Hey you guys! Yes, I know, finally after...almost 2 weeks I have the
next chapter. My summer college class started a week ago, so from now on
I won't be able to update as fast as I was before, but don't worry because
I try to work on this story as much as possible, i love writing it. So basically
its not going to be that bad of a delay, just not as quick as before.
Jkb: I cherish your reviews, and Im so happy that someone likes my story so much! And....guess what? I did write a certain portion of this chapter because of your request! I really hope that you like it...there is a bit of a reference to what you told me in your review in that little section, I think you'll see what I'm talking about. I used to be friends with this girl that everybody hated when I was in middle/high school, so I'm putting a little bit of my experiences in this chapter. Actually, it wasn't that I actually experienced these things, but it was the vibe I got from people whenever I befriended this girl, and the hypocrisies I saw in teenage/high school life. Im getting philosophical here, LOL! Ooohh and you called me sweetie, that was so....sweet!!! LOL. *gives jkb a big hug* You are really the sweet one though. :)
Starstruck: For a writer like you to tell me that my story is brilliant makes me WAY beyond flattered! Thank you so much for saying that, it really made me happy:)
Oh, and also, Im glad you don't feel sorry for Johnny in a cheap way, I am glad that I don't appear to be making the parts with Johnny tacky or melodramatic or anything like a soap opera haha. I hope you like this chapter as well...
Ivoine: Wow! what a compliment! It's cool that you like the changing POV's, i am happy that you like the different sides these characters are coming from. I hope you keep reading it:)
MissLKid: Hey Auri! I hope you are having/had a wonderful birthday! (Im not sure when youre going to read this)...I love doing the RP with you, when you read this chapter, I am hoping you will like it!
I found it interesting and actually pretty cool how Summer seeing herself in the future got comparisons to a Stepford wife and also a caricature by Ralph Steadman written down. I actually didn't know what a Stepford wife, or who Ralph Steadman was, but I looked them up and I was like "Whoa...cool comparisons!"
Another thing, if any of you guys read my previous chapter within the few hours after it had been updated, I did go back and change some of the grammar mistakes and I made the sentences flow a little better, but there's really not that much of a change.
Anyhow here is the next chapter!...you all know the dislaimers so...Im not repeating them again
Summer continued to wait for her aunt as she burned under the intense sun. Oh great, Summer suddenly remembered, she told me she wasn't going to be able to pick me up today. She silently cursed herself for forgetting to take the bus, and now she was going to half to walk across half the town to get to where the neighborhood was located. I don't even remember how to get to the damn place. After pondering for a few seconds, she decided to leave the school as fast as she could and just go somewhere else. Maybe she'd figure out what to do in a nice, cool place where she wasn't frying like an egg on a stove. Somehow the heat always interfered with her thinking, it was the intensity of it, the harshness of it all. She started to retrace the steps she had made previously, but the image of what had happened earlier that day made her decide against it. Summer found herself walking in a different direction, and she wasn't completely sure where exactly she was going, but it was better than sitting and doing nothing. She hated to hang around and twiddle her thumbs; it always gave her too much time to think. Too much time to remember, too much time to imagine what's going to happen in the future. She always had to keep busy somehow. Don't feel, don't think. Don't remember. Well, she was rotten inside anyway, right? There isn't anything to think or feel. Or relive.
She walked for about a mile before she felt the cool breeze coming from a small eatery. Summer paused for a second, smelling the aroma of home-cooked chicken soup and buttered bread. Her eyes roamed to the top of the building where a sign hovered above: The Greasy Spoon Saloon: Homecookin' for the Southern Soul. She could feel her the acid in her stomach starting to churn as she walked into the diner. The restaurant had a few men towards the back who had probably just gotten off work. They were chomping on big meals and guzzling down beer after beer, man were they going to be ripped before they left the place! After Summer stepped up to the front counter, a heavy-set woman with bright auburn hair and a pink, fluffy apron turned around and smiled at her. She had lively green eyes and naturally rosy cheeks, with dark blue eye shadow that glittered on her eyelids.
"Hi honey," she crooned in a southern accent, "what are thinkin' about eatin'?" Summer realized she didn't have any money as a muscular man with dark brown hair entered the diner. It was obvious he had been outside all day, his arms were turning red and his nose and cheeks were flushed from the heat. "Hey sweetie! How's your day been so far?" the waitress greeted him, giving a motherly hug to the man who was now sitting in the seat next to Summer. The scent of hard, physical work escaped the man's body and entered into Summer's nostrils.
"Hi Mrs. Matthews," the man replied, taking out a wallet from his back pocket. "Oh...it's the same ol' same ol'. Roofing a house in the new neighborhood that's going up way over on the west side of town." He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then ran his hand atop the cowlick that sat straight up despite the moisture in his hair. "Whew! The heat shouldn't be coming along this early in the year. I'm not used to the humidity either. Since when has it been like this in February, over here in Oklahoma?"
"I don't know, darlin', I just don't know. At least I'm lucky enough to be working in the AC, although sometimes we ain't that lucky because it breaks down every once in a while." Right after the woman finished her last word, the group of men in the back roared with drunken laughter. Summer stifled a laugh at the amusing sight; the man seemed way too serious for his own good, and the woman didn't even seem to notice. She probably got customers like that everyday.
"I may know some people who can fix that for ya, Mrs. Matthews. But I gotta get outta here fast, unfortunately, because Soda and Pony are waiting for me to pick them up." Summer's eyebrows furrowed together, a questioning look running through her features. Who the hell would name their kids Pony and Soda? Must be nicknames or something, they HAVE to be nicknames.
"Is something wrong sweetie?" the waitress questioned. Summer realized that both the man sitting next to her and the waitress had caught the curious face she was making.
"Oh no! Im sorry ma'am, I just remembered that I didn't bring any money with me. Um, I guess I'll go now," she started to rise as her stomach let out a ravenous growl.
"Wait!" the man sitting next to her commanded. "Don't worry about it, I'll pay for you. It looks like you need some food in your stomach," he said.
