(Steve)
"Can you give me a ride to the hospital?" Soda asked the next day. I slid out from under the car I was working on.
"I dunno. If the boss lets me go, sure."
"He will." I could tell he was anxious to get to the hospital. Pony was getting his first chemo in half an hour and he wanted to be there for him.
I put down the wrench I was holding and fumbled for my car keys. Soda sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired. We'd had to haul him out of bed the other night so he could eat some of the pizza-type creation Two-Bit and I had finally concocted. He'd just sat at the table, unusually quiet, watching his younger brother from the corner of his eye. Pony'd been smiling and quiet like normal, but he hadn't touched anything and he'd had to run from the table once to spit blood into the bathroom sink.
But he'll be all right, I thought confidently as Soda and I climbed into my car. Starting today he'll be all right. They're gonna start treatment and the things'll vanish.
"Gotta cigarette?" Soda snapped me back to the present.
"Sure." I handed him my pack and lighter, then started the car and pulled into the street. We rode in silence, Soda smoking, me watching the road. My best friend finally sighed and tossed the butt out the window.
"So, Pony at least slept through the night," he mumbled.
I glanced at him. "What about you?"
"What's it matter?"
"You've gotta take care of yourself too, Soda, or you ain't gonna be any help to him."
"Thanks, Darry," he snapped sarcastically, nothing like his usual self.
"Listen, buddy," I retorted, "Pony may be sick, but you ain't and there's no point in getting yourself there."
Soda sighed and leaned against the window. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a few minutes. "I'm just kinda messed up right now."
I nodded. We didn't need anything more than that. Usually we didn't even need I'm sorry. We knew each other well enough to just know.
"I heard you got in a fight with some Socs," Soda finally said. I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny. Some of the kids had cheered when my homeroom teacher had announced that Ponyboy was sick and the Curtis family would be accepting donations. I'd tried to ignore it, although I'd begun to feel a growing protection for my best friend's kid brother, and this antagonized me no end. But when one of them came up to me later and told me that the little grease bastard was going straight to hell, I'd responded with a vicious punch to his face. They'd left us alone after that.
"One won't be able to see out of his left eye for a week," I told Soda.
He sighed. "I thought we were past all that."
"We were. Until he mouthed off about Pony bein' sick."
"Oh," Soda said, realization dawning. Then he smiled: a genuine grin. "He'll appreciate you stickin' up for him."
"Well," I said as the hospital came into sight and I snapped my turning signal on, "I kinda have to right now." Soda fell silent again as I pulled up to the entrance to let him out. "Want me to come over after work?" I offered.
"Sure," he smiled again. "Just promise me something."
"Yeah?"
"Don't cook dinner."
"Can you give me a ride to the hospital?" Soda asked the next day. I slid out from under the car I was working on.
"I dunno. If the boss lets me go, sure."
"He will." I could tell he was anxious to get to the hospital. Pony was getting his first chemo in half an hour and he wanted to be there for him.
I put down the wrench I was holding and fumbled for my car keys. Soda sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired. We'd had to haul him out of bed the other night so he could eat some of the pizza-type creation Two-Bit and I had finally concocted. He'd just sat at the table, unusually quiet, watching his younger brother from the corner of his eye. Pony'd been smiling and quiet like normal, but he hadn't touched anything and he'd had to run from the table once to spit blood into the bathroom sink.
But he'll be all right, I thought confidently as Soda and I climbed into my car. Starting today he'll be all right. They're gonna start treatment and the things'll vanish.
"Gotta cigarette?" Soda snapped me back to the present.
"Sure." I handed him my pack and lighter, then started the car and pulled into the street. We rode in silence, Soda smoking, me watching the road. My best friend finally sighed and tossed the butt out the window.
"So, Pony at least slept through the night," he mumbled.
I glanced at him. "What about you?"
"What's it matter?"
"You've gotta take care of yourself too, Soda, or you ain't gonna be any help to him."
"Thanks, Darry," he snapped sarcastically, nothing like his usual self.
"Listen, buddy," I retorted, "Pony may be sick, but you ain't and there's no point in getting yourself there."
Soda sighed and leaned against the window. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a few minutes. "I'm just kinda messed up right now."
I nodded. We didn't need anything more than that. Usually we didn't even need I'm sorry. We knew each other well enough to just know.
"I heard you got in a fight with some Socs," Soda finally said. I laughed, even though it wasn't that funny. Some of the kids had cheered when my homeroom teacher had announced that Ponyboy was sick and the Curtis family would be accepting donations. I'd tried to ignore it, although I'd begun to feel a growing protection for my best friend's kid brother, and this antagonized me no end. But when one of them came up to me later and told me that the little grease bastard was going straight to hell, I'd responded with a vicious punch to his face. They'd left us alone after that.
"One won't be able to see out of his left eye for a week," I told Soda.
He sighed. "I thought we were past all that."
"We were. Until he mouthed off about Pony bein' sick."
"Oh," Soda said, realization dawning. Then he smiled: a genuine grin. "He'll appreciate you stickin' up for him."
"Well," I said as the hospital came into sight and I snapped my turning signal on, "I kinda have to right now." Soda fell silent again as I pulled up to the entrance to let him out. "Want me to come over after work?" I offered.
"Sure," he smiled again. "Just promise me something."
"Yeah?"
"Don't cook dinner."