Hadn't seen him in several days, didn't know why he was in my head, but he was.
Two bit. For once I'd been happy, not Cherry Valence's mousy little friend, for once I was just me.
But his little girlfriend Cathy was under my skin, as irritating as a sliver. I supposed, since she was a greaser girl, I supposed it made sense. But then why didn't it make sense to me?
It was all useless anyway. I did what I tended to do when the social circle got a bit confusing. I slept in. Covered my head with my thick down comforter as protection from the sun, and burrowed in my cocoon.
"Marcia?" My mother at the edge of my room, using a tone of disgust and pity I last heard from her when she informed me my cat had been run down in the road.
I peeked at her. There she stood, twirling a strand of pearls around one finger as she looked at me, the lines of her face stern, eyes anxious.
I retreated again under the covers. I didn't think I had the stomach to deal with her this morning. I groaned.
"Marcia, you have a…visitor,"
I noticed the slight pause before the word visitor as though she was groping for a painless word.
"Visitor?"
She cleared her throat, twisted the pearls to the breaking point.
"Yes, ah, a young man,"
And I knew, of course, the only young man capable of producing such a display of emotions on my mother's face.
"Okay,"
Dressed, I came downstairs to find Two bit in my kitchen, dusty jeans, sleeveless black tee shirt, shit kicker steel toed boots, black handled switchblade peeking from his back pocket, rolled up newspaper in his hand. His hair gleamed. My parents tried unsuccessfully to hide their shock at having such a hoodlum calling upon their daughter.
"Marcia," he said, and grinned, and seemed happier than he had all this week.
We went for a walk and I smiled at my parents' reaction. Smiled at the butterflies that bounced off each other in my stomach.
"Why are you happy?" I said, watching him bounce around, grab my hand, kiss my cheek.
"They're back," he said.
"They? Ponyboy and Johnny, they?"
"Yep,"
I blinked, honestly amazed.
"Are they, I mean, did the cops find them? Are they in jail?"
"No, they're in the hospital," he said.
"The hospital? Why? What happened?"
He certainly seemed happy but all I could think was that the cops shot them.
"Well, Ponyboy is home. Dally and Johnny are in the hospital,"
"Why? What happened?"
He handed me the paper, beaming. I took it cautiously. 'Juvenile Delinquents Turn Heroes', it said. And I stood there in the bright mid morning sun and read, the murder I knew about. Ponyboy living with his brothers because his parents died, I might have known that. And I read about the church, the fire, the kids.
"Two bit, it says Johnny is in critical condition,"
"He'll be fine," he said, and I was staggered a bit by his denial.
"He…Two bit, it says he's paralyzed with third degree burns," This did not sound fine to me.
"He'll be fine," he repeated, a giddy edge to his words, "he has to be, cause we couldn't get along without him,"
I stared at him, bit my lip. I got the impression from this article that Johnny probably was going to die.
"Besides, they're back, and everything is going to be okay now,"