"And meat on your bones," the southern woman added. After pondering for a few seconds, she spoke up. "No listen you two, it's on the house," she whispered, sneaking a glance to see if her boss was around. Something about the woman's gestures seemed really familiar to Summer, but she couldn't quite remember where she had seen it before. Nah... Summer thought to herself, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. "Just don't say anything or I'll get my butt fired!" the waitress continued to whisper. "Ellie, get some okra and catfish started. Sweetie, here's the menu, you can have anything you want on it."
"Oh no!" Summer exclaimed, "I really cant take this for fr..."
"Shhhh!" both the roofer and the waitress quieted her at the same time. Summer complied and sat down; she couldn't resist the smell that infiltrated the diner.
"So," the man said in an overprotective voice, "tell me what you're doing on this side of town. It's not the safest place to be. Are you new to Tulsa?" A few seconds after the words escaped his mouth, Darry silently reprimanded himself for being so rude to this little girl. He just couldn't bear to see a nice young girl like her get hurt. "Excuse me for being so rude, I can't believe I didn't introduce myself! My name's Darrel, you can call me Darry." Summer hesitantly shook his hand, she wasn't so sure if she could trust him or not. But...something about this man seemed to tell her that she could trust him.
"I'm....I'm Summer. Yeah, um, I'm new. Am I in the bad part of town or something?" Darry pointed his fist to the left, a piece of warm, buttered toast placed in it.
"If you were headed that way, you were goin' to the part a' town where no white folks welcome, you catch my drift?" Summer tried to understand what he was implying, coming to a sudden realization.
"Oh...OH! Yeah, I actually was headed that way. I had no idea." Summer continued to look over the menu, when something caught her eye. "Excuse me Miss, would you mind if I had some...some ribs?" The waitress's eyes lit up.
"Absolutely! That's the best dish we got here, actually, we happen to have some fired up on the grill already. I'll get it drenched in some BBQ sauce for ya. I know you'll want some turnips to go with that. " Summer smiled ever so slightly, and leaned back in her chair. It was nice to have people who were being genuine for once, who were being decent to you simply because they were decent people themselves, not because they wanted something from you. As the red-head placed the meal in front of her, Summer brought the ribs to her lips. Her eyes rolled backward in pure enjoyment, this was the best food she'd ever tasted in her life! Summer cast a big grin at the woman, warm sauce all over her teeth.
"Ahhh I see you like it." Summer nodded in agreement, shoving some of the turnips into her mouth hungrily.
"It's...it's great."
"That's what I've been told," the waitress commented, looking at Darry.
"Yes Mrs. Matthews," he agreed, "this is the best little restaurant in Tulsa. I wanna keep it all to myself!" he joked. After Darry gulped down his catfish in seemingly one bite, he rose from the chair. He walked to the door, then stopped and turned around.
"You know," he said to Summer, "you remind me of a kid I know. Great kid, by the way. Parents don't like him none, but he's one of the best kids I know. Thanks, Mrs. Matthews. One of these days Two-Bit is gonna get a job and help you out," he said, laughing. "You deserve it!" Pony, Soda...now Two-Bit? They are nicknames...for sure. And I remind him of someone? That's kinda strange… He stepped out the door, Mrs. Matthews laughing along with him.
"That's the day I'll die from shock!" the waitress said as she began to wipe the counter. "Ohh, that's my son for ya." she added, her eyes lighting up. After finishing the counter, Mrs. Matthews took the empty plate from Summer. "You're lookin' better, sweetie. How did it turn out?" she stopped chomping on her last bite of food long enough to answer back.
"It's...it's the best meal I've ever had in my life!" Summer exclaimed, excited about something for the first time in forever.
"Can't go wrong with some soul food."
Big black eyes watched as Dallas stumbled off, probably looking for a fight or some action to rid himself of the energy he had built up. Johnny ran his hand along his damaged face, feeling the swollen bruises, the elevated lacerations. He was going through all these different moods now; the first: release, the second to come: cynicism. One small hit had formed a crack, and now millions of cracks were going to tear throughout his whole entire being. He was beginning to realize who he was, not just who he appeared to be. Letting go comes with consequences, you drop the facade you've been playing for years. Johnny wasn't going to act anymore, he couldn't pretend and hide all the time. Pretend like they were just physical scars.
He started roaming down the street, the smile turning into a grimace. He could feel the tears building up, threatening to bleed through his eyelids, but he managed to keep them down. Johnny truly believed that he was born into this world for the sole purpose of being battered. He was meant to be abused, kicked and punched, and pounded.
He would be beaten so much that one day his body would be smashed into scattered pieces of bone and membrane. His eyeballs would roll to a stop on the ground. Someone would unknowingly trample over them with a shiny loafer, its hard sole flattening them into scrambled tissue. His black pupils were the stained yolk, the rest of his orbs the egg whites. It would cook right there on the street under the intense sun. Someone would pick the scrambled mess off the black concrete, while it was still sizzling from the heat the hardened ground gave off. They would shake their little glass bottle of Heinz 57 ketchup. After taking the cap off, they would continue so properly by tapping on the cute little "57," which lay right on the circle where the neck of the bottle meets the barrel of the bottle. The technique was most certainly guaranteed to get the red contents moving; it was a little trick Mommy had taught them! Sauce would come pouring out, the eggs now drenched in the bright crimson liquid. They would pile it all up onto their fork, chewing on the rubbery red and yellow contents that tumbled inside their mouth. Hey! He was good for more than one thing after all!
Johnny saw himself as a sidewalk to be stepped on, a target to be paddled and stabbed and beaten. Over and over and over again. He did not have any say in the matter, it was a predetermined destiny, his only reason for existence. The boy was a vent for others, except the air was flowing the wrong way. The dust in the air seeping through the vent was building up on the metal strips like plaque, until it would harden one day beyond repair. No air would be able to come through anymore, resulting in an unremarkable death. He would be buried beneath the surface of the cemetery dirt where the grass refuses to grow and the headstones sit limply, tired and wearied and bored. His tiny, fist-sized, square-shaped headstone would simply be labeled "John Cade," passers-by stepping on the ground above his decaying body without any thought. He was just a nobody in life, a nobody in death.
