The way a friendship develops is like the seasons

It begins in the spring, when everything is new

As summer comes, you start to see the person

But it is still green, slowly changing to brown

As fall sets in, the beautiful colors come

That is when you see the person as they really are

The good about them, the reasons that you are friends

Then, the leaves fall and lose their color

Everything is dark and barren

This is when you see deep inside your friend

You see the anger, the pain, and even the cruelty

There is beauty in this, because then you learn they are human

After this, you know you are true friends

Because you have withstood all the seasons and stayed strong

I had never enjoyed free-verse poetry until that Sunday afternoon, the day after talking to Justin. It just felt right. All the good friendships I could remember went that way. First, they seemed like a tuff person. As time wore on, you learned that they were tuff, but in a different way than you thought. Looking at the leaves remaining on the trees from our front step, I knew that the time in a friendship where you think the other one must be the best person alive was exactly like autumn.

Sarah and I were in the winter stage, in my mind. At least, getting there. She didn't know all my secrets yet. The secrets I couldn't bear to tell her, because I was afraid. Afraid of losing yet another person that I was close to.

I shut my notebook and shoved my deep thoughts aside. I walked inside. Soda was out cold on the couch. He still wasn't sleeping very good, despite the pain killers. He stirred when the screen door closed. I tiptoed to our room, hoping he would go back to sleep. When I returned to the living room, his eyes were open, but he wasn't really with it yet.

"Hey, Soda, how ya doing?" I walked over to the couch. He had worn himself out the day before, playing cards and laughing a lot.

"I'm okay. I sure am tired. What about you, kid? You've been awful quiet." He sounded exhausted as he talked.

I shot him a lopsided grin. "Ain't I always quiet?"

"No, not this quiet. What gives? Is it girl trouble?" Soda yawned, and his eyes slowly started to close again.

"You go back to sleep, Soda. We can talk later."

He mumbled his response and moved around a little more before conking out again. I covered him with an old army blanket from out great uncle. Even with stitches, he still looked like some Greek god that had come to earth. The stitches, in a way, added character, though gods never got hurt, so I guess it didn't really work, but it did for me. Anyway, he would get the stitches out soon. Then maybe things would return to normal.

I spent the rest of the afternoon letting worry overtake me. I hadn't seen Sarah since I showed her Johnny and Dallas's grave, and she sure had seemed upset then. Did she think I hated her? If she did, she couldn't have ever been more wrong. In fact, whatever was wrong with her only made me like her more, because it let me know she was in fact human, like me. I had had some doubts at times, wondering if she might be an angel instead of a human.

Sodapop was worrying me, too. I knew he would be fine eventually, but it just ain't tuff when Soda's down. He was always the lively, bouncing one in the house; making it his personal duty to be sure that everyone was having a good time. I was really missing Soda's craziness that afternoon. If there ever was a time in my life when I could use his antics, now would have been it. But he was hurt; crashed out on the couch with stitches and busted up ribs. I worked myself into a real frenzy, until I knew if I didn't get out of the house that instant, I would go absolutely crazy.

The clock read 5:47. I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do. Running crossed my mind, but for once I knew it wasn't going to help me. Darry would be getting home in a few minutes, so I knew if I didn't go right then, he's stop me and run through the checklist of things that I can't leave the house until I've done. I grabbed a pen and some loose paper and started writing.

Darry,

I went on a walk to clear my head. Soda should still be asleep when you read this. My homework has been done since Friday night, so don't get all riled up. I don't know when I'll be back. Please don't worry. I know, my curfew is 11:00, so I won't go past that.

-Ponyboy

I knew he would still get mad when he read the note, but I didn't care. For once, I thought to grab a sweatshirt before heading out. The November weather had been finally getting me to remember.

The sun was already sinking behind the horizon when I stepped out into the brisk air. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go, so I just picked a direction and started walking. Whenever I came to an intersection, I either chose left or right. The cars and lights didn't faze me, or even catch my glance. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I sure was hurrying to get there.

Finally, something did catch my attention, right before I walked into it. "Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong..." the church bells almost made me jump out of my skin. Looking up, I saw where I had ended up. It was Sarah's church, and according to the bell, the teen service was just getting started. On an impulse, I grasped the handle to the back door and set my foot inside.

The church was warm, and it still had its Romanesque air. The service hadn't quite started yet. There were teens standing at every door handing out song sheets. I can't decide if it was luck or misfortune that put Jon Fretz at the back door that night. The moment I walked in he recognized me and grinned broadly.

"Hey, Ponyboy," he handed me a song sheet. "I haven't seen you here since that one time with Sarah Piatt. How's it going?"

"Yeah, I haven't been back since that time. It's going alright," I lied. "What about you?"

"Man, it's going awesome. I am so pumped you came. Tonight's gonna be great." His enthusiasm was almost catching, but I refrained from leaping for joy just then. I started to walk to the back pew, but Jon grabbed my shoulder. "Hey, stay here a minute. I'm almost done handing these out, and then you can sit with me and the guys up front."

"Oh, joy," I thought to myself. "That'll be great," I said out loud, fighting sarcasm. I wasn't even sure if I was going to stay for the whole service. Sitting up front meant I had to, or it would look bad. And knowing this guy, he wouldn't let me get away with leaving right after.

