Hey! Is it an Outsiders fan fic if none of the canon characters show up? Probably not! But, I can't seem to get away from writing the lives of their children. This story is narrated by Darry and Cathy's youngest child, Tommy. This chapter deals with two topics: homophobia: religious, societal and internalized and Tommy's specific religious experience and beliefs and the way they play off each other. Every person's own story of coming out, whether to themselves or to family and friends and society, is unique and I honor and deeply respect that. So too is faith. This story takes place in 2000 and while that is 'modern' in the parlance of Outsiders fan-fic, unfortunately 20 years ago the country was is a completely different place when it came to equality. Obviously Tommy's POV about 'sin' and his sexuality is not my own. Nor should it be read as a wholesale black & white view on religion in any way shape or form, (if Tommy belonged to a different congregation he might have a different and more positive view of his sexuality.) This is simply Tommy's experience and feelings. I have aimed to treat this story, Tommy Curtis' story in all of it's facets with the upmost respect and I sincerely hope from the bottom of my heart you enjoy.
Some slurs
Spring 2000
I want nothing more than to sink my head into the pillow and pull the covers up past my ears and sleep off last night's 6-3 baseball game against Central and celebratory pizza party at Hideaways that lasted until 1:00 A.M.
But against my better judgment I'm at one of Zack Vandervelde's parties, swatting away the marijuana smoke that wafts through the smothering air. There are so many people crammed in like sardines, the room has turned into a hotbox.
"Hey Curtis, you want a hit?" A kid with thin arms reaches out and offers me a joint.
"No thanks Dawg, coach would kill me."
I can barely make out his face, but I see his shoulders shrug as he sinks back into the couch, blowing smoke rings into the air.
He's been quiet all night, just taking in the scene. But he's relaxed. Me, I don't have time to relax. My body is tensed and it's not because of the game. I can still hear my Dad's deep voice as I stepped on the pitcher's mound. He woke up today with a hoarse voice, but still bragging to Mom about my knuckle curve that struck out Central's star player. She knows. She was there. Even though I try to tell them that they don't need watch my games, and quite frankly its sorta embarrassing having them there, they have barely missed a single game since T-Ball.
Between baseball, church, school, piano and a million other things that take up every waking hour of my day, I'm constantly in motion.
My tongue moves across my lips.
I don't know if it's guilt or desire but I can feel phantom smoke thick and heavy like plaque buildup on the tip of my tongue. I don't know why I'm here. This isn't my scene. First of all, we're all cramped into the basement, it's too nice outside to be suffocating like this. I take in some Sprite and watch as a guy with messy hair and a girl with mismatched button blouse emerge from the laundry room, giggling. That's the second reason. I shouldn't be here.
I'm not too worried about what Coach Johnson would say, but what Pastor Ryan will. Pastor Ryan is a real good guy, I respect him, and not just cause he's a man of God, but because he's chill and decent. We've been talking a lot about temptation at youth group and I'm not gonna pretend I've never given into temptation, smoked, drank a bit, but I'm really trying to live a better life.
Far worse, I'm letting down God.
Here in the 11 x 17 square feet basement there might as well be a bright neon DANGER sign sprawled across the door.
I can't talk to anyone about my struggles. At youth group I'm one of the leaders. Pastor Ryan puts a lot of trust in me. I can't let people know how much I want to sin. How much I sin. I can't let them down. At home, despite going to church fairly regularly as a kid, no one in my family is particularly religious. For my parents going to church is something you do, an obligation. But not me. For me, it's my life. It's not something I do, it's who I am. Even more than baseball, I love God more than anything. I can't separate myself from my faith any more than I can my body.
Green Day blasts across the room. Over the shouts and shrieks it's hard to make out the lyrics, but I know it's Time of Your Life. The lyrics mock my mood, "It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life."
That's third reason I don't want to be here. The music sucks. Give me Wu-Tang any day.
I know how to break dance and I'm decent enough, for a white guy from Oklahoma. I listen to Christian rock too, but deep down I prefer hardcore rap music. Maybe it's the beat, maybe it's the coolness. Maybe it's finding a connection with these guys I got nothing in common with. Probably it's the anger.