Maybe a more glorious death would be that of suicide! He would push back the sleeves of his jean jacket and slit his wrists, the blood pouring out all over the school halls. People would run around him, screaming, crying, falling to their knees on the slick surface of the hallway, the dark red fluid crawling, reaching out towards them. It would almost touch them, but they would back away, their perfect, buckled shoes barely escaping the thick liquid that had spilled. Everyone would be so shocked, so freaked out, that they would forget to call an ambulance. Oh well! He was doomed to die anyway, right? He would just bleed away until his face and arms turned stark white, the embarrassing scar that traveled from temple to chin blending in with the shocking whiteness that had now overtaken him. All the fluid in his body would have poured out by this time, existing in his veins no more.
It was so horrible! The school kids would say to their Mommies and Daddies when they got home. Please help me, the image is now etched into my brain! Mommy and Daddy would cuddle them, poor little boy, poor little girl who had seen such a sorrowful sight. This world truly has gone mad!
Lots of attention would be bestowed upon the boy who had so meaninglessly taken his life, who had so much to look forward to but now would never live a day past sixteen. His funeral service would be gigantic, everyone from the high school there, the press circled around the crowd with cameras and microphones and recorders. You can't forget the little camera guy that would snap still-shots of the event to put up in the school hall right above the floor where the kid had slain himself. Aha! The camera guy would come to an epiphany while snapping shots of the shiny coffin, a light bulb going off above his head. Maybe I could list it on my resume for National Geographic! Johnny's tombstone, instead of being small and insignificant, would stand ten feet high from the grassy surface. It would be sponsored by the mayor, and it would say: "Here lies poor little Johnny Cade who took his own life. He is now headed straight to Hell for being so selfish. This is an example to all you young impressionable teenagers out there! Don't do it!" A sketch of a hand would lie on the headstone below the epitaph, giving a gleaming thumbs-up sign. Written underneath the drawing in a semicircle it would give the inspiring, powerful message: "Choose life!"
At his huge funeral service, people who had not even noticed him before in the school halls would now be gathered around his grave. They would emit cries full of grief and sorrow, grief for a kid they never knew anyway. In front of the camera for the 6 o' clock news, girls in pigtails with tears streaming down their cheeks would speak of the horrible tragedy that had happened to cross into their own little lives. "That poor little kid," they'd say, "I used to pass him all the time in the hall." They'd leave out the part that they would stick their noses up in the air, his small frame out of the range of their site. His books would spill onto the floor after he tore open his locker, in the same manner as the blood that had spilled out from his dying body. But the books the rich kids in the hall never noticed. Back then they never helped him pick up the contents that had poured onto the floor, help him pick up the shattered pieces that lay beneath them. It was only now they noticed, but now was too late.
The attention would shift from the few hours of splendor the dead boy had been bestowed, his jaded stardom now fading out. The fame would now carry on to the teenagers who were in the hall that day, who were now suffering from the sight they had been exposed to. The horrifying experience of seeing someone's insides pouring out, their untainted skin barely escaping the blood on the floor, would now leave a mark on them forever.
No spotlight would be focused on the real companions who had just lost a gang member, a friend. A good fucking friend! They didn't feel like crowding in front of the cameras. No one ever cuddled them when they saw the blood that had poured out of their friend numerous times before that final incident. They didn't let it out like the privileged kids could, they weren't allowed to. They had always kept it inside, for the sake of their friend, and also because of the unwritten rule that greasers are supposed to be tough. Greasers take care of themselves, greasers don't go crying to Mama, that is, if they are lucky enough to have one. Misplaced anger, now resulting in misplaced fame. Johnny was the medium these two things were filtered through.
Summer walked out of the crispness of the restaurant into the confusing stickiness that consumed Tulsa. She was directionless, with no idea how she had gotten there in the first place and no idea where she was now headed. The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn't going to walk in the direction that the roofer, Darry, had told her was dangerous. So she turned and headed the opposite way. After turning a few corners, the diner was completely out of sight. Summer knew that she should have asked the waitress for directions before she left that place. But now was too late to turn back, she wouldn't be able to find the diner anymore.
There was another reason that she didn't want to turn back. Summer was too proud to admit to her mistake and ask someone where she was. She just couldn't bring herself down to the level of humility, and although she would hate for people to see how meager she actually was, there was a second reason why she was afraid of humility. If anyone else saw just how inferior she was, it would be impossible for her to fool herself anymore. Fool herself into thinking that she was better than human emotions, better than human desires. Her identity would be lost. Thinking she was better than everyone else momentarily filled in a hole that had always existed inside of her. Or so she thought. What was she to do if she didn't have those few minutes of elation, of pure superiority? Without it she wouldn't be able to survive. She couldn't live with being just ordinary.
Johnny found his way to a different park than the one he had met Dally in earlier that day. He liked this specific park for two reasons: nobody would bother him there, because the greasers never came to this area. He needed some alone time to think, to gather his thoughts so he could make sense of it all. Then there was that second thing he liked about the park. As he trudged through the dark green grass, the site of a beige fountain with water erupting from the center of it came closer and closer into his scope of vision. Johnny went and sat on the edge of the fountain, observing the pennies, nickels, and dimes that had been tossed into the cold water. Full of wishes never to come true. The place was close to the high school, which was far away from his house. It could be a good thing, and a bad thing. A good thing because he was far away from his parents in his so-called home. Johnny let out a curt laugh. No wait, that wasn't quite right. So-called parents in a so-called home. Yeah, that was more like it. He had to watch it, though, cause every once in a while the kids from way over on the west side of town would cruise around the high school area looking for a victim. Johnny shuddered momentarily, trying to push the memory out of his head.
No. Don't push the memory away. It's a part of you. It's who you are.
That is not who I am! I am not a target, I am not a victim, I am not here for everyone to beat up on!
Just accept it. Accept your past. Stop pushing the memories away. It is only then…that you will be able to accept yourself.
I can't accept it! I hate my parents, I hate the socs, I hate my friends! I hate everyone!
I hate…
myself.
Summer was still lost when a small park came into view. Nobody appeared to be in the area. She saw a fountain spurting clear, fresh water. As her eyes drifted from the center of the fountain she noticed a black-haired figure with a black shirt. Suddenly she realized who it was.Oh shit, it's that kid again. What's wrong with this town? I keep on running into the same people. It's way too small, just like my town. Can never escape the exact people you are trying to avoid.
