(Darry)
"How the hell can he sleep now?" Soda mumbled, staring at Pony, who was curled up in the chair beside mine with his head in my lap. I shrugged.
"He's not usually out this long. And chemo makes him tired. "
Soda sighed and smacked a pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand nervously. "It don't just make him tired."
I shushed him, worried that Pony would hear. He always did think of himself as a burden; even now, when I knew deep down he understood how important he was to us. We'd certainly never stopped showing him. "Think I can smoke in here?" Soda whispered.
"No. You shouldn't be smokin' anyway," I snapped.
"Geeze Dar," Soda grinned, "you're soundin' more like Dad every day, know that?"
I just sighed. I never had imagined myself doing this when I was in high school. I'd thought I'd go somewhere, someday.
Maybe I still will, I thought wistfully. When Pony's better. Because he will get better. He has to.
"Hey," Soda interrupted my thoughts. "Have you heard from the state?"
That caught me off guard. "I talked to a social worker about what's been goin' on," I said slowly.
"What? When?"
"When I asked them for money."
Soda's eyes widened. "You did that?"
"We had to," I said simply. Soda bit his lip but left it alone. I don't think he really understood how bad off we were going to be when this was over, although I was usually up front with him about money matters. We'd become partners when my parents died, running the house together, trying to make things as normal as possible for Pony's sake. The doctor had recommended it to me when I took him to the doctor's for his nightmares.
We were doomed financially, but that didn't matter anymore. I didn't even care if they took Pony away after this was done, so long as he was alive and healthy. It would hurt, Soda would cry, I would be miserable, but I'd know that he was there at least. That's all I wanted: to know that he was going to be with us for a long, long time, even if 'with us' meant out of the house.
I'd fight for you, I thought, watching the rise and fall of my youngest brother's chest, I would, don't get me wrong. Because I want you with us; but I want you to live more. And as long as you're healthy it doesn't matter where you go, as long as you come back to us one day.
Pony started coughing, spitting blood onto the knee of my jeans. Soda leapt up and grabbed some tissues off the doctor's desk to wipe his mouth and my pants with.
"Damn it," Ponyboy mumbled, sitting up. "I'm sorry, Dar..........."
"Don't worry about it," I murmured. "These are old anyway."
My youngest brother rubbed his eyes and adjusted Soda's old DX cap on his head. "Did the doc come yet?" "Not yet."
Pony bit his lip, then caught sight of Soda's cigarettes. "What're you doing with those?"
Soda grinned brightly. I swear he never stopped grinnin', even now when we all felt sick from anxiety. "Swiped 'em off of Steve."
Pony grinned back, but it wasn't the same smile he'd had two months before. He looked old. Like an old man in an unnourished child's body.
"'Evenin'," the doctor greeted us with a curt nod as he entered and shut the door. We all sat up straighter; my heart started pounding. Pony rubbed the palms of his hands---I knew they were sweating---over his jeans as we watched the doctor sit behind his desk, waiting for him to speak.
"How the hell can he sleep now?" Soda mumbled, staring at Pony, who was curled up in the chair beside mine with his head in my lap. I shrugged.
"He's not usually out this long. And chemo makes him tired. "
Soda sighed and smacked a pack of cigarettes against the palm of his hand nervously. "It don't just make him tired."
I shushed him, worried that Pony would hear. He always did think of himself as a burden; even now, when I knew deep down he understood how important he was to us. We'd certainly never stopped showing him. "Think I can smoke in here?" Soda whispered.
"No. You shouldn't be smokin' anyway," I snapped.
"Geeze Dar," Soda grinned, "you're soundin' more like Dad every day, know that?"
I just sighed. I never had imagined myself doing this when I was in high school. I'd thought I'd go somewhere, someday.
Maybe I still will, I thought wistfully. When Pony's better. Because he will get better. He has to.
"Hey," Soda interrupted my thoughts. "Have you heard from the state?"
That caught me off guard. "I talked to a social worker about what's been goin' on," I said slowly.
"What? When?"
"When I asked them for money."
Soda's eyes widened. "You did that?"
"We had to," I said simply. Soda bit his lip but left it alone. I don't think he really understood how bad off we were going to be when this was over, although I was usually up front with him about money matters. We'd become partners when my parents died, running the house together, trying to make things as normal as possible for Pony's sake. The doctor had recommended it to me when I took him to the doctor's for his nightmares.
We were doomed financially, but that didn't matter anymore. I didn't even care if they took Pony away after this was done, so long as he was alive and healthy. It would hurt, Soda would cry, I would be miserable, but I'd know that he was there at least. That's all I wanted: to know that he was going to be with us for a long, long time, even if 'with us' meant out of the house.
I'd fight for you, I thought, watching the rise and fall of my youngest brother's chest, I would, don't get me wrong. Because I want you with us; but I want you to live more. And as long as you're healthy it doesn't matter where you go, as long as you come back to us one day.
Pony started coughing, spitting blood onto the knee of my jeans. Soda leapt up and grabbed some tissues off the doctor's desk to wipe his mouth and my pants with.
"Damn it," Ponyboy mumbled, sitting up. "I'm sorry, Dar..........."
"Don't worry about it," I murmured. "These are old anyway."
My youngest brother rubbed his eyes and adjusted Soda's old DX cap on his head. "Did the doc come yet?" "Not yet."
Pony bit his lip, then caught sight of Soda's cigarettes. "What're you doing with those?"
Soda grinned brightly. I swear he never stopped grinnin', even now when we all felt sick from anxiety. "Swiped 'em off of Steve."
Pony grinned back, but it wasn't the same smile he'd had two months before. He looked old. Like an old man in an unnourished child's body.
"'Evenin'," the doctor greeted us with a curt nod as he entered and shut the door. We all sat up straighter; my heart started pounding. Pony rubbed the palms of his hands---I knew they were sweating---over his jeans as we watched the doctor sit behind his desk, waiting for him to speak.