NOTE: Yes, Pip, there is a purpose to the Steve chapter!
***
(Pony)
What time is it? I thought, rolling over to find the clock. My arm still hurt where the doctor had stuck the IV in. Darry must have carried me from the car to the house; I didn't remember much after the first ten minutes of treatment.
At least I'm not throwing up yet, I thought, sitting up slowly. My head itched, and I reached up to scratch my scalp.
A huge chunk of hair came off in my hand.
I whirled around and stared at my pillow; pieces of hair, still tinged with bleach from Johnny's poor hairstyling job stood out starkly against the white background.
"Soda!" I shrieked, not even knowing if he was home yet. Darry had had to take me to and from the hospital so Soda could work a double shift. I reached up and felt at my scalp, pulling another chunk of hair loose in the process.
"What's wrong?" Darry demanded, rushing into the room. He caught sight of the pillow and the clumps in my hands and understood, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Oh, Pony.."
I was shaking and trying hard not to cry. The cancer wouldn't even leave me my hair. It was taking everything: my energy, my appetite, my whole life. A greaser might not have much to be proud of, but he has his hair. And now I didn't even have mine.
I flung myself down on the pillow and fought my tears. "I want Soda," I whimpered, "I don't want to see anyone else, I'm gonna be bald like a damned old man for Christ's sake.."
Darry perched on the edge of the bed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, kid. But they did say that this would happen."
"It's been a month, though!" I wailed. "I thought maybe it wouldn't happen to me.." My oldest brother touched my head, knocking more hair out in the process.
"Just get out!" I wailed, knowing that I was being cruel and unreasonable. Darry had been beside me through all of this, as supportive as Soda: but he just wasn't him, no matter how hard he tried to be.
"I'm sorry," he repeated miserably, rising and leaving me alone. As soon as he was gone I started tearing at my scalp, ripping chunks of hair loose. I wasn't going to walk around with half my hair in and half it out. If I had to go bald, I'd go completely. I was bawling by then, which set me coughing, hard, and eventually set my stomach going.
I wish I'd died that day in gym, I thought as I ran past Darry in the kitchen to throw up in the bathroom. I wish I hadn't lived to go through this. I wish that had been it.
I leaned against the edge of the toilet, watching as my hair fell in soft tufts to the floor around me. I cried until the front door slammed and Darry greeted Soda in a low voice. I knew they were talking about me, but I wasn't at all interested in what they were saying. Why me? I thought weakly. Why me, why me, why me?
"Ponyboy?" Soda called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"
"No," I sobbed, suddenly frightened. I gripped the edge of the sink and hauled myself up so I could see myself in the mirror.
A ghost stared back: my eyes were sunken, dark, red. Bright white patches of my scalp showed up in my dark reddish hair where my natural roots had finally started growing in. My face was thin and so pale I reached up to touch it, to make sure the skin was mine.
"Come on, Pon," Soda coaxed gently. "It doesn't matter what you look like."
My hand shook as I unlocked the door. I kept my head down, refusing to look at Soda as he stepped in, quietly closing the door on Darry and Steve who were hovering in the kitchen.
"Let's see," Soda said softly, touching one of the remaining clumps of red. It pulled off easily. I fought tears.
"Oh hell, Soda, what's it matter?" I moaned. "I'm can't sleep or eat and I look like I'm dead already, I might as well not have hair too."
"Hey!" Soda snapped, seizing my shoulders roughly. "Shutup talking like that. It ain't that bad. This is normal anyway. Let's just comb it out and get you a hat. Okay? Huh?"
I hung my head in silence. Soda picked up a comb and ran it lightly, pulling the hairs loose. Only a few hurt. I thought back to Windrixville, Johnny's switchblade tugging sharply as he sliced the strands off. Soda did his best to be gentle and reassuring. As always.
I don't deserve him, I thought suddenly. Steve's right to be mad at me. Soda does everything for me.
"There," he said, taking the DX cap off his head and adjusting it to fit mine. "See, not that bad with a hat. You look tough."
"Sure," I mumbled, avoiding my reflection. I tried hard not to cry. I really did. But the stress was building inside me and I couldn't fight it back down, and I felt warm tears running over my face.
"It's okay," Soda murmured, wiping my cheeks with the back of his hand. "Worst things can happen, right? This shows that the chemo's doin' something. And that's what we want, right?"
I nodded weakly. "I just wish it was over," I mumbled. I stared at my reflection again. My own face scared me. "But look at me, Soda! I look terrible."
"You're still our brother," he said simply, not bothering to look in the mirror. "Come on and try to eat somethin'. You can keep my cap." He flashed me his brightest smile, and I couldn't help but grin back.
"You're nuts," I told him.
"I try." He started to open the door, but I stopped him.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
He turned and smiled at me, and suddenly I didn't care whether I deserved him or not; I loved him too much to care.