It continued to get later and later on in the afternoon, the evening creeping up close behind, and Summer was tired of walking around aimlessly. Not to mention that her feet were killing her. Hesitantly, and after a lot of self-convincing, she decided to walk over to him and ask where the hell she was. As she walked up to him, she noticed how slowly he was drawing in the smoke from his cancer stick. He stared straight ahead and didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular. The boy was in deep thought. Summer got closer to him, and he still didn't see that she was there. As she placed a hand on his shoulder, he seemed to turn white as a sheet as he reacted to the touch, dropping his cigarette into the fountain.
"Whoa…I'm…sorry about that," Summer apologized. Okay, yes, there was something about him that really, really scared her. He was just so….something.
This time he wasn't wearing a jean jacket, and his black shirt was grungy and polluted. The light from the sun was much stronger than the glow had been from the fluorescent light in the diner, and this time he looked even worse than he had at Dingo's, if that was possible. As her orbs glided across him she couldn't keep the look of disgust from running onto her face. Oh…God. That is so disgusting. Her mouth went dry, and she almost stepped away. But she couldn't stand being lost anymore, and, besides, she had already gotten his attention.
"Umm…" she started, trying to avoid his face.
"I know it looks bad, okay?" he stated. "Now what do you want?" Summer started to chew on her lip, trying to find the courage to humble herself. He took out another cigarette, and lit it while he waited for her to continue.
"Umm, hey, can I have a cigarette?" she finally replied. "I've been dying to have one, but my aunt won't let me smoke in the house. It's a major bummer, I always have to hide them and then I forget to take them with me when I leave the house." Johnny took out a smoke from his pack, and held it out with an exasperated sigh.
"You don't look the type who smokes," he said menacingly.
"Yeah, well," she said with biting sarcasm, "I'm full of surprises." Johnny lit up the cigarette for her impatiently, wanting to get her away from there as quickly as possible.
"Listen, I usually don't talk like this. I usually don't talk…at all really. But just take the cigarette and get out here. I'm not in a good mood. Please," he added, now getting frustrated. She took the cigarette, and sat next to him on the fountain. She peered down into the cool water and dipped her hand in it, swirling it around with her fingers while she tried to think of the least embarrassing way to tell him she was lost. "What now?" he asked.
Summer took a huge puff on the cigarette, blowing it through her nostrils rapidly.
"Well…" she began, "I'm kinda new here and stuff. Well, to this town I mean, and I…" Johnny observed her as continued to stare into the fountain.
"You're lost," he finished for her. Summer gave off a small laugh.
"Yeah I guess you could…say that." Johnny's eyes roamed her elegant clothing that perfectly traced her flawless figure, and her shiny dark hair that wasn't frizzy at all despite the weather. Her face had some moisture to it and it was a bit red from the sun but it fitted her so…perfectly, for lack of a better word. The anger started to arise in him again. How he hated this girl…
"What's it like?" Johnny abruptly questioned, and Summer looked up from the water fountain.
"What's what like?" Summer replied. "To be lost you mean?" she said, laughing nervously.
"No." he said curtly with spite in his voice, "to be so perfect." Summer stopped running her hand in the cool water, and her cigarette sat stale between her fingers.
"Just give me the directions, okay?" she ordered, anger in her voice. Johnny smiled; his plan had worked.
"You're right near the school, just follow that road right there," he started, pointing her in the right direction. "Which neighborhood are you looking for?"
"Gosh...it's right on the tip of my tongue. It's Broad-something..."
"Broadmoor. My dad used to drive the garbage truck around those neighborhoods way back when I was a little kid. If you're facing the school, go to your right until you reach 54th and 13th. Go left on 54th and keep on walking, it'll lead you straight to the neighborhood."
Summer flicked the burning cigarette into the fountain, leaving the park without even a "thank-you." She had humbled herself enough anyway. As she walked to her aunt's neighborhood his words continued to ring in her ears:
What's it like to be so perfect?
Night had fallen and Johnny decided to head to his house. He knew the socs would start cruising soon, looking for some action. But what was really worse? Heading home, and getting beaten in his room, or staying in the park and…getting beaten there? No. He liked the fountain with its chilly water, he didn't want a bad experience associated with this place. Johnny started the journey towards his neighborhood. He already hated home.
As Summer continued to walk along the straight path to her house, her legs became sticky and her skirt clung to her skin.
He led her down the street, the toothless addict escaping her scope of vision. She was drawn in by the poverty that surrounded her, it was so different compared to looking at it through a microscope via the television, or inside a big safe car, or in a magazine. How can you understand poverty, just how can you judge it, without even setting a single foot on the decayed ground, without smelling the stagnant atmosphere? There was a certain vulnerability about having slouching, cheap structures surrounding you. Everything possessed a quality of scarcity and weakness to it, and as the stench in the air filled Summer's senses she realized something…
Just like the addict who had caused their car to wreck, just the like the lowlife she was now trotting alongside, it was so coarse, so rough, so exposed. How can someone live like that, their insides pushed and pulled to the point that they were mutilated, and then their outer crust peeled for society to see? Peeled just like the cheap orange paint she saw flaking off a building under the car's yellow headlights?
As they continued on the crooked path, Summer could feels her legs getting sticky, and her skirt clung to her skin. The heat was descending even more upon them, the humidity almost like a blanket of muck that was dirtying her skin.
…This was real.
A few minutes before she made it home, the evening fell upon her. Summer quickened her pace; she definitely didn't want her aunt finding out that she hadn't come straight home. The irritation had mentioned that she would be at a get-together with some of her friends, and Summer knew that as soon as the sun started to descend the lady would be making her way home. If I don't get there before my aunt does, the crazy woman will definitely do a lock-down on me. Summer would pretty much have to say good-bye to whatever freedom she posessed before.
Her fists clenched, long nails piercing the flesh of slick, sweaty palms. It's all their fault, Summer accused as an ache started slowly in her hands and ran throughout her body. They're the ones who sent me here! They didn't want to deal with it themselves…they didn't want me…they never wanted me…
The house came into view, and Summer sighed in relief because the car was not yet in the driveway. After stepping through the unlocked door, her vision became blurry. Reaching out for the straight hallway, which would undoubtedly lead Summer to her destination, her fingers came in contact with the cheap stucco. After blindingly guiding herself through the bedroom door, Summer collapsed onto the soft bed, tiny droplets of blood leaking from her palms onto the crisp white sheets. Sleep dominated her rapidly; before any chance of resistance, before any cry of protest could be expelled.