"Good game Curtis," Rick comes up to me and we bump fists. I give him a full beamed grin. Central is our main rival and I've probably shaken more hands, bumped more fists and received more free offerings of pot and beer in the past hour than any time in my life.
When I'm alone in my room, beaning Sammy Sosa with one of Karen's old tennis balls I put my headphones on and listen at full blast. Then every night before bed I open up my Bible with the cloth cover that reads: Got Jesus?, take out my highlighter and start to read; the beat still pounding in my head.
I hear a happy shriek and look up to see Daphne raise her fist in cheerful defiance. At least someone is having the time of their life. Even without her cry or her fist raised in the air, I would know it's Daffy by the crowd of people pulling closer and closer to her as if she is a neodymium magnet.
I've been trying to get Daphne to join me in Bible study, mostly cause I care about her and I worry about her, but also because she could do so much good if she used her popularity and personality for a greater purpose than herself.
High school is defined by cliques, but Daffy is a rare girl who transverses different groups, belonging to all and none at the same time and yet who despite, or because of her refusal to play by the rules manages to be desired by just about everyone.
She gets invited to a party almost every week, when she's not trying to throw one behind her folks' backs.
While everyone's attention is on my cousin, a girl walks past my line of vision and gives me a grin. I match her grin tooth for tooth. They don't call me Cute Tommy Curtis for nothing. This is wrong for all sorts of reasons, not least of all because I should be a freshman in college and she's no older than 17. I repeated Kindergarten due to 'maturity' issues.
I lick my lips. Despite the Sprite my throat is dry and parched.
I'm feeling restless and that's dangerous cause it means that I'm about to do something I'm going to regret the next morning. I imagine a parent busting through the basement door like Rambo and putting an end to the party. Part of me is hoping so.
I'm five seconds away from bumming a joint from the kid when I see a guy who looks like his exact double yank him up. As they walk up the stars, the second guy is slamming into people, laughing and shouting. Then a third guy with a Thomas the Tank Engine bed sheet wrapped around him like a toga rushes into them. An exact triplicate.
I rub my eyes and shake my head like they in cartoons, "are they triplets?" I ask Toby, our first baseman who is half the reason, Daphne being the other, I'm at this party.
Tobes snorts, "shoot for a guy who doesn't smoke you sure know how to get a contact high. That's the Donaldson triplets."
I know the Donaldson triplets: Micah, Jordan and Benjamin. I've seen them plenty of times in the hallway, especially Jordan; he's always hanging out with Daphne. But under the dim lights and smoke filled fuzzed up air, they are almost unrecognizable.
I'm glad Toby is with me, we're in the same study group at Church and I like to think that we keep each other accountable, but more than that, man, Toby is a blast. We go cosmic bowling and paintballing almost every weekend and no one makes being shot by a bunch of paint filled pellets more fun than Tobes.
He's the fourth reason I shouldn't be at this party. Even in the faded darkness with everyone's features blurry shadows I can still make out the contours of his face, his sharp chin, the crinkle under his eyes when he grins. His lips. I know it's wrong. But I want to kiss them. Kiss him.
My stomach churns hard against the weight of those thoughts. The sin.
I look down at my yellow WWJD bracelet, rub my index finger against the letters, remember James 1:13 and pray for the feeling to vanish like waters.
It's strange; when you think of doing a big sin it makes it so much easier to do a little sin. Tobes is smoking a joint. I don't have time or desire to question him even though I'm supposed be looking out for him and him me.
"Yo Tobes, hand it over." The wind is knocked out of my voice and I can feel the adrenaline surge through me til even my extremities are tingled with a rushed pulse.
Without a moment hesitation he hands me his joint. There's no crutch on it.
I inhale, I haven't smoked in months but it's like riding a bike, once you learn it's second nature.
It presses between my lips, soft and slightly wet. I hold it as long as I can. Like a kiss.
And I think of Song of Solomon 1:2.
I dig my fingers through the hole in the couch feeling cotton between my thumbs and forefinger. Then I remember that I'm not home and this is someone else's couch I'm defiling.
Daphne is sure having a lot of fun. That's because Daphne is fun. Maybe too much fun. No matter how sour your mood, you can't help but feel better being around her. She's out in the middle of the dance floor, her laughter and Coolio's 'Fantastic Voyage' the only noise I can make out.
