Sunsets
Ponyboy Michael Curtis lay on his bed in a comfortable home on the East Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was nearing the end of his 86th year of life, and his many years of retirement had left him withered and frail.
And what a life it had been. Four children. Fourteen grand children, and a plethora of others who called him "Uncle Pony"...the sons and daughters of Sodapop, Darry, and the others...Two-Bits three marriages had left him with a few dozen who were on Ponyboys Christmas Card list.
The cool November breeze blew through the tree's, long since devoid of any leaves. They looked like great skeletons against the rich blue sky, a sky under which Ponyboy had seen so much happen...
He had only been thirteen when his parents died. Darry giving up college and opportunity after opportunity to work and support his little brothers. Pony hadn't always appreciated that sacrifice as much as he should have, but in the end, it had paid off. Pony had gotten into college, worked hard for four years and graduated with a masters of English. After publishing his autobiographical novel, the story of the turbulent events that had shaped his fourteenth year, he had taught English at the same high school, the one where he had been a student all those years ago.
A few other highlights of his life flashed before him...a seat on the city council, a column in the local paper, best man at Soda's wedding to Sandy, Godfather to countless kids...the horrible techno-thriller he had tried to get published in the mid-90's...oh, what a life.
Pony slowly sat up off the bed, his old joints and bones creaking with arthritis. He sometimes wondered if his old age was a blessing or a curse. Very few lived to see 86...he wondered for a moment if Dally could have stood to see his body decaying around him, nothing more than a shell of what it once was, helpless and alone as a child.
No, not Dally. Dally wouldn't have wanted it that way. Dally would be proud of how he died, if he had lived.
Ponyboy made his way over to his desk and reached inside for a yellowed, frayed, 180-odd page document, stapled and paper-clipped together at various points. It was his original draft, the one he had submitted in April, 1968, to his English teacher. On the front in faded red ink was a circled letter, "A". This story was his life. He was glad he could leave it behind after he left this world, it would continue to teach all who read it of the trials of youth, the sense of despair, the daily life of a Greaser.
He flipped through the pages as he often did, remembering and reminiscing his past. He could see all their faces, feel their presence around him. As he read their quotations, he heard their voices...the cold cunning growl of Dallas Winston, the quiet tone of Johnny Cade, the underlying angst of Steve Randal, the cocky drawl of Two-Bit Matthews...his brothers Sodapop...sweet, caring Sodapop, and Darryl. Darry had done everything he could so that Ponyboy would have a chance of turning out decent, something more than a Greaser.
They were all gone now...man and fate had taken each of them. Johnny first, then Dally. Two-Bit back in '11, an old man bit still full of life and spirit, making the constant wise-cracks and commentary that had made him such a successful underground comedian in the '80s. Two-Bit had drank himself to death.
"I guess that was how he wanted it," murmured Pony, "He when he wanted to. Didn't have to get old."
Soda had died only a few years ago. He had managed to use his good looks and charm to become an actor on local television and theater, finally putting all his energy to good use. Soda had been taken by a heart attack in his 77th year. Pony missed him so much....so damn much.
Darry had died in a construction accident back in '02, a few weeks before he was set to retire for good. It wasn't fair...Darry had worked hard his whole life for the sake of the people that he loved most, and he had never been able to relax, just taking it easy, since he had been forced to grow up too fast...maybe Darry finally had some peace where he was.
Steve was still around...but not really. Steve had it hard...too hard. He had been drafted into Vietnam, lost his legs and been confined to a wheelchair for life. The drugs he had taken had hurt him, but he tried to make a living as a high school drug councilor. After Soda had died, he had shut himself off from the world, he barely spoke to Pony...most days just sitting in his nursing home room staring out the window. He didn't have anyone in the world, an old veteran, 90 years old, a shade of his former self. Pony had barely seen the alzheimers that had crept into Steve's soul and the last Curtis brother didn't see how the old man could go on living. No one deserved that fate, no one. Ponyboy paid his bills at the home and visited him occasionally, trying to reach the old Greaser.
Steve barely spoke anymore. It was almost like he was already dead but kept on living anyway.
Everyone else was gone, too. Tim Shepherd, a hardened criminal by the age of thirty, shot dead by the police much like Dally had been. Curly Shepherd, in and out of prisons his whole life, dying of a heroin overdose in the mid '80s. Randy Adderson, Ponyboy's unlikely Soc friend and mayor of Tulsa from 2000 to 2012, taken by heart failure.