Jkb: I cherish your reviews, and Im so happy that someone likes my story so much! And....guess what? I did write a certain portion of this chapter because of your request! I really hope that you like it...there is a bit of a reference to what you told me in your review in that little section, I think you'll see what I'm talking about. I used to be friends with this girl that everybody hated when I was in middle/high school, so I'm putting a little bit of my experiences in this chapter. Actually, it wasn't that I actually experienced these things, but it was the vibe I got from people whenever I befriended this girl, and the hypocrisies I saw in teenage/high school life. Im getting philosophical here, LOL! Ooohh and you called me sweetie, that was so....sweet!!! LOL. *gives jkb a big hug* You are really the sweet one though. :)
Starstruck: For a writer like you to tell me that my story is brilliant makes me WAY beyond flattered! Thank you so much for saying that, it really made me happy:)
Oh, and also, Im glad you don't feel sorry for Johnny in a cheap way, I am glad that I don't appear to be making the parts with Johnny tacky or melodramatic or anything like a soap opera haha. I hope you like this chapter as well...
Ivoine: Wow! what a compliment! It's cool that you like the changing POV's, i am happy that you like the different sides these characters are coming from. I hope you keep reading it:)
MissLKid: Hey Auri! I hope you are having/had a wonderful birthday! (Im not sure when youre going to read this)...I love doing the RP with you, when you read this chapter, I am hoping you will like it!
I found it interesting and actually pretty cool how Summer seeing herself in the future got comparisons to a Stepford wife and also a caricature by Ralph Steadman written down. I actually didn't know what a Stepford wife, or who Ralph Steadman was, but I looked them up and I was like "Whoa...cool comparisons!"
Another thing, if any of you guys read my previous chapter within the few hours after it had been updated, I did go back and change some of the grammar mistakes and I made the sentences flow a little better, but there's really not that much of a change.
Anyhow here is the next chapter!...you all know the dislaimers so...Im not repeating them again
Summer continued to wait for her aunt as she burned under the intense sun. Oh great, Summer suddenly remembered, she told me she wasn't going to be able to pick me up today. She silently cursed herself for forgetting to take the bus, and now she was going to half to walk across half the town to get to where the neighborhood was located. I don't even remember how to get to the damn place. After pondering for a few seconds, she decided to leave the school as fast as she could and just go somewhere else. Maybe she'd figure out what to do in a nice, cool place where she wasn't frying like an egg on a stove. Somehow the heat always interfered with her thinking, it was the intensity of it, the harshness of it all. She started to retrace the steps she had made previously, but the image of what had happened earlier that day made her decide against it. Summer found herself walking in a different direction, and she wasn't completely sure where exactly she was going, but it was better than sitting and doing nothing. She hated to hang around and twiddle her thumbs; it always gave her too much time to think. Too much time to remember, too much time to imagine what's going to happen in the future. She always had to keep busy somehow. Don't feel, don't think. Don't remember. Well, she was rotten inside anyway, right? There isn't anything to think or feel. Or relive.
She walked for about a mile before she felt the cool breeze coming from a small eatery. Summer paused for a second, smelling the aroma of home-cooked chicken soup and buttered bread. Her eyes roamed to the top of the building where a sign hovered above: The Greasy Spoon Saloon: Homecookin' for the Southern Soul. She could feel her the acid in her stomach starting to churn as she walked into the diner. The restaurant had a few men towards the back who had probably just gotten off work. They were chomping on big meals and guzzling down beer after beer, man were they going to be ripped before they left the place! After Summer stepped up to the front counter, a heavy-set woman with bright auburn hair and a pink, fluffy apron turned around and smiled at her. She had lively green eyes and naturally rosy cheeks, with dark blue eye shadow that glittered on her eyelids.
"Hi honey," she crooned in a southern accent, "what are thinkin' about eatin'?" Summer realized she didn't have any money as a muscular man with dark brown hair entered the diner. It was obvious he had been outside all day, his arms were turning red and his nose and cheeks were flushed from the heat. "Hey sweetie! How's your day been so far?" the waitress greeted him, giving a motherly hug to the man who was now sitting in the seat next to Summer. The scent of hard, physical work escaped the man's body and entered into Summer's nostrils.
"Hi Mrs. Matthews," the man replied, taking out a wallet from his back pocket. "Oh...it's the same ol' same ol'. Roofing a house in the new neighborhood that's going up way over on the west side of town." He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then ran his hand atop the cowlick that sat straight up despite the moisture in his hair. "Whew! The heat shouldn't be coming along this early in the year. I'm not used to the humidity either. Since when has it been like this in February, over here in Oklahoma?"
"I don't know, darlin', I just don't know. At least I'm lucky enough to be working in the AC, although sometimes we ain't that lucky because it breaks down every once in a while." Right after the woman finished her last word, the group of men in the back roared with drunken laughter. Summer stifled a laugh at the amusing sight; the man seemed way too serious for his own good, and the woman didn't even seem to notice. She probably got customers like that everyday.
"I may know some people who can fix that for ya, Mrs. Matthews. But I gotta get outta here fast, unfortunately, because Soda and Pony are waiting for me to pick them up." Summer's eyebrows furrowed together, a questioning look running through her features. Who the hell would name their kids Pony and Soda? Must be nicknames or something, they HAVE to be nicknames.
"Is something wrong sweetie?" the waitress questioned. Summer realized that both the man sitting next to her and the waitress had caught the curious face she was making.
"Oh no! Im sorry ma'am, I just remembered that I didn't bring any money with me. Um, I guess I'll go now," she started to rise as her stomach let out a ravenous growl.
"Wait!" the man sitting next to her commanded. "Don't worry about it, I'll pay for you. It looks like you need some food in your stomach," he said.
"And meat on your bones," the southern woman added. After pondering for a few seconds, she spoke up. "No listen you two, it's on the house," she whispered, sneaking a glance to see if her boss was around. Something about the woman's gestures seemed really familiar to Summer, but she couldn't quite remember where she had seen it before. Nah... Summer thought to herself, it's just my mind playing tricks on me. "Just don't say anything or I'll get my butt fired!" the waitress continued to whisper. "Ellie, get some okra and catfish started. Sweetie, here's the menu, you can have anything you want on it."