She makes eye contact with me and grins "for you" she mouths. Zack's not really into rap, but Daffy knows I am and when Daffy wants something, 9 times out of 10, she gets it. I know Zack has a crush of Daf, but again, so to do half the guys in our Senior class.
I give her a thumbs up sign, she gives one back to me, a bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade in her hand.
She bumps into a girl with long red hair I don't recognize, almost sending her down to the floor and the other girl says something to Daf. I don't make out the other girl's words but from her body language I can tell it's hostile. But I hear Daphne, "watch where you're goin' BEYOTCH!" then she bursts into laughter and shouts, "just kidding, I love you!"
I can't believe she tried to get Hazer to join us. I know Daphne meant well, she wanted to get Hazer's mind off everything but for a girl who makes the Honor Roll on a regular basis, she never uses her head. I love her of course, but she's kind of a flake.
I cringe, think about asking her how much she drank tonight or the more important question, how much she plans on drinking; but the pull of the music is too much and I'm in no mood to scold her. What is the weight of underage drinking compared to what I think every time I glance up at Toby walking casually towards the chip and dip table?
I keep an eye on Daphne, partly to keep an eye on her, partly so I don't have to look at Toby. Then like that, I lose her in the crowd.
With good music pumping through the speakers, I feel a surge of energy forcing me up from the deep grooved in couch.
I get up, gently push a small side table out of the way, careful not to dent it, and start to breakdance. Before I know it, sweat is dripping down my neck, my hand almost slips on a pair of thongs that is poking from underneath the couch (Hypocrite thy name is Thomas) and a crowd forms around me, 'go Tommy, go Tommy…"
It's a different crowd than I'm used to, a bit rawer, but I'm able to win them over.
I'm a popular guy. I know that's conceited to say, I need to work on being humbler, but it's true. But I'd give up everything, even baseball the reason I'm so popular in the first place, to stop these feelings.
Over the spinning feet and thumped beat I hear Zack, "Curtis, glad you could finally make it!"
About a quarter of the party has already left, including Toby. I told Toby that I'm staying because I want to make sure Daphne gets home okay, which is true, but It's also because I don't have my car and I don't want to ride home with him, alone. It's not that I'm afraid I'm gonna do or say something that I shouldn't. Judging from the fact that I was on Homecoming Court and will take Lyndsay Borden to Prom, no one suspects anything. With Lyndsay I can at least give her a small kiss and hold her hand, nothing more though since we both agreed not to have sex until we're married. My faith is my shield in more ways than one.
But with Toby, the one person that I want to kiss hard on the lips until I feel a trickle of blood run down my chin, I can't even stare at him too long without falling apart. The thing is, even if what I felt wasn't a sin, even if it didn't fly in the face of everything I was taught in church, everything I believe, I don't know if Toby feels the same way about me. That's the worst. I'm sinning for nobody.
I join in a silly string war, but quit when we run out of silly string and someone whips out a can of Easy Cheese.
Daphne stumbles towards me, her arm around a girl with black hair, brown eyes and olive skin. She's cute. Her shy smiles contrasts with Daphne's blinding florescent grin, accentuated by her neon green lipstick, but there is something real genuine about her.
"Tommy! This is my friend Corie, she's an awesome pianist."
I'm twelve again cause just hearing the word 'pianist' makes me giggle.
Corie shrugs, "I'm not that good, I haven't played in years."
Daphne just wraps her arms around her, "don't sell yourself short, you're awesome babes. She's like Yo-Ma Yo, Tommy." She pulls Corie towards her and gives her a light kiss on the cheek. Corie smiles and gives my cousin a squeeze.
It's interesting how certain types of kisses between friends of the same gender is allowed, and others…not. Not that it should of course. Greet all brothers with a holy kiss. Stop it Tommy.
Corie and I share a small, knowing grin.
"What's so funny?" Daphne asks eagerly if a bit desperate to get in on the fun.
"Yo-Yo Ma is cello player Daffy," Corie says with a warm laugh, "I'm nowhere even close to that level."
Realizing my manners, I rub the silly string residue on my jeans and shake hands with Corie. She seems a lot quieter and well, more put together and shier than my cousin. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Daphne is friends with her. She is one of those girls who is friends or at least friendly with the entire school.
