(Darry)
Guilt wracked me as I started the truck and headed home from work. Part of me knew I shouldn't have left the hospital, but I couldn't bear to stay there and watch my little brother in pain, not when there was nothing I could do to make it any easier. I was glad, for once, to be working several jobs, to get my mind off of Pony. It was these drives I hated, where there was nothing, not even the radio, to block out the sound of my thoughts.
Pony sick, Pony coughing blood, Pony pale on the hospital bed. He'll lose his hair, he'll vomit all the time, he won't sleep he won't eat...
And there's no guarantee.
I nearly went through a red light and had to slam on the breaks to the chorus of horns from the intersection. Get a grip, I told myself, you've got to, your brothers need you, they need you as much as they did when Mom and Dad died...I remember the hospital...
"Darry," Soda'd nearly whispered, "they're not telling us anything, they're not lettings us see them...but they said the car...the car's been wrecked...it's real bad, Dar."
Pony'd just sat in a corner, chewing on his fingernails and tapping his fingers that wanted a cigarette to hold. I'd grabbed a doctor and demanded information. I'd been the first to know, already the responsible one, already taking over the role of the people we'd lost.
"Guys..."
I remember their eyes, their wide, young eyes, their terrified, confused eyes. And I knew then that I'd take care of them, that I'd work however much we needed, that I'd keep us together.
"Dad was dead on arrival..."
Pony'd whimpered
"And Mom never made it out of the car. She died on impact..."
Soda'd echoed Pony's whimper
"They didn't suffer."
We'd stared at each other.
"We're orphans," Soda'd whispered, his eyes wide in stunned realization.
Pony had hid his face and burst into harsh, bitter tears. "This can't be happening..." he'd wept, each of his sobs tearing at my own chest.
Soda'd tried to hold him, but he was beginning to break up too, and eventually gave up, hugging him but crying just as hard. Words do nothing for grief. And what we felt was immense.
And I'd just sat there, watching in silence, calculating how much I made versus how much we'd need for monthly expenses, for the funeral; how much my parents had left us; if the state would LET me keep my brothers...
"What's going to happen to us," my youngest brother'd sobbed, his face tear stained and half hidden in Sodapop's shirt. "I don't want to go away, I want to at least have each other, we can't be split up..."
"You'll live with me," I'd murmured. "I'll take care of you."
I'll take care of you, I remembered, wiping at my eyes as our house came into view. Damn these long, lonely drives alone. They weren't doing me any good. I had to keep it together. My brothers needed me, even more than they had that night in the Emergency Room.
It's just that I didn't know how to handle being the one who wanted to cry.
Guilt wracked me as I started the truck and headed home from work. Part of me knew I shouldn't have left the hospital, but I couldn't bear to stay there and watch my little brother in pain, not when there was nothing I could do to make it any easier. I was glad, for once, to be working several jobs, to get my mind off of Pony. It was these drives I hated, where there was nothing, not even the radio, to block out the sound of my thoughts.
Pony sick, Pony coughing blood, Pony pale on the hospital bed. He'll lose his hair, he'll vomit all the time, he won't sleep he won't eat...
And there's no guarantee.
I nearly went through a red light and had to slam on the breaks to the chorus of horns from the intersection. Get a grip, I told myself, you've got to, your brothers need you, they need you as much as they did when Mom and Dad died...I remember the hospital...
"Darry," Soda'd nearly whispered, "they're not telling us anything, they're not lettings us see them...but they said the car...the car's been wrecked...it's real bad, Dar."
Pony'd just sat in a corner, chewing on his fingernails and tapping his fingers that wanted a cigarette to hold. I'd grabbed a doctor and demanded information. I'd been the first to know, already the responsible one, already taking over the role of the people we'd lost.
"Guys..."
I remember their eyes, their wide, young eyes, their terrified, confused eyes. And I knew then that I'd take care of them, that I'd work however much we needed, that I'd keep us together.
"Dad was dead on arrival..."
Pony'd whimpered
"And Mom never made it out of the car. She died on impact..."
Soda'd echoed Pony's whimper
"They didn't suffer."
We'd stared at each other.
"We're orphans," Soda'd whispered, his eyes wide in stunned realization.
Pony had hid his face and burst into harsh, bitter tears. "This can't be happening..." he'd wept, each of his sobs tearing at my own chest.
Soda'd tried to hold him, but he was beginning to break up too, and eventually gave up, hugging him but crying just as hard. Words do nothing for grief. And what we felt was immense.
And I'd just sat there, watching in silence, calculating how much I made versus how much we'd need for monthly expenses, for the funeral; how much my parents had left us; if the state would LET me keep my brothers...
"What's going to happen to us," my youngest brother'd sobbed, his face tear stained and half hidden in Sodapop's shirt. "I don't want to go away, I want to at least have each other, we can't be split up..."
"You'll live with me," I'd murmured. "I'll take care of you."
I'll take care of you, I remembered, wiping at my eyes as our house came into view. Damn these long, lonely drives alone. They weren't doing me any good. I had to keep it together. My brothers needed me, even more than they had that night in the Emergency Room.
It's just that I didn't know how to handle being the one who wanted to cry.