"Oh no!" Summer exclaimed, "I really cant take this for fr..."
"Shhhh!" both the roofer and the waitress quieted her at the same time. Summer complied and sat down; she couldn't resist the smell that infiltrated the diner.
"So," the man said in an overprotective voice, "tell me what you're doing on this side of town. It's not the safest place to be. Are you new to Tulsa?" A few seconds after the words escaped his mouth, Darry silently reprimanded himself for being so rude to this little girl. He just couldn't bear to see a nice young girl like her get hurt. "Excuse me for being so rude, I can't believe I didn't introduce myself! My name's Darrel, you can call me Darry." Summer hesitantly shook his hand, she wasn't so sure if she could trust him or not. But...something about this man seemed to tell her that she could trust him.
"I'm....I'm Summer. Yeah, um, I'm new. Am I in the bad part of town or something?" Darry pointed his fist to the left, a piece of warm, buttered toast placed in it.
"If you were headed that way, you were goin' to the part a' town where no white folks welcome, you catch my drift?" Summer tried to understand what he was implying, coming to a sudden realization.
"Oh...OH! Yeah, I actually was headed that way. I had no idea." Summer continued to look over the menu, when something caught her eye. "Excuse me Miss, would you mind if I had some...some ribs?" The waitress's eyes lit up.
"Absolutely! That's the best dish we got here, actually, we happen to have some fired up on the grill already. I'll get it drenched in some BBQ sauce for ya. I know you'll want some turnips to go with that. " Summer smiled ever so slightly, and leaned back in her chair. It was nice to have people who were being genuine for once, who were being decent to you simply because they were decent people themselves, not because they wanted something from you. As the red-head placed the meal in front of her, Summer brought the ribs to her lips. Her eyes rolled backward in pure enjoyment, this was the best food she'd ever tasted in her life! Summer cast a big grin at the woman, warm sauce all over her teeth.
"Ahhh I see you like it." Summer nodded in agreement, shoving some of the turnips into her mouth hungrily.
"It's...it's great."
"That's what I've been told," the waitress commented, looking at Darry.
"Yes Mrs. Matthews," he agreed, "this is the best little restaurant in Tulsa. I wanna keep it all to myself!" he joked. After Darry gulped down his catfish in seemingly one bite, he rose from the chair. He walked to the door, then stopped and turned around.
"You know," he said to Summer, "you remind me of a kid I know. Great kid, by the way. Parents don't like him none, but he's one of the best kids I know. Thanks, Mrs. Matthews. One of these days Two-Bit is gonna get a job and help you out," he said, laughing. "You deserve it!" Pony, Soda...now Two-Bit? They are nicknames...for sure. And I remind him of someone? That's kinda strange… He stepped out the door, Mrs. Matthews laughing along with him.
"That's the day I'll die from shock!" the waitress said as she began to wipe the counter. "Ohh, that's my son for ya." she added, her eyes lighting up. After finishing the counter, Mrs. Matthews took the empty plate from Summer. "You're lookin' better, sweetie. How did it turn out?" she stopped chomping on her last bite of food long enough to answer back.
"It's...it's the best meal I've ever had in my life!" Summer exclaimed, excited about something for the first time in forever.
"Can't go wrong with some soul food."
Big black eyes watched as Dallas stumbled off, probably looking for a fight or some action to rid himself of the energy he had built up. Johnny ran his hand along his damaged face, feeling the swollen bruises, the elevated lacerations. He was going through all these different moods now; the first: release, the second to come: cynicism. One small hit had formed a crack, and now millions of cracks were going to tear throughout his whole entire being. He was beginning to realize who he was, not just who he appeared to be. Letting go comes with consequences, you drop the facade you've been playing for years. Johnny wasn't going to act anymore, he couldn't pretend and hide all the time. Pretend like they were just physical scars.
He started roaming down the street, the smile turning into a grimace. He could feel the tears building up, threatening to bleed through his eyelids, but he managed to keep them down. Johnny truly believed that he was born into this world for the sole purpose of being battered. He was meant to be abused, kicked and punched, and pounded.
He would be beaten so much that one day his body would be smashed into scattered pieces of bone and membrane. His eyeballs would roll to a stop on the ground. Someone would unknowingly trample over them with a shiny loafer, its hard sole flattening them into scrambled tissue. His black pupils were the stained yolk, the rest of his orbs the egg whites. It would cook right there on the street under the intense sun. Someone would pick the scrambled mess off the black concrete, while it was still sizzling from the heat the hardened ground gave off. They would shake their little glass bottle of Heinz 57 ketchup. After taking the cap off, they would continue so properly by tapping on the cute little "57," which lay right on the circle where the neck of the bottle meets the barrel of the bottle. The technique was most certainly guaranteed to get the red contents moving; it was a little trick Mommy had taught them! Sauce would come pouring out, the eggs now drenched in the bright crimson liquid. They would pile it all up onto their fork, chewing on the rubbery red and yellow contents that tumbled inside their mouth. Hey! He was good for more than one thing after all!
Johnny saw himself as a sidewalk to be stepped on, a target to be paddled and stabbed and beaten. Over and over and over again. He did not have any say in the matter, it was a predetermined destiny, his only reason for existence. The boy was a vent for others, except the air was flowing the wrong way. The dust in the air seeping through the vent was building up on the metal strips like plaque, until it would harden one day beyond repair. No air would be able to come through anymore, resulting in an unremarkable death. He would be buried beneath the surface of the cemetery dirt where the grass refuses to grow and the headstones sit limply, tired and wearied and bored. His tiny, fist-sized, square-shaped headstone would simply be labeled "John Cade," passers-by stepping on the ground above his decaying body without any thought. He was just a nobody in life, a nobody in death.
Maybe a more glorious death would be that of suicide! He would push back the sleeves of his jean jacket and slit his wrists, the blood pouring out all over the school halls. People would run around him, screaming, crying, falling to their knees on the slick surface of the hallway, the dark red fluid crawling, reaching out towards them. It would almost touch them, but they would back away, their perfect, buckled shoes barely escaping the thick liquid that had spilled. Everyone would be so shocked, so freaked out, that they would forget to call an ambulance. Oh well! He was doomed to die anyway, right? He would just bleed away until his face and arms turned stark white, the embarrassing scar that traveled from temple to chin blending in with the shocking whiteness that had now overtaken him. All the fluid in his body would have poured out by this time, existing in his veins no more.