Conversations are buzzing around us. "Stop that you homo," a guy laughs. I feel myself inadvertently glancing up and then flinching before taking my cool, got it together posture I wear like a catcher's mask. I've jokingly call my friends gay and homo, it's just something we guys do, it's how we insult each other. But every time I hear those words slurred my stomach drops.
"Tommy is an incredible piano player too," Daphne and her hot pink false eye lashes give me a wink and a dull realization hits me. She's trying to play matchmaker. I groan internally. I imagine all Daffy told poor Corie, probably already promised my hand in marriage. Daffy doesn't like Lyndsay.
"She's so not your type Tommy. Let me fix you up with someone." She has no earthy clue.
There's a pause where I should say something and in that space Corie deflates a little. I know she probably thinks I'm one of those hot shot jocks who can't bother dating anyone other than cheerleaders and Corie is definitely not the cheerleader type. She'll never know that my place perched at the top of the high school food chain is held up the weakest of links.
Daphne heaves an angry sigh and glares at me as if it's my fault I'm not falling for her friend. But I think of Toby and she's got a point. It is my fault. Corie, Lyndsay, all those pep club girls who make posters with my face and jersey number and plaster them around school, as much as I want more than anything to feel something towards them, towards any girl, I don't.
And every time I imagine Lyndsay, imagine her sweet face getting closer and closer to me for a closed mouth kiss, in my dreams her face morphs into Tobes and I wake up in a sweaty panic.
"What's your favorite song?" I break through the silence held together by Daffy's Artic eyes in my direction and protective arm around her friend.
"Huh?" Corie lifts her head up and I'm glad that she doesn't look upset anymore.
"On the piano, to play. I like Chopin No 3 A Flat Major."
"That's a really difficult piece," she sounds impressed. "Fur Elise," she says quietly.
"Hey, Curtis?" I look up and Vandervelde is leaning over me, a Solo cup swishing in his hand. "Just thought you oughta know, your cousin is fuckin' wasted." He casually points his thumb to the bathroom and through the half open door I can see Daphne leaning over the toilet, Corie holding her hair back.
My stomach drops. Daphne is no wallflower, and she parties and drinks on occasion, but not like this. She seemed fine not that long ago. I should have watched out for her.
"I'm sorry," Corie says as she rubs the back of Daphne's neck, "I should of kept better eye on her."
I shake my head, "not your fault," my eyes sharp as I look at Daphne's bobbing head.
"Hey Daf," I say sternly, knocking against the toilet lid. People are looking at us, my face burns with embarrassment. I don't understand why she has to be so difficult sometimes. When we were kids I was the one always getting in trouble for playing practical jokes on people, but now it's Daf who acts childish.
Daphne looks up at me and then back at Corie, her eyes slightly glazed, "Corie-Glory, I wantchya to meet my cousin, Cunt, I mean Cute Tommy Curtis." She belches.
Zack is right, not that I couldn't see it for myself. Daphne is wasted. Every time Corie and I try to help her up, she falls over.
Half the kids at the party think it's hysterical, "way to party hard Daphne!" someone cries out. Daphne laughs and tries to give them a thumbs-up sign before her head slams against the toilet rim.
Corie screams, "come on Tommy, we need get her home."
We try to lift her up, but her joints are like Jell-O then like sandbags as she sinks back to the floor.
"What's up with Gumby?"
I look up. Hazer.
I don't have time for this. I can barely manage Daffy right now; I don't have time for a fifteen year old child.
"What are you doing here?" It comes across a bit, but not much harsher than I intend.
"Last time I checked it's a free country, Tom. Could ask you the same. Here to convert the dirty heathens?" She asks with a mischievous grin.
There's several folded up pieces of paper in her hand.
"Your Dad is gonna kill you." I say through a clench jaw. The moment I say those words I realize the open wound I'm pouring salt into.
My cousin snorts, "Oh, SODA? He ain't got right to tell me a damn thing." Her teeth clamp together on the last word as she takes a step towards me, her arms crossed, almost daring me to contradict her.
Hazer's a little girl, she can't be taller than 5'2 and weighs no more than 100 lbs but she's intimidating in her own way.
