Yes, I can call myself a Sandy hater, so I made her a little sluttier than
she really was. Enjoy.
Chapter Three
Indeed, it was a poor neighborhood. Yeah, we weren't middies, we were really poor. It seemed like another town, isolated from the real one, there were people that were born, lived and died without stepping out of our neighborhood just once.
In general, people there used to help each other. Of course, the greasers sometimes fist fight among themselves and slashed their so called friend's tires, but since we were little, we learned that socs were the real 'enemy'. Not that I liked it. It just seemed uncomfortable for me to hate someone just because.
My mother was born and breed there. Dad was Texan and went to Tulsa to work in a car shop, and so they met. My godmother Cynthia met my mom at school when they were 12, so they practically grew up together and got married almost together either. When I was born, my godmother and godfather already had a 3-year-old son named Darrel, aka Darry. And my mother once told me that, when he saw me sleeping in my white cradle, he said he would always take care of me and protect me from the bad guys (uh, "bad guys"?). And there was more: *he*, and not her father, would be my godfather. That's why I had two godfathers and used to tell everybody about that. It was original.
Darry, my honorary-godfather, was always nice to me. He wouldn't let the other boys make fun of me. Everybody was kinda afraid of him because he always were the big guy in the gang. I wasn't afraid of him though, in fact he seemed colder that he truly was. The thing about Darry wasn't being afraid of him, but knowing how to deal with him. Darry, the older brother I've never had.
His baby brother, Ponyboy, was the younger brother that I also never had. He was 6 years younger than Darry and 3 years younger than me, and was what you can call a dreamer. He had a gift to perceive things that regular people couldn't. We always understood each other quite well, especially after they took that IQ test thing, just like me. He used to say that he liked to go to the movies all alone, otherwise it seemed like someone was reading his book from above his shoulder. But he liked to go with me, and then after we always went for an ice cream while we discussed the movie.
In the middle of Darry and Pony was Soda, born a few months after me. And he wouldn't leave me alone for nothing in this world. We were always fighting. Sodapop Patrick Curtis, born to make fun of me. I hated him, I hated him so much, while the other girls seemed to have real crushes on this kid. Well they wouldn't if he did to them the stupid things he used to do to me. Even so, I miss him much more than I miss anyone else...
It was difficult to make girl-friends in my neighborhood. Most of them were pretty slutty even when they were kids. If they were slutty then, it scares me to imagine how they must be now. God. Sylvia would beat them all, for sure. She and that other girl, Sandra Kane, aka Sandy, who I never liked. The boys, though, were pretty cool. There was Johnny, aka Johnnycake, with that big brown eyes which seemed to be always looking for something missing; there was Two Bit Matthews who liked to play drunk and never would shut his trap. I liked Two Bit, even though I've always hated drunk people.
Steve and Dallas were not that nice. Steve thought that he was too cute, always trying to get everything that used a skirt and weren't a priest or a Scottish. Yeah, he tried that with me a hundred times. And a hundred times I had the urge to break his nose, only didn't because our parents were friends and he was much bigger than me. What, do you think I'm an idiot?
The thin line that separated a greaser from a criminal almost didn't exist in Dallas Winston, like Pony himself told me once (and boy, that was a confession). Ok, every single kid in that neighborhood was kind of a delinquent, got drunk sometimes, rumble and picked stuff from the stores. I didn't enjoy it that much, but after a while I simply stopped caring since I would never be able to change it, so why worry? Really, Dallas was a criminal wannabe. He had every other boys' respect, but only because they feared him. He knew that, I'm sure. And I wonder how he felt about it.
Like I said before, I don't care. I don't care anymore. It just hurts, missing everybody. Besides, anything would be better than these grumpy old ladies who live in my building here in Houston. They keep saying they wanna help... oh yeah sure, big help, they called the major newspapers of the 3 states dad lived in (Texas, Oklahoma and Arizona) and put his name in the obituaries without even asking me. It's so obvious that they're looking forward to see the social assistant coming here and taking me to some girls' home. They're always complaining I play my records too loud. At least I don't have a cat that pisses on the hallways, like one of them do.
This social assistant thing is worrying me sick. I'm 17 years and 3 months old, too big to go to an orphanage or crap like that. I have an interview with her, the social assistant, in 2 weeks. If only I could turn 18 tomorrow. If only I could disappear.