(Pony)
What time is it? I thought, rolling over to find the clock. My arm still hurt where the doctor had stuck the IV in. Darry must have carried me from the car to the house; I didn't remember much after the first ten minutes of treatment.
At least I'm not throwing up yet, I thought, sitting up slowly. My head itched, and I reached up to scratch my scalp.
A huge chunk of hair came off in my hand.
I whirled around and stared at my pillow; pieces of hair, still tinged with bleach from Johnny's poor hairstyling job stood out starkly against the white background.
"Soda!" I shrieked, not even knowing if he was home yet. Darry had had to take me to and from the hospital so Soda could work a double shift. I reached up and felt at my scalp, pulling another chunk of hair loose in the process.
"What's wrong?" Darry demanded, rushing into the room. He caught sight of the pillow and the clumps in my hands and understood, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Oh, Pony.."
I was shaking and trying hard not to cry. The cancer wouldn't even leave me my hair. It was taking everything: my energy, my appetite, my whole life. A greaser might not have much to be proud of, but he has his hair. And now I didn't even have mine.
I flung myself down on the pillow and fought my tears. "I want Soda," I whimpered, "I don't want to see anyone else, I'm gonna be bald like a damned old man for Christ's sake.."
Darry perched on the edge of the bed awkwardly. "I'm sorry, kid. But they did say that this would happen."
"It's been a month, though!" I wailed. "I thought maybe it wouldn't happen to me.." My oldest brother touched my head, knocking more hair out in the process.
"Just get out!" I wailed, knowing that I was being cruel and unreasonable. Darry had been beside me through all of this, as supportive as Soda: but he just wasn't him, no matter how hard he tried to be.
"I'm sorry," he repeated miserably, rising and leaving me alone. As soon as he was gone I started tearing at my scalp, ripping chunks of hair loose. I wasn't going to walk around with half my hair in and half it out. If I had to go bald, I'd go completely. I was bawling by then, which set me coughing, hard, and eventually set my stomach going.
I wish I'd died that day in gym, I thought as I ran past Darry in the kitchen to throw up in the bathroom. I wish I hadn't lived to go through this. I wish that had been it.
I leaned against the edge of the toilet, watching as my hair fell in soft tufts to the floor around me. I cried until the front door slammed and Darry greeted Soda in a low voice. I knew they were talking about me, but I wasn't at all interested in what they were saying. Why me? I thought weakly. Why me, why me, why me?
"Ponyboy?" Soda called, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"
"No," I sobbed, suddenly frightened. I gripped the edge of the sink and hauled myself up so I could see myself in the mirror.
A ghost stared back: my eyes were sunken, dark, red. Bright white patches of my scalp showed up in my dark reddish hair where my natural roots had finally started growing in. My face was thin and so pale I reached up to touch it, to make sure the skin was mine.
"Come on, Pon," Soda coaxed gently. "It doesn't matter what you look like."
My hand shook as I unlocked the door. I kept my head down, refusing to look at Soda as he stepped in, quietly closing the door on Darry and Steve who were hovering in the kitchen.
"Let's see," Soda said softly, touching one of the remaining clumps of red. It pulled off easily. I fought tears.
"Oh hell, Soda, what's it matter?" I moaned. "I'm can't sleep or eat and I look like I'm dead already, I might as well not have hair too."
"Hey!" Soda snapped, seizing my shoulders roughly. "Shutup talking like that. It ain't that bad. This is normal anyway. Let's just comb it out and get you a hat. Okay? Huh?"
I hung my head in silence. Soda picked up a comb and ran it lightly, pulling the hairs loose. Only a few hurt. I thought back to Windrixville, Johnny's switchblade tugging sharply as he sliced the strands off. Soda did his best to be gentle and reassuring. As always.
I don't deserve him, I thought suddenly. Steve's right to be mad at me. Soda does everything for me.
"There," he said, taking the DX cap off his head and adjusting it to fit mine. "See, not that bad with a hat. You look tough."
"Sure," I mumbled, avoiding my reflection. I tried hard not to cry. I really did. But the stress was building inside me and I couldn't fight it back down, and I felt warm tears running over my face.
"It's okay," Soda murmured, wiping my cheeks with the back of his hand. "Worst things can happen, right? This shows that the chemo's doin' something. And that's what we want, right?"
I nodded weakly. "I just wish it was over," I mumbled. I stared at my reflection again. My own face scared me. "But look at me, Soda! I look terrible."
"You're still our brother," he said simply, not bothering to look in the mirror. "Come on and try to eat somethin'. You can keep my cap." He flashed me his brightest smile, and I couldn't help but grin back.
"You're nuts," I told him.
"I try." He started to open the door, but I stopped him.
"Soda?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
He turned and smiled at me, and suddenly I didn't care whether I deserved him or not; I loved him too much to care.