Cherry Valance had gone to Hollywood and become a star. Pony and her had kept in touch, but they lived in two different worlds...they always had. She had died only recently, natural causes.
His dear wife Cassie had died five years ago, in her sleep. Ponyboy had loved her so much, from the day he met her at State to the day they wed. He remembered the wedding, Two-Bit standing on a chair, glass of Jack Daniels in hand, giving a slurred speech about how Pony had met the one broad in Tulsa who wasn't a Soc, wasn't a greasy scatterbrain and had the impossible combination of good looks, cooking and cleaning ability. Everyone had laughed. They all knew that Two-Bit had meant well...
Pony felt a tear drop starting to form in his eye as he read his old memoirs. So many gone...the lives they had led. They had all deserved better than what they got. Especially Johnny and Dallas. And Darry...and Steve, poor Steve...
Pony coughed hard as he finished looking over his book. He coughed a lot these days. He had quit smoking back in the 80s but the damage that it had done to his lungs still effected him every day. A good nap usually cleared things up, though.
Pony stood up and shambled to the bed laying on top of the covers and resting his head on the pillows. He wished he was back in his childhood home, Soda's arm wrapped around him as he slept. His eyes gravitated towards the wall where his pictures were...his children, grandchildren...Cassie...the gang...the gang one day in the Vacant Lot, a picture taken a few weeks before Johnny had killed that Soc, before they had run away...before the last Rumble...before Johnny and Dally had died.
Ponyboy's eyes closed as he looked at that picture, hanging on his was. It was the last thing he saw in that world. He just felt like he was going to sleep...
When he opened his eyes, he was in the cemetery that backed out onto the vacant lot. The sky was a cool orangey red, dozens of people crowded around a small grave under a tree. The sun was setting out in the distance. Ponyboy thought idly that it sure did look pretty.
Hie eyes wandered over to all the graves, close together, as they had requested they be...
Johnathan James Cade, 1951-1967
Dallas Jeffery Winston, 1950-1967
Darryl Tyler Curtis, 1946-2002
Keith "Two-Bit" Matthews, 1949-2011
Sodapop Patrick Curtis, 1951-2028
The last grave, the one that so many were crowded around, said,
Ponyboy Michael Curtis, 1953-2039
"Oh, so that's it," Said Ponyboy idly.
Some Minister from the church was reading a sermon. Ponyboy's two sons and two daughters were crying. The eldest got up and gave a long eulogy about his life. He chocked back his tears as he talked about his father. Pony was so proud of him...of all of them.
Sunsets...someone had known that Pony had always wanted to be buried under a setting sun. Ponyboy liked it. It was fitting, he guessed.
One by one, the mourners started to depart, until only one remained...an old, frail looking man, without legs, sitting in a wheelchair. A few faint wisps of curly black hair poked from the top of his head, a hard stare still in his eyes from a hard, cold life. Steve Randal was sitting quietly, pondering Ponyboys gravesite.
"It ain't fair," the old man grunted, "It just ain't. Why do I gotta go on living when everyone's died."
Pony felt a pang of sympathy go out to Steve. The old man had cared, after all.
"Why'd you all have to go and leave me here alone, guys? I don't wanna be here no more. I wish I could have talked to Pony after you left me, Soda, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I figured that if I just shut myself off, then maybe I'd give God the hint and he'd just let me quit, you know?"
Steve was crying as he kept speaking to Pony's grave, "I've got no one now...please don't leave me, Ponyboy, please don't leave me all alone here. You know somethin'? There ain't nothin' more scary than sitting in your life's sunset, waiting for it to get dark all by your lonesome. I don't want to be alone when it gets dark, guys."
He looked down at the stumps of his legs, "I wish I had died over there. I wish I hadn't had to come back and watch the world move on while I stayed the same. It ain't right that a man has to end up like me, it just ain't right. I wish to God that the Horse had killed me. I wish to God that my heart had failed or my lungs stopped working or I'd gotten cancer or one of them diseases, instead of just sitting in this damned chair and rotting."
"I love you all. I'll miss you so much...I just don't want to keep going. There ain't nothin' for me here anyway. They even took my blade away from me, Two-Bit, the Blade that you left me when you died. I didn't ever use it, but I kept it sharp for you, like you'd have always wanted it to be. They didn't want me hurting myself at the home...I guess when your this old even a Greaser has rules, huh?"