Daphne moans, low and pitiful like a wrong held note.
"So this is how the Tulsa elite party, I'll be sure to record this magic moment of discovery in my Hello Kitty Diary," Hazer says dryly.
I'm about to tell her to shut up, when Daf lets out a wheeze and projectile vomits onto the back tiles behind the toilet. Her eyes close for a few seconds before opening again. This is getting out of control.
Hazer's eyes widen and just when I'm expecting a smart comment out of her mouth, I notice that her chest and stomach moves in and out with suddenly rapid breath.
"Make sure nothing's blocking her air passage so she don't asphyxiate. Lean her on her side." She orders Corie. Her voice is so authoritative I do a double take, wondering how a kid knows so much, but glad, almost, to have her here to take over.
She rushes past me so fast that even though I'm practically a full foot taller, she almost knocks me into the wall.
Hazer drops the papers on the floor, in thick marker it reads: "Hazer: Drummer /Call for Info & Auditions" underneath her phone number and a picture of a cat in full attack mode with a thought bubble that reads 'Feed the Beast!' It fits her.
Corie and Hazer hold Daphne in position. Once I'm sure that she's not going to vomit again, I grab a handful of paper towels and clean off the tiles. This is worse than cleaning the latrines on last year's mission trip to Belize.
"You should make Pukey Brewster clean it up, it's her mess." Hazer declares smoothing over a piece of duct tape on her shoes.
Daphne's rambling about how her underwear is on inside out. She tries to pull her pants down with one shaky hand and reach for her underwear, "check for me, is this on right?" I avert my eyes not really needing to see my cousin's butt crack jiggling in my face.
I feel bad for Corie, but she doesn't bat an eye.
"I didn't even think you wore panties, Toots." Hazer snorts. I should tell Hazer to knock it off, but I feel a small guilty grin on my lips.
"Toot Toot" Daphne pulls her arm in a downward motion and smiles at Corie. Hazer rolls her eyes.
Daphne then finds Hazer and gives her the stink eye and in a voice surprisingly sober and with a hand surprisingly steady shoots our cousin the bird. "Asshole."
Hazer looks taken aback for a second, but doesn't say anything.
Corie hides her own smile behind her raised hand. A piece of Daf's hair falls into the vomit soaked toilet bowl.
My head hurts.
"We need to get her home," Hazer states the obvious.
I know, I know. But I don't know. I don't have my car. Daphne was smart enough not to drive herself to the party. Not that I would let her drive home drunk.
An uneasy feeling beyond my growing headache settles in my brain. Daphne doesn't really think ahead. She also loves her cherry red Mazda Convertible more than anything and loves showing it off. If she didn't drive herself it meant she came here for the purpose of getting sloshed.
Uncle Pony's gonna blow up if he sees Daphne drunk like this and my Dad's gonna flip out if he knew I was at this party. Going to chew me out and talk about how one false move and my full ride athletic scholarship to Oklahoma University is at risk, and he'd be right.
I'd aimed to get into Wheaton College but the Sooners offered me a 100% full ride everything including my dorm scholarship, I couldn't turn them down. Besides, Toby is going to NIU, the farther away I am from him, the better.
So I do the only thing I know to do, I call the master of preventing disasters, my brother Billy. Underneath a pile of Doritos I find a phone.
"Hey Bill, you busy?" I tangle the cord around my fingers and grimace, even the dial tone sounds like the Liberty Bell is being rung inside my eardrum.
"No, I'm just entertainin' some Saudi Princesses, gonna start me a harem." He sounds so much like C.D. I do a double take. I bet he's with Susannah and I feel bad for interrupting his evening.
"It's Daffy, she's drunk. I'm at a party with her and I can't even get her out of the bathroom. I'm sorry…"
I press my fingers against my forehead trying to relieve the 1,000 stampeding bulls running through my head. Daf might be drunk, but I'm the one with the hangover.
Some guy hits me in the back with a beach ball, but I hardly feel it.
"Okay," Billy's voice is suddenly sharp and serious, "I'm coming right over, what's the address?"
Billy's a big guy and when he arrives the few remaining people part way for him, someone wonders out loud if he's a parent. Someone else wonders if he's a cop.
"Narc! Narc!" someone cries out, "we got a Narc in here!" Then in a loud shout another voice cries out "hide the bong!"
