Thumbing through the bundle of envelopes turns out to be no different than it was yesterday. Bill, bill, bill... Man, you'd think it wouldn't kill someone to write a letter every so often. Not like there's anyone to expect letters from, but it gets real tiring gettin' nothing but reminders that we're in the hole and probably will be for a long while. Electricity, water, heating, they're all here, all right on time. I don't need to open them to know which one's which, I've memorized the company logos. Not on purpose or anything, it's just something I've picked up after seeing them a million times before.
Inside, Two-Bit's taking up space on the couch, soaking in his daily dose of Mickey Mouse. The guy loves that mouse more than Minnie does, it's borderline sad. The kitchen's empty for once, surprisingly, and I pull up a chair to take a crack at the bills.
Electricity's sky high this month, and it ain't too hard to figure out why. Ponyboy's been up late reading with that damn lamp of his, burning a hole in my pocket. Water bill's up too; gotta start gettin' on Soda's case when he wastes all that hot water doin' the dishes. I bet any other guy I graduated with hasn't paid a single bill yet, and here I am tryin' to cut corners and getting grumpy about a little extra water.
Hold on, this one's new. Pony's probably expecting another new edition of his comic book series, and Soda's hoping for word from Sandy like he has every week since she left three years ago. This ain't a comic book, though, and anything from Sandy would be hand-written. It's thicker than a bill, more official looking. I recognize the return address, but can't place it. Where've I seen it before?
It's addressed to Ponyboy... Who'd be writing to him? It ain't child services, they like to show up in person, not in paper. Besides, he's turnin' 18 soon, so they won't be checkin' up on us for much longer, anyway.
Wait a sec...
Now I remember where I've seen that seal.
The fact the letter's not for me doesn't stop me from tearing it open. I've already read the first line before the envelope hits the floor.
Dear Mr. Ponyboy Curtis,
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that your application for admission has been approved, and we welcome you to join Tulsa University's freshman class of...
"Darry?"
Speak of the devil. Ponyboy's suddenly standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The screen door crashes shut, and pretty soon Johnny ambles in. The two of them are looking at me like it's my turn to say something. How about 'when the hell did you apply to college?' or 'when were you planning on telling me?' Both're sounding pretty good right about now, for starters.
"Yeah?" Not my first choice of words, but I'm used to dealing with things that aren't my first choice.
"Anything for me?" He nods at the stack of mail near my elbow. Johnny's digging through the emptier-than-usual fridge. Next paycheck's gonna be spent on food, I can already tell. The grocery list runs through my head: milk, eggs, cake mix...
Then I remember I'm still holdin' onto his letter. "No." No?
"You sure?" He looks disappointed, but so does Johnny. Turns out the fridge really is empty after all.
"Yeah, I'm sure. It's just the bills, Pony, glory. Unless you're interested in paying some of them, you can let me handle it."
He half frowns, half glares at me. "C'mon, Johnny. Let's go play football or somethin'."
They're gone as fast as they came, and the screen door bangs shut again, leaving me to do what I do best.
I remember applying to college, after my folks died, just to add insult to injury. I wanted to know for myself. I did it like I was plannin' on followin' through with it, like I was gonna room blind and join the football team. I listed off extra curriculars like there was no tomorrow. I sent in letters of recommendation and transcripts, personal statements and test scores. Heck, I would've given them a pint of blood if they'd asked for it. Every school I applied to wrote back to tell me they looked forward to seeing me on campus, every last one of them. A few even offered me scholarships. The pathetic thing about it, as if me applying wasn't the worst part, was I kept all of those acceptance letters. It's like an old wino keeping a bottle of booze in the back of the kitchen cupboard. It's been tempting, let me tell you. Sometimes after a hard day I dig those letters out and just sit there thinkin' about what I'd be doing now if I'd gone. I'd've graduated by now, majorin' in who knows what, maybe engineering. I like to think I'd still get in if I applied again. I've heard of people doing it; a girl I used to know waited tables at the diner downtown for a few years, saved up, and was out of this shit hole before I picked up my second job. Soda said she'd wanted to be a nurse, that she'd gotten into a university somewhere outside Tulsa. Believe me, if Soda hadn't dropped outta school to help pay the bills, if Ponyboy wasn't a top-notch student, if they weren't worth it in the least, those two would've woken up one morning wonderin' where their older brother'd gone.
Looks like Ponyboy applied early, like I did. It's barely August 1st; he hasn't seen the first day of his senior year yet and he's already hearing back from colleges. All that griping I put him through when I started makin' the decisions around here must've taught him one or two things after all. I applied to TU, too, and got their acceptance letter a week after I sent in my application. They offered me a full ride like the one Pony's looking at. Mine was for football, his is for track. I want to laugh out loud when it occurs to me to get on him more about smoking so much.
