Chapter 12: Letting Go

On Wednesday morning, Darry had been asleep for three days. Clinton hadn't returned to Missouri on Sunday night and Ponyboy's bedside vigil had turned into all of them taking turns in a quiet waiting. The hospice nurses had delicately come and gone and all of Darry's family tiptoed in and out. Soda dozed next to him, one hand lightly resting on Darry's chest, so if his brother stopped breathing, Soda would know.

Laura leaned over to whisper to her father.

"Daddy. I don't think I can be here. I don't want to see … when …" Her voice trailed off.

Soda sat up and hugged her tightly. "It's all right, sweetheart," he said. "You do what you need to do."

"Don't ever do this to me, Daddy," Laura said tearfully.

"I won't, for a long time," Soda said. "Not if I can help it."

She walked around the bed and stood next to her uncle for a long time, then leaned over and whispered something in his ear, something about "promise" and "right after." Then she kissed his cheek and said clearly, "I love you, Uncle Darry. Keep an eye on me."

Michelle and Pony were standing at the foot of the bed. She pulled out of his embrace and said, "I'm going to go too. I'll keep the little ones occupied."

"Don't leave," Pony said, his voice trembling.

"You're not alone, baby." Michelle kissed him, then went to kiss Darry. "Thank you for raising me such a fine husband, Darry," she said. "I'll miss you."

Clint was next. "Shelly's right. This is for y'all." He stood by his brother-in-law as if he didn't know what to do, then said quietly, "Yeah, what Shelly said." He ran his hand over Darry's hair and left so quickly that no one except Cinnamon, coming back into the bedroom, saw he was crying.

Once there had been six. Then there were four, the four who had been together through the most horrible and wonderful times. They'd buried their parents and two dear friends and lived through poverty and fear and street fights. But they had also lived through four graduations, two from high school, two from college, the birth of four children and too many pillow fights and tickle fests and sunsets and star watchings to count. Michelle had been right – the love and loyalty the four of them shared defied description and made them strong. Strong enough, even, to be three instead.

"How long do you think?" Soda said.

Cinnamon laid her fingers on Darry's wrist, taking his pulse. It was weak and slow. "Not so long, I don't think. It's hard to say. Sometimes they wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For someone to come, for someone to go," Cinnamon said. "Sometimes, for someone to tell them it's okay." She looked at her oldest brother. He was her sibling and her father and her dear friend, all together, and even though she wasn't sure she could bear the pain, she bent to his face.

"Darry? If you see Mom and Dad, you should go to them." She stroked his hair, her lips at his cheek. "Won't that be nice, seeing Mom and Dad? We're okay, Darry. We are. You done real good. Mom and Dad'll be so proud. We're all here, me and Soda and Ponyboy. We love you. You can go now. It's okay."

Ponyboy couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe. But Soda slid closer to Darry on the bed, lacing his fingers through his brother's. "Do you think he's in pain?"

"No. He's got a lot of morphine in him, Soda. And your body shuts down. He's all right."

"Can he hear us?"

"I believe he can," Cinnamon answered, in the same way someone might resolutely declare their belief in God."

Soda leaned over Darry. "Darry, man, I'm going to miss you." Tears were dripping off his nose onto Darry's chest but his voice was surprisingly steady. "I don't want you to go. But if you have to go, it's okay. We'll be okay, I promise. Say … say hey to Johnny for us."

Without looking, Cinnamon stretched her hand out. And without a word, Pony took it.

Sometimes you don't get to pick your debt. Sometimes, you just pay it when it comes due.

Pony walked around his sister and after a long, sniffling silence, kissed Darry's cheek tenderly. "You asked me to forgive you," he whispered hoarsely. "There's nothing to forgive. We're square. We'll stay right here. I love you, Darry. I really, really do. Thank you for taking such good care of us. You go on, now."

And twelve minutes later, his brothers and sister holding his hands and stroking his hair, Darry went.

From the Tulsa World Daily Newspaper, Oct. 20, 2005

TULSA – Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr., 41, of 3580 B Street, died Wednesday at home after a brief illness. He was the beloved brother of Sodapop P. Curtis of Tulsa, Cinnamon M. Rockwell of Kansas City, Mo. and Ponyboy M. Curtis of Salt Lake City, Utah. He is also survived by two nieces, Laura M. Curtis of Tulsa and Sarah M. Rockwell of Kansas City and two nephews, John D. Rockwell of Kansas City and Daniel B. Curtis of Salt Lake City. He was the son of the late Darrel S. Curtis Sr. and Mary (Dana) Curtis, who both died in 1985. Mr. Curtis was a 1982 graduate of Tulsa South High School, where he was the captain of the state-championship football team. He was a former employee of Depther Roofing and lived in Tulsa his whole life.

A graveside service will held on Friday, Oct. 21 at 10 a.m. at Green Acres Memorial Gardens. Visiting hours will be held on Thursday, Oct. 20, from 6 to 9 p.m. at Fitzgerald Funeral Services, 1402 Boulder Ave., Tulsa. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society or the Darrel S. Curtis Jr. Memorial Scholarship Fund in care of Tulsa South High School.