He's been mistaken for an adult since he was 13.
Corie is trying to wipe Daphne's hair and I feel bad that this is her party experience.
She seems to read my mind, "I always heard a party with Daphne is an unforgettable experience," she says with a wink and more than anything I want to like her the way Daphne wants me to like her.
Billy looks at Daphne, "she doesn't need to go to the hospital, does she?" I can see why he said that, slumped over the toilet bowl, her hair matted and puke stained Daphne looks a lot worse for wear.
It's Hazer, halfway hidden behind a shower curtain who speaks up. "I don't think so. As long as we stay with her and monitor her. Don't give her nothing to eat or drink and keep her on her side so she won't choke. If she starts to wheeze again or her breathing slows down, we should call 911."
"You didn't see no one give her an unmarked drink?" She asks Corie.
Corie's eyes dart back and forth as if she's trying to remember, "um, no I don't think so."
Hazer nods, "okay, she should be okay then. She just needs to sleep it off."
Billy looks startled to see her. I'm startled by how much Hazer is talking. I've known her my entire life and this is the most I've heard her speak.
"Damn, what is this, a family reunion?" He then looks at Corie, still crouching on the floor with Daphne and turns slightly pink, "Excuse my language."
Corie looks nonplussed, "it's fine. My mom is a doctor. If you want we can take her to my place and my mother can keep an eye out on her."
Even though she's a child I find myself searching for Hazer's eyes, seeing if this plan sounds okay with her. Right now, she's the one I'm looking to for confirmation.
Billy shakes his head and smiles, "no, you've done enough. We can't trouble you more. Thank you for helping out. We're her family, we got it."
Billy has a good foot on this girl, and probably at least 150 extra lbs. He has the build of an NFL linebacker and if I didn't know that he was the most even tempered creature on God's creation I'd be scared shitless of him.
Corie stands up and points to Daphne who is flapping her arms like wings; "it's no trouble. I'm going with her, she's my friend, she'd do the exact same thing for me if the situation was reverse," she says with assurance.
Loyalty goes a long way with Billy, and I know that he's impressed by her.
"Okay, I parked my truck as close to the driveway as I could."
"I'm not leaving." Everyone looks at Hazer. Her arms are crossed in defiance. She stomps her foot on the bathroom floor. Her voice is cracked and she sounds like a whiny ten year old refusing to leave Toys R' Us until she gets her favorite toy. I know, I once was that kid.
Corie shakes her head. "Unbelievable," she mutters under her breath.
Billy doesn't have time for this because in his soft, even voice he tells her, "Yes you are honey. You're coming with us, if I got to drag you out by that ponytail myself." Billy gives her a smile, but I know he's not messing around and he'd have no problem carrying both Daphne and Hazer over his shoulders like two sacks of potatoes, drunk and defiant as they may be.
"What are you doin' here in the first place Haze? You shouldn't be here." Billy says this in such a non-judgmental voice, in contrast to my own inquiry earlier, Hazer has no problem answering his question.
Hazer shakes her head and in small voice says, "I heard a few guys from Knobby Disk were here and I heard that they're searchin' for a new drummer." Then in a voice so small I can fit it in my pocket, whispers, "I didn't drink or smoke or nothing."
"That's good. Does your Mom know you're here?"
Hazer stands on her tip toes, but even then her eyes only reach his collarbone. It is to his collarbone that my cousin in her black "Kill Them With Kindness" t-shirt says in a voice equally haunting and haunted, "my mother don't know shit."
There are many reasons why I believe in God. There are mysteries which I have found no satisfactory answer except in Him. Like how someone ages from ten to forty in the space it takes to drawl out a five word sentence.
She quickly turns away from us; her shoulders heave and crumble down as she lets out a sob.
"Hazer," Billy reaches out his bandaged hand towards her but she jerks away from his touch and yanks a handful of toilet paper, but doesn't use it.
Hazer turns back to face us and her face is expressionless, the wad of toilet paper tight in her fist, "let's go home," she chokes out. Her eyes are still wet.
Billy has no problems lifting up Daphne as if she's air and carries her out of the bathroom, Corie propping her head up and me and Hazer following from behind.