Ponyboy looked at Steve, a Wolf without a pack, a Wolf without teeth. A Wolf with nothing left to do besides sit and wait for the end, alone.
Steve continued to sit there. His orderly from the Home hadn't come to pick him up. A pang of guilt shot through Pony, why couldn't he have asked his family to care for Steve in his will? Yes, he had left thousands to Steve, but he was too old to look after himself now, he had to stay in that home, alone, looking out the window towards the Vacant Lot...
"Don't feel so bad, Ponyboy."
Pony recognized that voice. But it couldn't be...
It was. Pony turned around and there stood his brother, Sodapop Curtis, not looking a day older than sixteen. He was flanked by the whole gang, each looking like they had back in the fall of '67...little Johnny Cade, tough, cool Dally, strong, serious Darry, friendly, cocky Two-Bit, handsome, charming Soda.
"It's you...its really you," stammered Ponyboy, tears streaming down his face.
"Golly, Ponyboy, you sure did get old since the last time I saw you," Grinned Two-Bit, "Lost all your tuff hair, too."
Johnny said, with confidence in his voice, "We all missed you, Pony. Missed you a whole lot." He was happy now, Pony could tell. No one to hit him where he was, no one to scream at him, nothing to make him afraid. Johnny had what he had always deserved: peace.
"Don't know how you made it without me backing you up, kid," Dallas said, kindly. There was a difference about Dally, a kindness, a warmth that had been lacking while his body was still alive. His eyes, once stabbing and blue, were now soft and friendly. His elfish face was wide open in a smile.
Darry reached over and ruffled Ponyboy on the head, "You turned out great, Ponyboy, I knew you could make it. I'm so proud of you, you were the best investment any of us could make."
Soda put his arms around Johnny and Darryl, "We all love you, Pony. Its been too long since we were all together. Come with us. Its pretty tuff where we're going."
Pony swallowed a lump in his throat, "Heaven?"
Dally laughed, "Yeah. The broads are fine, none of 'em greasy. No Soc's, no Greasers. Just people. Plain, ordinary people. Everyone's there, all waiting for you, Pony. What are we waiting for?"
Pony looked back at Steve, sitting, sobbing in his wheelchair, completely alone in the world, his body and mind ravaged by war, disease and poison. Yet he kept on living.
"I can't leave Steve like that," Said Ponyboy.
"Steve's gonna be fine. You'll see," Smiled Two-Bit warmly, "We'll be with him soon enough."
"It isn't right that he has to stay here like this. It just ain't right. A Greaser deserves better than that..."
Soda moved around silently to Steve, and placed his hands on his old friend's shoulders, Steve sitting up abruptly.
"Sodapop? That you?" The old man grunted, "Where are you?"
"I'm right here, man. I'm right here. Don't feel so down, man. You aren't alone, you're never alone. Your friends are always with you, and we'll be waiting for you. It won't be long, buddy."
Somehow, Steve had heard and understood the voice of his lifelong friend, for he nodded and dried his eyes.
Darry came and put his hand on Ponyboy's shoulder, leaning him towards the gang, each one of them embracing Pony. They were more than just friends, more than just family. They were blood brothers. Their bond was forever. And nothing could destroy it.
Johnny hugged Ponyboy and looked him in the eye, "You did what I told ya, Pony. You stayed gold. You stayed gold."
Looking back on Steve, being wheeled away by his orderly back to the retirement home, Pony saw his life, every event, sensation, every moment, flash by in an instant.
"Yeah, I guess I did. I guess I did."
"Comon', Pony," Said Dally, "Everyone's waiting for us. We all missed you."
Darry embraced his kid brother and whispered, "Mom and dad say Hi, Pony."
The gang embraced, one last time, Ponyboy closing his eyes. When he opened them, he was for, the first time in years, finally home.
The next morning, Steve Randal sat in his room at the retirement home, looking out back onto the Vacant Lot which his entire 90 years had revolved around. He had read something in the paper that they were going to develop it, put in a school or a museum or something like that. That would truly mean the end of an era. Even now, there were no more Greasers...the working class punks called themselves 'Skids', while the Socs had been replaced by the rich, snobby 'Preps.' The more things changed, the more they seemed to stay the same.
Steve remembered back on his life, looking out at the sunrise. Emotion overwhelmed him as he looked off, beyond the Vacant Lot, beyond the houses and bungalows and streets of Tulsa, into the cool blue sky.
"Well," the old Greaser said, "Nothing gold can stay."
