(Two-bit)
My head hurt so bad I could barely move. I was used to hang-overs, but this was the worst yet.
Why did I want to drink so much? I thought, moaning and burying back into my bed. And then I remembered: Ponyboy was dead.
God oh God him too Dally and Johnny first and now him that poor kid the poor Curtis' "Honey?" my mother poked her head in the door. "There's a phone call for you. A Sherry Valence. Should I ask her to call back?"
"No," I mumbled, dragging myself up and toward the kitchen.
"Keith, are you all right?"
Glory, my real name, I thought, knowing now that I must look awful. "Yeah, Ma." I'm just dandy. Half my friends are dead when they shouldn't be and I'm just dandy.
"Hello?"
"Two-bit, it's Cherry. I went over to the Curtis' today and no one answered. Is Ponyboy........................"
"He's dead," I snapped, unusually irritable. My mother whirled around and stared at me, then slowly put a hand over her mouth.
"Oh, sweetie................." she started, but I waved her off as Cherry went on.
"Glory, Two-bit........that fast..........."
"It ain't been fast, Cherry."
"I know, I just thought...................I guess I just....................didn't."
I knew what she meant; none of us really believed, really truly believed that it'd actually kill him. I remember all the encouraging words we'd given him in the hospital, the fliers at school, the donations and letters that had trickled in for the Curtis'. I wouldn't be working anymore, unless Darry and Soda really needed help. They were beyond anything we could do for them now. They'd never get out of debt.
"How are Darry and Soda?" Cherry nearly whispered into the phone. I felt awful bad for her; she sounded so close to tears.
"Dar's pretty calm. Soda...................he ain't."
I'd seen Steve and Soda slumped together in the parking lot as I'd run from the hospital down toward Buck's, needing alcohol as the escape from the scene I'd just witnessed--Ponyboy flat-lining, Darry pale and silent, Steve begging forgiveness too late, Sodapop slumped over the bed hysterically weeping into his young brother's chest. I'd cried; cried for the first time in years. I barely remembered how and once I started I'd forgotten how to stop and I'd just kept going all through the streets as I stumbled to Buck's house. It wasn't just him I cried for; I cried for Johnny, for Dally, for Darry and Soda. I cried for myself.
".............funeral?"
"Huh?" I'd forgotten Cherry.
"When's his funeral?"
Funeral. Christ, they had to have one of those. I rubbed my sore eyes.
"I'll be there," she murmured. "A lot of kids will."
"I don't know when."
She was quiet for a moment. "I'll put more donations together."
"They'd appreciate that."
Another beat. "I guess.........................I'll see you then."
"Yeah. Thanks for everything. Darry and Soda really do appreciate it, but they probably won't get around to sayin' it any time soon."
"It's not important," she said firmly.
We said goodbye. My mother was still there, slumped, her hand away from her mouth but trembling.
"We oughta go over there," she murmured, "those boys'll need help."
"Cherry said they ain't answering."
She shook her head slowly. "Those poor boys," she almost whispered, "those poor CHILDREN. First their parents and now this......................"
"I KNOW Mom," I snapped, harsher than I meant to, but the alcohol was gone and I felt the pain and grief rising dangerously fast again. "I was THERE, okay? I saw what it did to them. I saw him die, okay? And it ain't the first time I saw someone go like that, so just................just....................don't say it."
She looked at me for a minute, long and hard, then came over and wrapped her arms around me. I squirmed uncomfortably beneath her touch, but I was afraid to pull away because the tears were starting again.
"MY poor boy," she murmured, holding on tight as I let my grief go.
My head hurt so bad I could barely move. I was used to hang-overs, but this was the worst yet.
Why did I want to drink so much? I thought, moaning and burying back into my bed. And then I remembered: Ponyboy was dead.
God oh God him too Dally and Johnny first and now him that poor kid the poor Curtis' "Honey?" my mother poked her head in the door. "There's a phone call for you. A Sherry Valence. Should I ask her to call back?"
"No," I mumbled, dragging myself up and toward the kitchen.
"Keith, are you all right?"
Glory, my real name, I thought, knowing now that I must look awful. "Yeah, Ma." I'm just dandy. Half my friends are dead when they shouldn't be and I'm just dandy.
"Hello?"
"Two-bit, it's Cherry. I went over to the Curtis' today and no one answered. Is Ponyboy........................"
"He's dead," I snapped, unusually irritable. My mother whirled around and stared at me, then slowly put a hand over her mouth.
"Oh, sweetie................." she started, but I waved her off as Cherry went on.
"Glory, Two-bit........that fast..........."
"It ain't been fast, Cherry."
"I know, I just thought...................I guess I just....................didn't."
I knew what she meant; none of us really believed, really truly believed that it'd actually kill him. I remember all the encouraging words we'd given him in the hospital, the fliers at school, the donations and letters that had trickled in for the Curtis'. I wouldn't be working anymore, unless Darry and Soda really needed help. They were beyond anything we could do for them now. They'd never get out of debt.
"How are Darry and Soda?" Cherry nearly whispered into the phone. I felt awful bad for her; she sounded so close to tears.
"Dar's pretty calm. Soda...................he ain't."
I'd seen Steve and Soda slumped together in the parking lot as I'd run from the hospital down toward Buck's, needing alcohol as the escape from the scene I'd just witnessed--Ponyboy flat-lining, Darry pale and silent, Steve begging forgiveness too late, Sodapop slumped over the bed hysterically weeping into his young brother's chest. I'd cried; cried for the first time in years. I barely remembered how and once I started I'd forgotten how to stop and I'd just kept going all through the streets as I stumbled to Buck's house. It wasn't just him I cried for; I cried for Johnny, for Dally, for Darry and Soda. I cried for myself.
".............funeral?"
"Huh?" I'd forgotten Cherry.
"When's his funeral?"
Funeral. Christ, they had to have one of those. I rubbed my sore eyes.
"I'll be there," she murmured. "A lot of kids will."
"I don't know when."
She was quiet for a moment. "I'll put more donations together."
"They'd appreciate that."
Another beat. "I guess.........................I'll see you then."
"Yeah. Thanks for everything. Darry and Soda really do appreciate it, but they probably won't get around to sayin' it any time soon."
"It's not important," she said firmly.
We said goodbye. My mother was still there, slumped, her hand away from her mouth but trembling.
"We oughta go over there," she murmured, "those boys'll need help."
"Cherry said they ain't answering."
She shook her head slowly. "Those poor boys," she almost whispered, "those poor CHILDREN. First their parents and now this......................"
"I KNOW Mom," I snapped, harsher than I meant to, but the alcohol was gone and I felt the pain and grief rising dangerously fast again. "I was THERE, okay? I saw what it did to them. I saw him die, okay? And it ain't the first time I saw someone go like that, so just................just....................don't say it."
She looked at me for a minute, long and hard, then came over and wrapped her arms around me. I squirmed uncomfortably beneath her touch, but I was afraid to pull away because the tears were starting again.
"MY poor boy," she murmured, holding on tight as I let my grief go.