It was so horrible! The school kids would say to their Mommies and Daddies when they got home. Please help me, the image is now etched into my brain! Mommy and Daddy would cuddle them, poor little boy, poor little girl who had seen such a sorrowful sight. This world truly has gone mad!
Lots of attention would be bestowed upon the boy who had so meaninglessly taken his life, who had so much to look forward to but now would never live a day past sixteen. His funeral service would be gigantic, everyone from the high school there, the press circled around the crowd with cameras and microphones and recorders. You can't forget the little camera guy that would snap still-shots of the event to put up in the school hall right above the floor where the kid had slain himself. Aha! The camera guy would come to an epiphany while snapping shots of the shiny coffin, a light bulb going off above his head. Maybe I could list it on my resume for National Geographic! Johnny's tombstone, instead of being small and insignificant, would stand ten feet high from the grassy surface. It would be sponsored by the mayor, and it would say: "Here lies poor little Johnny Cade who took his own life. He is now headed straight to Hell for being so selfish. This is an example to all you young impressionable teenagers out there! Don't do it!" A sketch of a hand would lie on the headstone below the epitaph, giving a gleaming thumbs-up sign. Written underneath the drawing in a semicircle it would give the inspiring, powerful message: "Choose life!"
At his huge funeral service, people who had not even noticed him before in the school halls would now be gathered around his grave. They would emit cries full of grief and sorrow, grief for a kid they never knew anyway. In front of the camera for the 6 o' clock news, girls in pigtails with tears streaming down their cheeks would speak of the horrible tragedy that had happened to cross into their own little lives. "That poor little kid," they'd say, "I used to pass him all the time in the hall." They'd leave out the part that they would stick their noses up in the air, his small frame out of the range of their site. His books would spill onto the floor after he tore open his locker, in the same manner as the blood that had spilled out from his dying body. But the books the rich kids in the hall never noticed. Back then they never helped him pick up the contents that had poured onto the floor, help him pick up the shattered pieces that lay beneath them. It was only now they noticed, but now was too late.
The attention would shift from the few hours of splendor the dead boy had been bestowed, his jaded stardom now fading out. The fame would now carry on to the teenagers who were in the hall that day, who were now suffering from the sight they had been exposed to. The horrifying experience of seeing someone's insides pouring out, their untainted skin barely escaping the blood on the floor, would now leave a mark on them forever.
No spotlight would be focused on the real companions who had just lost a gang member, a friend. A good fucking friend! They didn't feel like crowding in front of the cameras. No one ever cuddled them when they saw the blood that had poured out of their friend numerous times before that final incident. They didn't let it out like the privileged kids could, they weren't allowed to. They had always kept it inside, for the sake of their friend, and also because of the unwritten rule that greasers are supposed to be tough. Greasers take care of themselves, greasers don't go crying to Mama, that is, if they are lucky enough to have one. Misplaced anger, now resulting in misplaced fame. Johnny was the medium these two things were filtered through.
Summer walked out of the crispness of the restaurant into the confusing stickiness that consumed Tulsa. She was directionless, with no idea how she had gotten there in the first place and no idea where she was now headed. The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn't going to walk in the direction that the roofer, Darry, had told her was dangerous. So she turned and headed the opposite way. After turning a few corners, the diner was completely out of sight. Summer knew that she should have asked the waitress for directions before she left that place. But now was too late to turn back, she wouldn't be able to find the diner anymore.
There was another reason that she didn't want to turn back. Summer was too proud to admit to her mistake and ask someone where she was. She just couldn't bring herself down to the level of humility, and although she would hate for people to see how meager she actually was, there was a second reason why she was afraid of humility. If anyone else saw just how inferior she was, it would be impossible for her to fool herself anymore. Fool herself into thinking that she was better than human emotions, better than human desires. Her identity would be lost. Thinking she was better than everyone else momentarily filled in a hole that had always existed inside of her. Or so she thought. What was she to do if she didn't have those few minutes of elation, of pure superiority? Without it she wouldn't be able to survive. She couldn't live with being just ordinary.
Johnny found his way to a different park than the one he had met Dally in earlier that day. He liked this specific park for two reasons: nobody would bother him there, because the greasers never came to this area. He needed some alone time to think, to gather his thoughts so he could make sense of it all. Then there was that second thing he liked about the park. As he trudged through the dark green grass, the site of a beige fountain with water erupting from the center of it came closer and closer into his scope of vision. Johnny went and sat on the edge of the fountain, observing the pennies, nickels, and dimes that had been tossed into the cold water. Full of wishes never to come true. The place was close to the high school, which was far away from his house. It could be a good thing, and a bad thing. A good thing because he was far away from his parents in his so-called home. Johnny let out a curt laugh. No wait, that wasn't quite right. So-called parents in a so-called home. Yeah, that was more like it. He had to watch it, though, cause every once in a while the kids from way over on the west side of town would cruise around the high school area looking for a victim. Johnny shuddered momentarily, trying to push the memory out of his head.
No. Don't push the memory away. It's a part of you. It's who you are.
That is not who I am! I am not a target, I am not a victim, I am not here for everyone to beat up on!
Just accept it. Accept your past. Stop pushing the memories away. It is only then…that you will be able to accept yourself.
I can't accept it! I hate my parents, I hate the socs, I hate my friends! I hate everyone!
I hate…
myself.
Summer was still lost when a small park came into view. Nobody appeared to be in the area. She saw a fountain spurting clear, fresh water. As her eyes drifted from the center of the fountain she noticed a black-haired figure with a black shirt. Suddenly she realized who it was.Oh shit, it's that kid again. What's wrong with this town? I keep on running into the same people. It's way too small, just like my town. Can never escape the exact people you are trying to avoid.