We climb into Billy's 4x4, the girls are in the back, Daphne's window is rolled down.
"If you're gonna vomit, aim for your right," Hazer drawls, "I'm not doing laundry again this week."
I put on Bill's "Curtis Construction" baseball cap he has sitting on the dashboard, grateful that my headache is gone.
"You working for Dad again this summer?" As if I don't know the answer already. I bring down the brim as far low as I can.
"Do I got a choice?" There's an edge in Bill's voice that I'm not used to hearing. Out of us four siblings Billy is by far the most even keeled. He and Dad are real close.
He sighs, guilt spreads across his face, his eyes weighted. "Course I wanna work with him, but he always finds some fault in everything I do. He's always looking over my shoulder and of course driving a nail into my hand didn't do nothing to assure him." He holds up his heavily bandaged hand.
"Did it hurt?"
"Nah, the hit to my pride hurt far worse. I've been roofin' houses for him since I was 18 and this is the first real on the job injury I got, but everyone was lookin' at me like I was the wet behind the ears new kid who only got the job cause the boss is my old man. It just don't sit right with me, Tommy."
"Tell him." I pull the hat off my head and toss it back on the dash, watching it bounce with a speed bump.
"Sorry y'all" Billy chuckles and glances at the backseat.
Hazer shoots him the bird. "If she pukes on me, you're payin' my dry cleaning."
A car drives by us "show us your tits!" Daphne tries to show them her tits, but in her inebriated state she confused her breasts with her butt.
"You're paying for my therapy bill too," Hazer deadpans (I think) as she yanks a giggling Daphne back into the truck. Thing about Daphne is that she doesn't have to be drunk to moon a random car on the road.
Billy turns to me, "he won't listen. He's already practically got my name carved into the front door." Billy lets out a heavy sigh.
Much as I love Billy but I can't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards him. It's wrong, but so is this entire night. Bill thinks it's difficult to tell Dad it's hard to work for him? Imagine telling Dad his son, his star athlete, Bible Drill Champion 3 years in a row son, likes boys.
Dad's uncle was gay. Uncle Pat. Uncle Pat the gay uncle. We never met him, but there are a few pictures of him in a box of old photographs. I never heard Dad say anything bad about the man, but having a gay uncle you hardly saw is a whole lot different than having a son. Especially when you are the owner of the one of the most respected home construction companies in Tulsa.
Philippians 4:13. I will change. I don't have to be this. HE will make me whole. I try to think of Lyndsay in her Brio approved prom dress. She has wavy auburn hair. She's a very attractive young woman. I care about her. She's unbelievably smart and caring. She deserves a man who can love her fully.
Daphne falls asleep.
Daphne is more awake, though her eyelids are sloped over. She's still trashed as all git out cause she's saying stuff that makes no sense. "It's so bad Tommy(hiccup) Paige (hiccup) Drake (hiccup) fuckin' bastard, I'm gonna kill him (hiccup)."
Billy and I make eye contact, Drake is Paige's boyfriend and he's a real nice guy. I feel a bit embarrassed on his behalf. Corie is looking out her window, not paying attention or at least polite enough to pretend she's not paying attention. She probably thinks we're all nuts.
I'm trying not to laugh imagining Daphne, who is the genuinely happiest girl I know, kill someone. For one, Daf is such a klutz she's liable to break both her ankles before she can even draw a gun.
I know I shouldn't egg her on, but I can't help it. "Why are you gonna kill him?"
Daphne just grins, "I am, I am, I am."
Billy and I shake our heads. Billy is far too polite to say anything, but I can tell he thinks Daphne has a screw loose.
Only Hazer turns to Daphne and her mouth open a bit as if she's about to say something. Her eyes are frozen stuck. Hazer should know by now to take what Daffy says with a grain of salt. Billy turns on the radio to K95.5 the country station, catching the last bit of George Strait's "The Best Day."
"I'm the luckiest man alive
This is the best day of my life"
Much as I admire Bill, I can't stand country music. It's the one thing I have in common with my oldest brother who I barely talk to. Toby doesn't like country music either. His favorite band is Pearl Jam. I thought about buying him tickets for the tour that swinging through here in the summer, but I can't.