Ponyboy Michael Curtis lay on his bed in a comfortable home on the East Side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was nearing the end of his 86th year of life, and his many years of retirement had left him withered and frail.
And what a life it had been. Four children. Fourteen grand children, and a plethora of others who called him "Uncle Pony"...the sons and daughters of Sodapop, Darry, and the others...Two-Bits three marriages had left him with a few dozen who were on Ponyboys Christmas Card list.
The cool November breeze blew through the tree's, long since devoid of any leaves. They looked like great skeletons against the rich blue sky, a sky under which Ponyboy had seen so much happen...
He had only been thirteen when his parents died. Darry giving up college and opportunity after opportunity to work and support his little brothers. Pony hadn't always appreciated that sacrifice as much as he should have, but in the end, it had paid off. Pony had gotten into college, worked hard for four years and graduated with a masters of English. After publishing his autobiographical novel, the story of the turbulent events that had shaped his fourteenth year, he had taught English at the same high school, the one where he had been a student all those years ago.
A few other highlights of his life flashed before him...a seat on the city council, a column in the local paper, best man at Soda's wedding to Sandy, Godfather to countless kids...the horrible techno-thriller he had tried to get published in the mid-90's...oh, what a life.
Pony slowly sat up off the bed, his old joints and bones creaking with arthritis. He sometimes wondered if his old age was a blessing or a curse. Very few lived to see 86...he wondered for a moment if Dally could have stood to see his body decaying around him, nothing more than a shell of what it once was, helpless and alone as a child.
No, not Dally. Dally wouldn't have wanted it that way. Dally would be proud of how he died, if he had lived.
Ponyboy made his way over to his desk and reached inside for a yellowed, frayed, 180-odd page document, stapled and paper-clipped together at various points. It was his original draft, the one he had submitted in April, 1968, to his English teacher. On the front in faded red ink was a circled letter, "A". This story was his life. He was glad he could leave it behind after he left this world, it would continue to teach all who read it of the trials of youth, the sense of despair, the daily life of a Greaser.
He flipped through the pages as he often did, remembering and reminiscing his past. He could see all their faces, feel their presence around him. As he read their quotations, he heard their voices...the cold cunning growl of Dallas Winston, the quiet tone of Johnny Cade, the underlying angst of Steve Randal, the cocky drawl of Two-Bit Matthews...his brothers Sodapop...sweet, caring Sodapop, and Darryl. Darry had done everything he could so that Ponyboy would have a chance of turning out decent, something more than a Greaser.
They were all gone now...man and fate had taken each of them. Johnny first, then Dally. Two-Bit back in '11, an old man bit still full of life and spirit, making the constant wise-cracks and commentary that had made him such a successful underground comedian in the '80s. Two-Bit had drank himself to death.
"I guess that was how he wanted it," murmured Pony, "He when he wanted to. Didn't have to get old."
Soda had died only a few years ago. He had managed to use his good looks and charm to become an actor on local television and theater, finally putting all his energy to good use. Soda had been taken by a heart attack in his 77th year. Pony missed him so much....so damn much.
Darry had died in a construction accident back in '02, a few weeks before he was set to retire for good. It wasn't fair...Darry had worked hard his whole life for the sake of the people that he loved most, and he had never been able to relax, just taking it easy, since he had been forced to grow up too fast...maybe Darry finally had some peace where he was.
Steve was still around...but not really. Steve had it hard...too hard. He had been drafted into Vietnam, lost his legs and been confined to a wheelchair for life. The drugs he had taken had hurt him, but he tried to make a living as a high school drug councilor. After Soda had died, he had shut himself off from the world, he barely spoke to Pony...most days just sitting in his nursing home room staring out the window. He didn't have anyone in the world, an old veteran, 90 years old, a shade of his former self. Pony had barely seen the alzheimers that had crept into Steve's soul and the last Curtis brother didn't see how the old man could go on living. No one deserved that fate, no one. Ponyboy paid his bills at the home and visited him occasionally, trying to reach the old Greaser.
Steve barely spoke anymore. It was almost like he was already dead but kept on living anyway.
Everyone else was gone, too. Tim Shepherd, a hardened criminal by the age of thirty, shot dead by the police much like Dally had been. Curly Shepherd, in and out of prisons his whole life, dying of a heroin overdose in the mid '80s. Randy Adderson, Ponyboy's unlikely Soc friend and mayor of Tulsa from 2000 to 2012, taken by heart failure.
