.!"
"Are you Ponyboy Curtis?" Mr. van Pelt asked. From town gossip I'd heard, he was a banker, rather snobby elitist. I didn't care. He was Sarah's father, and that's all that mattered. I nodded, "Yes."
"She's been calling for you ever since she got here," Mr. van Pelt said, shaking my hand as if I'd won some sort of Olympic event. The maid blew her nose. Mr. van Pelt whispered, as if he didn't want Sarah to hear, "She's not going to.to make it." He seemed calm and collected, despite the fact that Sarah.that Sarah would be taking a holiday.
"Pony!" It was Sarah, her voice urgent. She needed me. Now. I knelt beside her bed, and with all her strength she clutched my arms, "Pony, Pony, Pony."
"Yeah, I'm here," I said. "Shhh.calm down."
"Pony, I'm so sorry," she said. Tears slowly squeezed themselves out of her eyes and drifted down her porcelain face. "I need to.need to give you this, Pony. It'll explain everything." She handed me a worn book, with a leather binding and pages bursting from the lock. I took it and clutched it. It was my Bible.
"I've heard the doctors whisper. I don't have much longer," she said. She lifted her free arm to beckon her father and her maid. They immediately hurried over and her father stood beside her. He'd stand beside her until Death came and took her away.
Sarah smiled contently, "I'll die with the three people I love most."
"Sarah, no." I whispered. "I love you so much, dear God, don't leave."
Sarah shook her head. She was stubborn. She was intent on dying; "It's my time, Ponyboy. Everything happens for a reason. But." her voice drifted off, "I love you too. And for the end of time, I'll love you. It's because our love is a love beyond love, Ponyboy. We're greater then Antony and Cleopatra, Bonnie and Clyde, Romeo and Juliet, all of them. We leave them in the dust. And that's where we'll be, Ponyboy Curtis. We'll be in first place." She was quoting Edgar Allen Poe. Of all times to quote a morbid poet now seemed the least appropriate, and yet I didn't care. We were silent, our breaths held, waiting for the climax. Waiting for Sarah to die.
Sarah smiled yet again, "And now I can die in peace." And Sarah closed her eyes, smiled one last time and died peacefully on June the 22nd. The maid burst into tears, Mr. van Pelt stood silently behind his daughter, but tears were streaming down his face as well. And I stood up, wandered back to my house, and then quietly died as well.