The thought is so ridiculous that a hysterical laugh cackles in me when Daphne cuts my hysteria with a shriek. For a brief second I'm strangely relieved expecting my cousin to start telling a joke or try to say one of her Daffy-ims.
Instead in a voice lacking any mirth, drunken or otherwise, Daphne bellows; "He's the bitch!"
The only sound in the truck is the low and soft strumming guitar coming from the radio and the four of us jerk up in a startle. I feel her fist ram into the back of my seat.
"He's the stupid bitch! He is! Beyotch! Beyotch! Beyotch!"
Afterwards
Someone is banging on my door. I close my Chemistry text, "I'm comin', I'm comin'!" I shout over a rapid pattern of knocks as I almost trip over my inflated Snoopy and almost fall face first onto the 24 pack of Ramen Noodles still in its plastic packaging.
I get to the door and look through the peephole. It's a baby. The baby is pulled down and up pops Daphne giving me a Jack Nicholson in The Shining grin.
James is wearing a onesie that says "Think I'm Cute? You should See My Aunt!"
"Me and J-Man here were just in the neighborhood. Thought we'd pay you a visit."
I snort, "in the neighborhood from Tulsa?" The baby like almost every male gazes up at Daphne with a hopelessly dazed expression.
"Relax, only took 30 minutes, 'course going 90 miles per hour helps."
I shake my head, "Daf…"
She sighs and I swear James sighs with her, "alright, more like 75 miles an hour." She gives me a wink.
"Anyways me, James and Paige got you something." She opens up the diaper bag and fishes out a pink muscle shirt that reads "Lookin' for Men in All The Wrong Places."
I cringe, "Daphne, that's not really my style…" Not to mention I'm still in the closet with everyone except my family and about two friends.
"No, this is for me, this," she pulls out a baseball cap, "is for you." The hat reads "I'm with Awesome" with a finger pointed like an arrow. I can't help but let out a chuckle.
Daphne hands me the baby while she pulls on her shirt. She also pulls her hair over to the side, and then back to a middle part, and then back again.
She sits next to me, and puts her arm around me, "Okay," she fumbles for her camera, "smile!"
James is asleep in his Aunt's arms.
"I kinda thought you were gay in high school."
I give her a double take and feel a sort of defensiveness move through me, "how? Nobody knew."
"Pfft" Daphne scoffs, "like I'm 'nobody.' No, I've always had a great gaydar."
I roll my eyes, "that's not what 'gaydar' means."
"Well, whatever," she says over the horizon of James' head. "I just always had a feeling." I let that sink in, she was right about Drake.
She pauses and takes my hand.
"You know we love you, right?" Her face is uncharacteristically serious, almost solemn and it is so full of love.
"Yeah," I say softly. As much as I'm grateful for my cousin I wish she would crack a joke or so say something inappropriate or just be the Daphne I've always known. This serious, emotional Daphne is throwing me off my game. And I'm glad that growing up my cousin was the bubbly one because when she is serious she fills the room with an intensity that overwhelms to the point of suffocation.
The guilt I feel for all of those times when I wish Daphne would change and 'act better' overwhelms me too.
But my hand still in hers and as much as I want to pull away as she looks me in the eyes, I can't; "and we're so proud of you."
"Okay." I finger my beaded cross I wear against my heart and I smile.
Her face lights up and I wonder if it physically hurts her to have a grin that big.
"So, tell me, what kinda guy are you looking for? I know, you're not looking right now, but you have to let me know so I can be on the hunt."
I shake my head, I'm not really ready to think, let alone talk about dating yet. It's taken me years to get to just to this point with myself. But Daphne gives me a look that says don't be chicken.
"Um, well I guess it would be nice if we could meet at church and he's gotta love baseball." I can't help but smile imaging this phantom man. "About my height, swimmer's physique, I guess, and by far the most important thing, my cut off rule, no country music."
And I think of love.
Well, technically I own this since no Outsiders characters appear. J/K S.E. Hinton owns Darry, Soda and Pony, without whom Billy, Tommy, Hazer and Daphne would not exist.
And yes, my little Hazer Stargazer and her family are going through a rough patch right now and once I finish The Visit I'll explore it. Until then, I'm leaving ya'll hanging (brahawaha!). ;)
Thank you SO much for reading.