It continued to get later and later on in the afternoon, the evening creeping up close behind, and Summer was tired of walking around aimlessly. Not to mention that her feet were killing her. Hesitantly, and after a lot of self-convincing, she decided to walk over to him and ask where the hell she was. As she walked up to him, she noticed how slowly he was drawing in the smoke from his cancer stick. He stared straight ahead and didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular. The boy was in deep thought. Summer got closer to him, and he still didn't see that she was there. As she placed a hand on his shoulder, he seemed to turn white as a sheet as he reacted to the touch, dropping his cigarette into the fountain.
"Whoa…I'm…sorry about that," Summer apologized. Okay, yes, there was something about him that really, really scared her. He was just so….something.
This time he wasn't wearing a jean jacket, and his black shirt was grungy and polluted. The light from the sun was much stronger than the glow had been from the fluorescent light in the diner, and this time he looked even worse than he had at Dingo's, if that was possible. As her orbs glided across him she couldn't keep the look of disgust from running onto her face. Oh…God. That is so disgusting. Her mouth went dry, and she almost stepped away. But she couldn't stand being lost anymore, and, besides, she had already gotten his attention.
"Umm…" she started, trying to avoid his face.
"I know it looks bad, okay?" he stated. "Now what do you want?" Summer started to chew on her lip, trying to find the courage to humble herself. He took out another cigarette, and lit it while he waited for her to continue.
"Umm, hey, can I have a cigarette?" she finally replied. "I've been dying to have one, but my aunt won't let me smoke in the house. It's a major bummer, I always have to hide them and then I forget to take them with me when I leave the house." Johnny took out a smoke from his pack, and held it out with an exasperated sigh.
"You don't look the type who smokes," he said menacingly.
"Yeah, well," she said with biting sarcasm, "I'm full of surprises." Johnny lit up the cigarette for her impatiently, wanting to get her away from there as quickly as possible.
"Listen, I usually don't talk like this. I usually don't talk…at all really. But just take the cigarette and get out here. I'm not in a good mood. Please," he added, now getting frustrated. She took the cigarette, and sat next to him on the fountain. She peered down into the cool water and dipped her hand in it, swirling it around with her fingers while she tried to think of the least embarrassing way to tell him she was lost. "What now?" he asked.
Summer took a huge puff on the cigarette, blowing it through her nostrils rapidly.
"Well…" she began, "I'm kinda new here and stuff. Well, to this town I mean, and I…" Johnny observed her as continued to stare into the fountain.
"You're lost," he finished for her. Summer gave off a small laugh.
"Yeah I guess you could…say that." Johnny's eyes roamed her elegant clothing that perfectly traced her flawless figure, and her shiny dark hair that wasn't frizzy at all despite the weather. Her face had some moisture to it and it was a bit red from the sun but it fitted her so…perfectly, for lack of a better word. The anger started to arise in him again. How he hated this girl…
"What's it like?" Johnny abruptly questioned, and Summer looked up from the water fountain.
"What's what like?" Summer replied. "To be lost you mean?" she said, laughing nervously.
"No." he said curtly with spite in his voice, "to be so perfect." Summer stopped running her hand in the cool water, and her cigarette sat stale between her fingers.
"Just give me the directions, okay?" she ordered, anger in her voice. Johnny smiled; his plan had worked.
"You're right near the school, just follow that road right there," he started, pointing her in the right direction. "Which neighborhood are you looking for?"
"Gosh...it's right on the tip of my tongue. It's Broad-something..."
"Broadmoor. My dad used to drive the garbage truck around those neighborhoods way back when I was a little kid. If you're facing the school, go to your right until you reach 54th and 13th. Go left on 54th and keep on walking, it'll lead you straight to the neighborhood."
Summer flicked the burning cigarette into the fountain, leaving the park without even a "thank-you." She had humbled herself enough anyway. As she walked to her aunt's neighborhood his words continued to ring in her ears:
What's it like to be so perfect?
Night had fallen and Johnny decided to head to his house. He knew the socs would start cruising soon, looking for some action. But what was really worse? Heading home, and getting beaten in his room, or staying in the park and…getting beaten there? No. He liked the fountain with its chilly water, he didn't want a bad experience associated with this place. Johnny started the journey towards his neighborhood. He already hated home.
As Summer continued to walk along the straight path to her house, her legs became sticky and her skirt clung to her skin.
He led her down the street, the toothless addict escaping her scope of vision. She was drawn in by the poverty that surrounded her, it was so different compared to looking at it through a microscope via the television, or inside a big safe car, or in a magazine. How can you understand poverty, just how can you judge it, without even setting a single foot on the decayed ground, without smelling the stagnant atmosphere? There was a certain vulnerability about having slouching, cheap structures surrounding you. Everything possessed a quality of scarcity and weakness to it, and as the stench in the air filled Summer's senses she realized something…
Just like the addict who had caused their car to wreck, just the like the lowlife she was now trotting alongside, it was so coarse, so rough, so exposed. How can someone live like that, their insides pushed and pulled to the point that they were mutilated, and then their outer crust peeled for society to see? Peeled just like the cheap orange paint she saw flaking off a building under the car's yellow headlights?
As they continued on the crooked path, Summer could feels her legs getting sticky, and her skirt clung to her skin. The heat was descending even more upon them, the humidity almost like a blanket of muck that was dirtying her skin.
…This was real.
A few minutes before she made it home, the evening fell upon her. Summer quickened her pace; she definitely didn't want her aunt finding out that she hadn't come straight home. The irritation had mentioned that she would be at a get-together with some of her friends, and Summer knew that as soon as the sun started to descend the lady would be making her way home. If I don't get there before my aunt does, the crazy woman will definitely do a lock-down on me. Summer would pretty much have to say good-bye to whatever freedom she posessed before.
Her fists clenched, long nails piercing the flesh of slick, sweaty palms. It's all their fault, Summer accused as an ache started slowly in her hands and ran throughout her body. They're the ones who sent me here! They didn't want to deal with it themselves…they didn't want me…they never wanted me…
The house came into view, and Summer sighed in relief because the car was not yet in the driveway. After stepping through the unlocked door, her vision became blurry. Reaching out for the straight hallway, which would undoubtedly lead Summer to her destination, her fingers came in contact with the cheap stucco. After blindingly guiding herself through the bedroom door, Summer collapsed onto the soft bed, tiny droplets of blood leaking from her palms onto the crisp white sheets. Sleep dominated her rapidly; before any chance of resistance, before any cry of protest could be expelled.