A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers...Can't remember off the top of my head who they were. You guys rock majorly! Here's Soda's POV.
I drove to work at the DX station, like I always do, today. I was late and my boss yelled at me, as had become the usual.
As I was filling a customer's car with gas, my boss, Mr. Pike, beckoned me towards his office. "Come here, Curtis," he said gruffly.
I walked into Mr. Pike's office. It was of the cheap kind, with sparse grey carpeting and false wood paneling the walls. No certificates of any kind decorated the walls, but then again, what can you expect from anyone who works at a gas station? His desk was littered with crumpled papers and pictures of his family. Apparently his family had been happy. I say 'had' because these pictures were crumpled, and some faces were scratched out. It was as if he had blocked them out, much like what I did with what I remembered about...that day. The seat that I sat in had no back and the once rich, chocolate brown leather had a gash in it, the foam inside spilling out. This place had seen better days, along with it's owner and everyone else who worked here.
"Damn it, Curtis! This is the third time this week! Don't you want to keep your job? What happened to the Sodapop Curtis that was practically on his knees to work here 2 years ago?" yelled Mr. Pike, the assistant manager of the gas station. He was pacing about, slapping his pockets in agitation. Over the past days, I had been late to work, just driving around aimlessly, and then remembering I had to work. I had been coming in to work an hour or two late, never quite sure where I had just been.
Mr. Pike stared at me while unwrinkling an old picture of his wife on their wedding day. I looked at my shoes, forgetting that Mr. Pike had always been lenient and would probably let me off with just a warning. Embarassed, I stood silent, intently studying the grey carpet in the office.
"The carpet sure is drab, ain't it,Mr. Pike? I say you get new carpeting," I said dumbly, hoping to change the subject. I didn't want to see the demons inside me once again. Not again.
Mr. Pike stared at me and sighed, putting down his wife's picture. "For Christ's sake, Curtis, get a hold of yourself. I know there's something wrong with you," He paused for a moment, thinking I might explain my problems to him, "You know what? Just go. Take the day off. Resolve your issues, but when you come back, I want you with your same enthusiasm, you heard me? I'll cover for you, but it's just this once," said Mr. Pike, waving me out of the office, and putting his head in his hands.
I nodded silently and strolled out of the office, glad that he hadn't fired me. What had gotten into me lately? I wondered as I walked towards my car.
"Hey Soda! Where you goin'? Weren't we gonna go the Dingo later?" shouted Steve, coming out from underneath a car that he had been fixing. He was smeared with black grease, clearly having the time of his life, as he always did when he was around cars. Startled, I turned around, forgetting that I had promised Steve that we would go "hunting action" after work. Right now I wasn't that interested, but I told him I might take him up on the offer later.
As I got into my car, the barrier I had put between my memories and me broke. Dally and Johnny. Dead. I had never been extremely close to either of them, but I remembered them vividly, as if they were standing right in front of me. Johnny, with his nervous, frightful eyes, and his greasy black hair that couldn't help but fall into his eyes. Beaten by his parents and by the world,we showed him the only love he ever knew in his entire short life. Dally, with his cold eyes and pure, unadulterated hate towards the world in his heart. Why had he done it? Gotten himself killed by the fuzz, gone berserk, after Johnny died.
Johnny...Why had he gone after those kids? Why hadn't Ponyboy gotten killed too? And Dally. Why was he even carrying a heater? Could he have escaped? Did he want to die? There were a million questions running through my head about them, that I had never gotten answers to. I got out of my car, and picked up a newspaper at the deli, too busy to notice the clerk flirting with me.
"So...You new around here, boy?" she asked while leaning over the counter, grinning flirtatiously, and hiking her skirt up higher.
"Huh? Uh, no. I mean-yes. I mean-what?" I asked confusedly. I had been too busy staring at the front page in the newspaper. "HOODLUM TURNED HERO DIES" read one headline. Another read, "POLICE STANDOFF WITH CRIMINAL TURNS DEADLY"
She sighed, leaned back, and continued chewing her gum. "Are all Greaser guys like you? Dumb, I mean," she asked, but she just gave me my change, and I left without giving her a second thought.
I walked back to my truck and just stared at the paper. 'Hoodlum turned hero'? Is that what they think Johnny was? A hoodlum? No, he was just a poor boy, trying for all he was worth to belong and be accepted. Not some hood like Tim Shepard, stealing, drinking, and driving in drag races for the hell of it. No, Johnny was a good kid, he didn't deserve to be called that. I'd make sure to write a letter to the editor about that.
And 'POLICE STANDOFF WITH CRIMINAL TURNS DEADLY'? Dally deserved what he got, in the eyes of the entire world, but we who knew him, knew that he didn't deserve it. He was just a 17 year old kid. Sure, he acted like he had been hardened by the world, but there was still that wide-eyed 10 year old inside of him, that I had met so many years ago. Dally drank, smoked, stole, got into fights, and did lots of other things, but he was still just a kid. A kid that deserved a chance to live, not to get killed by the police. A kid that cared about people, especially Johnny, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.