Chapter Three
Indeed, it was a poor neighborhood. Yeah, we weren't middies, we were really poor. It seemed like another town, isolated from the real one, there were people that were born, lived and died without stepping out of our neighborhood just once.
In general, people there used to help each other. Of course, the greasers sometimes fist fight among themselves and slashed their so called friend's tires, but since we were little, we learned that socs were the real 'enemy'. Not that I liked it. It just seemed uncomfortable for me to hate someone just because.
My mother was born and breed there. Dad was Texan and went to Tulsa to work in a car shop, and so they met. My godmother Cynthia met my mom at school when they were 12, so they practically grew up together and got married almost together either. When I was born, my godmother and godfather already had a 3-year-old son named Darrel, aka Darry. And my mother once told me that, when he saw me sleeping in my white cradle, he said he would always take care of me and protect me from the bad guys (uh, "bad guys"?). And there was more: *he*, and not her father, would be my godfather. That's why I had two godfathers and used to tell everybody about that. It was original.
Darry, my honorary-godfather, was always nice to me. He wouldn't let the other boys make fun of me. Everybody was kinda afraid of him because he always were the big guy in the gang. I wasn't afraid of him though, in fact he seemed colder that he truly was. The thing about Darry wasn't being afraid of him, but knowing how to deal with him. Darry, the older brother I've never had.
His baby brother, Ponyboy, was the younger brother that I also never had. He was 6 years younger than Darry and 3 years younger than me, and was what you can call a dreamer. He had a gift to perceive things that regular people couldn't. We always understood each other quite well, especially after they took that IQ test thing, just like me. He used to say that he liked to go to the movies all alone, otherwise it seemed like someone was reading his book from above his shoulder. But he liked to go with me, and then after we always went for an ice cream while we discussed the movie.
In the middle of Darry and Pony was Soda, born a few months after me. And he wouldn't leave me alone for nothing in this world. We were always fighting. Sodapop Patrick Curtis, born to make fun of me. I hated him, I hated him so much, while the other girls seemed to have real crushes on this kid. Well they wouldn't if he did to them the stupid things he used to do to me. Even so, I miss him much more than I miss anyone else...
It was difficult to make girl-friends in my neighborhood. Most of them were pretty slutty even when they were kids. If they were slutty then, it scares me to imagine how they must be now. God. Sylvia would beat them all, for sure. She and that other girl, Sandra Kane, aka Sandy, who I never liked. The boys, though, were pretty cool. There was Johnny, aka Johnnycake, with that big brown eyes which seemed to be always looking for something missing; there was Two Bit Matthews who liked to play drunk and never would shut his trap. I liked Two Bit, even though I've always hated drunk people.
Steve and Dallas were not that nice. Steve thought that he was too cute, always trying to get everything that used a skirt and weren't a priest or a Scottish. Yeah, he tried that with me a hundred times. And a hundred times I had the urge to break his nose, only didn't because our parents were friends and he was much bigger than me. What, do you think I'm an idiot?
The thin line that separated a greaser from a criminal almost didn't exist in Dallas Winston, like Pony himself told me once (and boy, that was a confession). Ok, every single kid in that neighborhood was kind of a delinquent, got drunk sometimes, rumble and picked stuff from the stores. I didn't enjoy it that much, but after a while I simply stopped caring since I would never be able to change it, so why worry? Really, Dallas was a criminal wannabe. He had every other boys' respect, but only because they feared him. He knew that, I'm sure. And I wonder how he felt about it.
Like I said before, I don't care. I don't care anymore. It just hurts, missing everybody. Besides, anything would be better than these grumpy old ladies who live in my building here in Houston. They keep saying they wanna help... oh yeah sure, big help, they called the major newspapers of the 3 states dad lived in (Texas, Oklahoma and Arizona) and put his name in the obituaries without even asking me. It's so obvious that they're looking forward to see the social assistant coming here and taking me to some girls' home. They're always complaining I play my records too loud. At least I don't have a cat that pisses on the hallways, like one of them do.
This social assistant thing is worrying me sick. I'm 17 years and 3 months old, too big to go to an orphanage or crap like that. I have an interview with her, the social assistant, in 2 weeks. If only I could turn 18 tomorrow. If only I could disappear.