God damn. He got in, he'll want to go, and it won't cost me a thing to send him. Soda can finally move out and get a place of his own like I know he's wanted to do since before Sandy left. Johnny'll probably stop comin' around and latch onto Dally for good. Steve'll sleep easier knowin' it'll just be him'n Soda from now on. It's gonna be the domino effect for us, and it all starts when Pony packs up and takes off.
The kid with no common sense, who stays out late and makes me wait up for him, grinding my teeth and makin' new wrinkles in my forehead, is going to college. Not just any college, either. Tulsa University was my first choice; they have the strongest engineering department of any other school in the state. Pony's never worked a day in his life, he just does his homework and runs in his track meets. Still, he deserves what that waitress got: a chance to get the hell out've here and do something with his life, be someone. What's he got going for him here? A job roofin' houses next to me? Not if I've got a say in it.
This sure ain't the first time in my life I wish he'd been born first instead of me, though.
"Hey Superman, I'm starving!" I didn't even see him come in, but Two-Bit's rummaging through the fridge, coming up empty handed like Johnny did. "Let's get a pizza or somethin', whadda you say?"
"You got any money?" He's got street smarts, but no sense of responsibility. I feel like his mother half of the time. I don't know how she does it.
Two-Bit's searching the cupboards, findin' nothing but plates and glasses. "Aw, geez, can't you just fork some over this time? You gotta be hungry, too. Don't be such a hard ass."
"Yeah, callin' me names'll definitely get you pizza." He's right, though, I'm just as hungry as he is. I grab the envelope I dropped earlier, stuff the letter inside, and shove the whole deal into my back pocket. No use thinking about it on an empty stomach. "Here, get two. And I want change, Matthews!" As if an empty wallet will do me any more good.
He grins and snatches the five right out of my hand. "You got it, big guy."
Playin' football like this, in our front yard with the guys, it's become somethin' of a routine. Saturday's're the only days I take off; I work during the week and get paid double for workin' Sundays, and I'll take extra cash where I can get it. It's late in the afternoon, and the 7 of us are bored enough to get a game going.
Steve's got the ball, one arm slung over Soda's shoulder. "Superman's with me'n Soda!"
It don't take much to get Dallas riled up, especially when it comes to competition. "Fuck you, Randal! You scared of playin' fair or somethin'?"
"You're just pissed you didn't call teams first!" Steve tosses the ball in the air. "Besides, you get the twerps!"
"Shut it, both of you, and let's play already!" Two-Bit shoves Dallas towards their side of the grass, away from Randal. Ponyboy and Johnny both give Steve a glowering look before following suit.
I miss playing on a real team, with jerseys and a coach, but any one of the guys playin' in this game could take on some of the guys I played with in high school, no problem. We've done this so many times before that we've got plays and positions all worked out.
"Out of bounds! That was out of bounds!" Steve's waving his arms around like a lunatic, and Two-Bit stops in the middle of his victory dance.
"What're you, blind!" Dally hates losing, especially to Steve. This could take awhile...
The mail's here again.
Leaving Randal, Dallas and Two-Bit to figure out what happened on their own, I head towards the mailbox while the truck drives off. Down goes the red flag, and I pop open the latch to pull out the bundle of envelopes. Nothing unusual this time; it's all newsletters, advertisements and bank statements. I scan the names on each one: Mr. Darrel Curtis, Mr. Darrel Curtis, Mr. Darrel Curtis. Part of me thought, even if it was for just a second...
"I don't know why I put up with jackasses like you!"
"You don't have to play! No one's makin' you!"
I pull Pony's letter from Tulsa University out of my back pocket and run my thumb over the creases I've made in it over the last two days. I've taken it out and fiddled with it dozens of times, read it over and over, come close to handin' it over at least twice. TU's seal looks up at me, the same symbol they were using when I applied almost 6 years ago.
Back in the game, Dally's got Steve pinned and Soda's making a dash for the imaginary end zone with Two-Bit and Johnny hot on his tail. Ponyboy's hanging back, waiting to see if Soda's gonna make it or not. Turns out he's been waiting for a lot of things, and I don't give him hardly enough credit for it.
I start back towards the yard where Soda's just scored a touchdown, thinkin' we're pretty lucky to have what we've got goin' for us. Thinkin' I gotta get on him to start savin' up, make him get a job so he won't starve the first week he's up there. Thinkin' of all the shit we're gonna have to buy for his dorm, the text books, the clothes, and all the extra hours I'm gonna have to put in to pay for it. Thinkin' about the gas I'm gonna use drivin' him back and forth so he'll be around for the holidays. Thinkin' about goin' to his track meets with Pepsi-Cola, thinkin' about lookin' forward to occasional letters from him to break the monotony of the bills...
I'm real proud of him.
"Hey, Ponyboy, there's one here for you."