I stood there for another two minutes (they seemed like two hours) feeling awkward. Finally, I followed Jon up to the very first pew, which bugged me even more. For the sake of looking tough in front of all the other guys, I just sat down and acted like it was cool. The opening song began, and the service got under way.

The first 15 minutes in, I wasn't really paying attention. Everything inside me was stewing, and I couldn't place how I felt. It was like I was too tired to be restless. I was just there. I just existed. After 15 minutes, I woke up a little and decided to discretely look around for Sarah. She wasn't anywhere in sight, but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't there. When everyone stood for the gospel reading, I found myself listening to the scripture in spite of drifting thoughts.

I was amazed at the content of the reading. It was about Jesus and Peter walking on the water, and how Peter didn't have enough faith to stay standing. A wave of understanding passed between me and the man who had lived almost a millennium ago. He was weary and frightened, and even someone as strong and powerful as Jesus calling to him didn't strengthen him for long. We all sat down, and I began to listen intently to the sermon.

"So how is everybody tonight?" the priest began, "I hope you are all good, but I have a feeling that some of you are struggling tonight. Struggling with faith, or family issues, leadership, or maybe even just school. As we look at tonight's gospel, we see that Peter also struggled with many of these things..." He went on, and I was intoxicated with his completely understandable and relevant teaching.

The part that hit me square in the face was when he talked about when Peter started sinking.

"Peter was doing fine," he said, "until he took his eyes off of Jesus. When he did that, he started to worry." He accented the word "worry", and I knew then that this was intended for me. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I felt it in my bones, and my grandfather used to say. "Worry overcame him in an instant, and just like that, his world began sinking. A lot of us struggle with worry today. There is so much out there to do and learn that we are constantly letting our gaze drift from Jesus to the wind and the rain. The storm controlled Peter's emotions when he started sinking, not his faith.

"What you need to remember, though, is that it doesn't end there. Peter began to sink, yes, but then what did he do? He called out to his Savior, 'Lord, save me.' Just like that, Jesus reached out and grabbed him. All it takes is one cry of help, and the Lord will pull you out of your worry..." His words hit me square in the heart, and if I hadn't been sitting down, I knew I would have fallen. I was shaking to control the emotions that were raging inside of me. All my memories of church in the past came back to me. Any thought I had ever had, wondering about God and faith and love, all became clear. In that instant, I knew that everything was fine. For the first time in a long time, I prayed. The relief was immediate, and I knew I had found a place that I was home.

After church, I didn't need any coaxing to go downstairs to the thing afterwards. Jon introduced me to all his buddies, but their names went in one ear and out the other for me. I saw Matt, the kid Sarah had talked to the last time I had been there, and he and I talked for a little. Sarah wasn't there that night, which really disappointed me, but I tried not to let it bother me. I asked Matt if he knew why, but apparently he wouldn't know any more than I would, so I was left without an answer. As nice as everyone was there, it seemed like none of them really knew Sarah yet.

It wasn't until everything was over that I realized I would be walking home alone in the dark. Sure, I could remember a sweatshirt, but when it came to safety, did I stop to remember? No, of course not.

I felt someone come up to me as I stared at the doors, willing them to become my front one. "Hey, Ponyboy, what did you think of tonight?" Jon's voice made me jump, and I swiveled around to face him. He was taken aback by my jolt of surprise. "Whoa, chill out, kid, I ain't gonna do anything."

"I know. I'm sorry. Tonight was good." I kept it short and simple. Jon seemed tuff enough, but I still would never tell him about what I had felt that night.

"Yeah, Father Russ sure can give a good homily. That guy's awesome. I really wish you would come back more often. He's fun to get to know."

"I'll have to see," was all I replied. I wasn't sure if I would go back, despite my feeling of finally being home. "I'd better get going. School tomorrow," I headed towards the door.

"Pony," Jon called to my back. I turned.

"Yeah?"

"You got a ride home?"

"Nope, I'm walking." I turned back around and started to walk again.

"Well, will you wait a minute?" I sensed some impatience in his voice.

"What?"

"If you want to give me ten or so minutes to help tear down, I'll give you a lift." The offer was genuine, but I knew I was clear out of his way.

"I'll make it," I said confidently. "'Sides, I'm in the complete opposite direction. You've got to get home for school too, I reckon."

He set the broom he had picked up aside and got close enough to whisper. "Look, kid, I know you're a sophomore greaser. Some soc's can be cocky, but we ain't stupid. Do you think I wouldn't have offered if I knew you were a grease?" He paused and let me think. "I'm not like most soc's, Ponyboy. I do know what goes on, though. Some of my friends even have been known to beat up greasers. If I let you walk out those doors, there's a fifty percent chance of you getting followed and jumped. I want to give you a ride, so why don't you just make it easy for the both of us and say yes already?"

I didn't reply at first, partly because of shock, and partly because I had some hardness for a guy who didn't know what it was like to be a greaser. Sure, he was down to earth, but he still drove a pretty little mustang that he probably didn't have to spend a dime of his own money on.

As I stood there digesting all this, Jon calmly grabbed the broom and began sweeping.

"Thanks." It was all I said, but it was enough. He just nodded without a word, and I started stacking chairs.