I thought back to the first day that Dally had ever protected Johnny, when he was 13 and Johnny was 12:
"Don't you ever touch him again, you punk bitch! You heard me, bastard?" screamed Dally at Johnny's aggressor, who was now pinned to the floor beneath Dally and getting punched viciously.
Bryan, a Soc, looked up hatefully at Dally through his swollen eye. "You're just a dirty little Greaser like the rest of 'em," he said with a smirk and jerked his head towards the rest of the gang.
Bryan had been harassing Johnny for his money, and when Johnny tried to run away, Bryan punched him in the jaw. This wasn't the smartest thing on Bryan's part as Dally had been watching. As soon as Bryan hit Johnny, Dally had lunged out from behind the bushes and tackled him to the ground, pummeling Bryan with his fists.
Dally swung at Bryan again and hit him square in the nose. "I said: 'Did you hear me?" Dally said in a dangerously calm voice, "Because if you ever get near him again, I'll cut you into ribbons. Now I'll ask again: Do you understand me?"
"Go ahead, cut me. I dare you. What'll it prove? That you actually are a vile, white trash Greaser like Cade here? That you're worthless like him?" said Bryan defiantly, not caring that Dally probably would take him up on the dare.
Dally's response was immediate. He broke the pop bottle that he had been holding, and held it dangerously close to Bryan's neck. Dally raised the pop bottle, as if to cut Bryan, but then Johnny managed to squeak, "Dally don't do it! We-we'll get in trouble with Mrs. Curtis. You know how she hates it when you fight. And, she might not give you chocolate cake."
Dally glanced from Johnny to Bryan, to the rest of us standing there. Breathing heavily, he got off of Bryan and walked towards us. "Fine, but only because of Mrs. Curtis' cake," he said, still glaring at Bryan who was lying on the sidewalk.
Dally began to walk, watching Bryan like a hawk, but still walking away. Suddenly, Bryan got up. In one swift movement,Dally threw the broken bottle near Bryan's head, missing narrowly but purposely.
"You didn't really think I'd let you off that easy, did you?" Dally asked with a smirk, and sauntered towards the Curtis' house.
Those were good times. While Dally had never been "innocent", I have a feeling something in jail had done this to him. It seemed impossible to me someone could be so cold, yet so caring towards some. I always thought that Dally might have loved Johnny in more ways than one-wait, what was I saying? I couldn't deface the memory of someone who was always there, no matter how distant they were.
Breathing in slowly, I started my truck again and drove on. I knew I was ready. To "face my demons" as the old saying goes. I drove for about half hour and started down the winding dirt road to the cemetary. It was built in a remote area, away from the city, as if it was meant to be hidden, a haven for only the dead.
I opened the gates, glancing up at the sign that read Our Lady of Lourdes Cemetary. The gates creaked ominously, and I shook involuntarily. Not out of fear for the dead, but of fear of what memories might awaken inside of me.
Walking towards the back of the cemetary, I saw Johnny's gravestone. It was small, and made out of cheap cement. There were no distinguishing features, but it was where Johnny lay. Johnny, the pet. Johnny, Pony's best friend. Johnny, the one who liked it better when his parents hit him, as long as they noticed him.
Resting on the green grass around the grave, I read the inscription his mother picked out. We all knew Jocelyn Cade, and she was no angel. But I knew that deep down, even if Johnny didn't know it, she loved her son. Maybe he was looking down now and calling her a hypocrite. Oh, how wrong he was.
One time, I was playing 'Spies' with Pony, and I spied on the Cade house.I saw Johnny get beaten by his father, and his mother screaming for Mr. Cade to stop. I was way too young to understand the significance of this.All I knew was that Johnny was "acting" with his father.When he finally stopped, Johnny was just twitching on the floor, and Mrs. Cade was sobbing, but wouldn't go near Johnny. When he woke up, she wiped her tears, and acted hacked off at him, for some reason or another.
Johnny's funeral was quiet and simple. The gang were the only ones who went. The priest didn't really seem to care, as if he was saying, 'Look kid, I'm getting paid to do this. I really don't give a damn'. Somehow, the day was sunny, defying the somber mood of the funeral.
And Dally? His funeral was next week. I had no idea how anyone was going to pay for even a cheap funeral, but Tim Shepard and Buck Merril had offered to pitch in anonymously. I suppose Dally had really made some true friends in this world.
They were both gone, taken in the same night, one by a fit of madness, and the other, heroically. Looking at the sky, I saw that it was almost night. How many hours had I been there? I didn't know, but I slowly got up and walked towards my pickup.
I got in and the engine sputtered, then started. Driving towards the Dingo, I knew I had done what I was afraid of. I had come to terms with my friends' deaths, however hard it was for me to remember without choking back tears. Looking back at the cemetary, I knew I had "faced my demons" and conquered them.
The next day, I woke up in my house and saw Steve there, lying on the couch with abeer bottle in his hand, clearly with a hangover."Hey Soda, you ready to go back to work?" Steve asked with a slight slur of his words.
I took a breath and said slowly, "Yeah...I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
A/N: What did you think? I think this one is the longest chapter, and the best one in my opinion (next to the one in Johnny's POV) Suggestions for who to do next?