Cherry Valance had gone to Hollywood and become a star. Pony and her had kept in touch, but they lived in two different worlds...they always had. She had died only recently, natural causes.
His dear wife Cassie had died five years ago, in her sleep. Ponyboy had loved her so much, from the day he met her at State to the day they wed. He remembered the wedding, Two-Bit standing on a chair, glass of Jack Daniels in hand, giving a slurred speech about how Pony had met the one broad in Tulsa who wasn't a Soc, wasn't a greasy scatterbrain and had the impossible combination of good looks, cooking and cleaning ability. Everyone had laughed. They all knew that Two-Bit had meant well...
Pony felt a tear drop starting to form in his eye as he read his old memoirs. So many gone...the lives they had led. They had all deserved better than what they got. Especially Johnny and Dallas. And Darry...and Steve, poor Steve...
Pony coughed hard as he finished looking over his book. He coughed a lot these days. He had quit smoking back in the 80s but the damage that it had done to his lungs still effected him every day. A good nap usually cleared things up, though.
Pony stood up and shambled to the bed laying on top of the covers and resting his head on the pillows. He wished he was back in his childhood home, Soda's arm wrapped around him as he slept. His eyes gravitated towards the wall where his pictures were...his children, grandchildren...Cassie...the gang...the gang one day in the Vacant Lot, a picture taken a few weeks before Johnny had killed that Soc, before they had run away...before the last Rumble...before Johnny and Dally had died.
Ponyboy's eyes closed as he looked at that picture, hanging on his was. It was the last thing he saw in that world. He just felt like he was going to sleep...
When he opened his eyes, he was in the cemetery that backed out onto the vacant lot. The sky was a cool orangey red, dozens of people crowded around a small grave under a tree. The sun was setting out in the distance. Ponyboy thought idly that it sure did look pretty.
Hie eyes wandered over to all the graves, close together, as they had requested they be...
Johnathan James Cade, 1951-1967
Dallas Jeffery Winston, 1950-1967
Darryl Tyler Curtis, 1946-2002
Keith "Two-Bit" Matthews, 1949-2011
Sodapop Patrick Curtis, 1951-2028
The last grave, the one that so many were crowded around, said,
Ponyboy Michael Curtis, 1953-2039
"Oh, so that's it," Said Ponyboy idly.
Some Minister from the church was reading a sermon. Ponyboy's two sons and two daughters were crying. The eldest got up and gave a long eulogy about his life. He chocked back his tears as he talked about his father. Pony was so proud of him...of all of them.
Sunsets...someone had known that Pony had always wanted to be buried under a setting sun. Ponyboy liked it. It was fitting, he guessed.
One by one, the mourners started to depart, until only one remained...an old, frail looking man, without legs, sitting in a wheelchair. A few faint wisps of curly black hair poked from the top of his head, a hard stare still in his eyes from a hard, cold life. Steve Randal was sitting quietly, pondering Ponyboys gravesite.
"It ain't fair," the old man grunted, "It just ain't. Why do I gotta go on living when everyone's died."
Pony felt a pang of sympathy go out to Steve. The old man had cared, after all.
"Why'd you all have to go and leave me here alone, guys? I don't wanna be here no more. I wish I could have talked to Pony after you left me, Soda, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I figured that if I just shut myself off, then maybe I'd give God the hint and he'd just let me quit, you know?"
Steve was crying as he kept speaking to Pony's grave, "I've got no one now...please don't leave me, Ponyboy, please don't leave me all alone here. You know somethin'? There ain't nothin' more scary than sitting in your life's sunset, waiting for it to get dark all by your lonesome. I don't want to be alone when it gets dark, guys."
He looked down at the stumps of his legs, "I wish I had died over there. I wish I hadn't had to come back and watch the world move on while I stayed the same. It ain't right that a man has to end up like me, it just ain't right. I wish to God that the Horse had killed me. I wish to God that my heart had failed or my lungs stopped working or I'd gotten cancer or one of them diseases, instead of just sitting in this damned chair and rotting."
"I love you all. I'll miss you so much...I just don't want to keep going. There ain't nothin' for me here anyway. They even took my blade away from me, Two-Bit, the Blade that you left me when you died. I didn't ever use it, but I kept it sharp for you, like you'd have always wanted it to be. They didn't want me hurting myself at the home...I guess when your this old even a Greaser has rules, huh?"
