I had to go to school the next day; my mother was lost in paranoia and her
once perfectly thick and wavy hair was frizzled and stringy from all the
anxious finger raking she'd been doing. She was extremely annoyed with me,
at the same time worried. When I came home for the first time in quite a
while, right after I kissed Soda, her face was paper white, her jaw locked,
and her lips a tight, dry line stretching across her face.
"Where in iGod's/i name have you been young lady?" my mother spat. I shrugged, taking a move to brush past her, but she stood up out of chair at an unimaginable speed and crossed my path. She towered me by a head, and anger was scrawled freely about her face.
"It's been four damn days! Do you know how damn worried I was about you? Do you know how many times I called the police? But oh, no! Miss Sherri Valance is too good to come home or at the very, very least call her poor, worried mother! Miss Valance can do anything just because she's a spoilt--" my mom paused and slapped my face. It stung like fiery hell. I gasped in pain, and my hand flew towards my burning face. A tear slid down my cheek.
"A damn spoilt brat!" my mother shrieked. She was crying now, her voice shrill and high. Her tears poured freely, and she slapped me again, but this time it was more of a meek tap. To my great surprise, she had me in a tight hug within a second.
"Oh, Sherri! God I've missed you! I love you honey! I never want to lose you!" and then I was crying to. My hair was wet, my clothes damp with salty tears.
"Mommy!" I said, crying like a child, "Oh, Mother!" and we remained in the wet, teary hug for a long while, she stroking my hair, I clinging to her with dear life. I was done. Done with the greasers. They had inflated me with evil.
At that moment I was a little rich girl once more, free of pain and agony, free of guns and violence; free of everything. It felt as though a giant weight had lifted from my soul, and I felt as light as air. I was a Soc. Everything I was meant to be.
* * *
"I hear you're done with those terrible greasers," Marcia slammed her locker beside me, a wide smile pasted on her face. I nodded like a happy child. Marcia sighed.
"Good job, Cherry!" she said, "You're better than that. I know you are." She said; then she hugged me like a best friend should, and we walked to class together.
Of course, being absent for a while, I was totally lost in school, which landed me a sincere detention.
"And don't you come back 'til all your work is done with!" my English teacher's shrill voice rang in my ears as I walked to the dreaded detention, room 227. Cautiously, I opened the door, and wouldn't you know it. Sitting there, balancing a pencil on the bridge of his freckled nose, was Ponyboy Curtis. I gasped.
"Why, Ponyboy!" I said. He turned to face me, a scowl written on his lips. "Don't talk to me, Sherri Valance," he said, "After all, I'm just a greaser, and you're an almighty Soc." And with that he turned around, his back to me forever.
I was a lost girl, torn between the friends I loved, and the world I'd always known. It was then that it struck me: for the rest of my forsaken life, I'd be ridiculed by the only people I'd ever loved; tormented, by my heart's desires. If only I'd known. If only I'd known.
"Where in iGod's/i name have you been young lady?" my mother spat. I shrugged, taking a move to brush past her, but she stood up out of chair at an unimaginable speed and crossed my path. She towered me by a head, and anger was scrawled freely about her face.
"It's been four damn days! Do you know how damn worried I was about you? Do you know how many times I called the police? But oh, no! Miss Sherri Valance is too good to come home or at the very, very least call her poor, worried mother! Miss Valance can do anything just because she's a spoilt--" my mom paused and slapped my face. It stung like fiery hell. I gasped in pain, and my hand flew towards my burning face. A tear slid down my cheek.
"A damn spoilt brat!" my mother shrieked. She was crying now, her voice shrill and high. Her tears poured freely, and she slapped me again, but this time it was more of a meek tap. To my great surprise, she had me in a tight hug within a second.
"Oh, Sherri! God I've missed you! I love you honey! I never want to lose you!" and then I was crying to. My hair was wet, my clothes damp with salty tears.
"Mommy!" I said, crying like a child, "Oh, Mother!" and we remained in the wet, teary hug for a long while, she stroking my hair, I clinging to her with dear life. I was done. Done with the greasers. They had inflated me with evil.
At that moment I was a little rich girl once more, free of pain and agony, free of guns and violence; free of everything. It felt as though a giant weight had lifted from my soul, and I felt as light as air. I was a Soc. Everything I was meant to be.
* * *
"I hear you're done with those terrible greasers," Marcia slammed her locker beside me, a wide smile pasted on her face. I nodded like a happy child. Marcia sighed.
"Good job, Cherry!" she said, "You're better than that. I know you are." She said; then she hugged me like a best friend should, and we walked to class together.
Of course, being absent for a while, I was totally lost in school, which landed me a sincere detention.
"And don't you come back 'til all your work is done with!" my English teacher's shrill voice rang in my ears as I walked to the dreaded detention, room 227. Cautiously, I opened the door, and wouldn't you know it. Sitting there, balancing a pencil on the bridge of his freckled nose, was Ponyboy Curtis. I gasped.
"Why, Ponyboy!" I said. He turned to face me, a scowl written on his lips. "Don't talk to me, Sherri Valance," he said, "After all, I'm just a greaser, and you're an almighty Soc." And with that he turned around, his back to me forever.
I was a lost girl, torn between the friends I loved, and the world I'd always known. It was then that it struck me: for the rest of my forsaken life, I'd be ridiculed by the only people I'd ever loved; tormented, by my heart's desires. If only I'd known. If only I'd known.