Ponyboy looked at Steve, a Wolf without a pack, a Wolf without teeth. A Wolf with nothing left to do besides sit and wait for the end, alone.
Steve continued to sit there. His orderly from the Home hadn't come to pick him up. A pang of guilt shot through Pony, why couldn't he have asked his family to care for Steve in his will? Yes, he had left thousands to Steve, but he was too old to look after himself now, he had to stay in that home, alone, looking out the window towards the Vacant Lot...
"Don't feel so bad, Ponyboy."
Pony recognized that voice. But it couldn't be...
It was. Pony turned around and there stood his brother, Sodapop Curtis, not looking a day older than sixteen. He was flanked by the whole gang, each looking like they had back in the fall of '67...little Johnny Cade, tough, cool Dally, strong, serious Darry, friendly, cocky Two-Bit, handsome, charming Soda.
"It's you...its really you," stammered Ponyboy, tears streaming down his face.
"Golly, Ponyboy, you sure did get old since the last time I saw you," Grinned Two-Bit, "Lost all your tuff hair, too."
Johnny said, with confidence in his voice, "We all missed you, Pony. Missed you a whole lot." He was happy now, Pony could tell. No one to hit him where he was, no one to scream at him, nothing to make him afraid. Johnny had what he had always deserved: peace.
"Don't know how you made it without me backing you up, kid," Dallas said, kindly. There was a difference about Dally, a kindness, a warmth that had been lacking while his body was still alive. His eyes, once stabbing and blue, were now soft and friendly. His elfish face was wide open in a smile.
Darry reached over and ruffled Ponyboy on the head, "You turned out great, Ponyboy, I knew you could make it. I'm so proud of you, you were the best investment any of us could make."
Soda put his arms around Johnny and Darryl, "We all love you, Pony. Its been too long since we were all together. Come with us. Its pretty tuff where we're going."
Pony swallowed a lump in his throat, "Heaven?"
Dally laughed, "Yeah. The broads are fine, none of 'em greasy. No Soc's, no Greasers. Just people. Plain, ordinary people. Everyone's there, all waiting for you, Pony. What are we waiting for?"
Pony looked back at Steve, sitting, sobbing in his wheelchair, completely alone in the world, his body and mind ravaged by war, disease and poison. Yet he kept on living.
"I can't leave Steve like that," Said Ponyboy.
"Steve's gonna be fine. You'll see," Smiled Two-Bit warmly, "We'll be with him soon enough."
"It isn't right that he has to stay here like this. It just ain't right. A Greaser deserves better than that..."
Soda moved around silently to Steve, and placed his hands on his old friend's shoulders, Steve sitting up abruptly.
"Sodapop? That you?" The old man grunted, "Where are you?"
"I'm right here, man. I'm right here. Don't feel so down, man. You aren't alone, you're never alone. Your friends are always with you, and we'll be waiting for you. It won't be long, buddy."
Somehow, Steve had heard and understood the voice of his lifelong friend, for he nodded and dried his eyes.
Darry came and put his hand on Ponyboy's shoulder, leaning him towards the gang, each one of them embracing Pony. They were more than just friends, more than just family. They were blood brothers. Their bond was forever. And nothing could destroy it.
Johnny hugged Ponyboy and looked him in the eye, "You did what I told ya, Pony. You stayed gold. You stayed gold."
Looking back on Steve, being wheeled away by his orderly back to the retirement home, Pony saw his life, every event, sensation, every moment, flash by in an instant.
"Yeah, I guess I did. I guess I did."
"Comon', Pony," Said Dally, "Everyone's waiting for us. We all missed you."
Darry embraced his kid brother and whispered, "Mom and dad say Hi, Pony."
The gang embraced, one last time, Ponyboy closing his eyes. When he opened them, he was for, the first time in years, finally home.
The next morning, Steve Randal sat in his room at the retirement home, looking out back onto the Vacant Lot which his entire 90 years had revolved around. He had read something in the paper that they were going to develop it, put in a school or a museum or something like that. That would truly mean the end of an era. Even now, there were no more Greasers...the working class punks called themselves 'Skids', while the Socs had been replaced by the rich, snobby 'Preps.' The more things changed, the more they seemed to stay the same.
Steve remembered back on his life, looking out at the sunrise. Emotion overwhelmed him as he looked off, beyond the Vacant Lot, beyond the houses and bungalows and streets of Tulsa, into the cool blue sky.
"Well," the old Greaser said, "Nothing gold can stay."