Disclaimer: S. E. Hinton owns everything about the Outsiders. Thankfully, I'm able to make use of her characters and story.
As soon as the first drop of rain stunned my sunburnt arm, I started thinking about all the things I could do with an extra hour. The laundry, of course, really had to get done or no one would have any clean clothes to wear tomorrow. Maybe I could separate out enough to get us through tomorrow. Then I could treat my brothers to dinner out. No, I'd make Ponyboy – my youngest brother – get his homework done so he'd have the weekend free. He'd probably think I was going to make him fix dinner tonight and do the laundry, but then I'd surprise him with a night just for the three of us. I could teach him how to play chess. Ponyboy is only fourteen, but he's probably the smartest person I know. Soda – that's my other younger brother – has the attention span of a flea and I've given up on playing with him. But Ponyboy would be good at chess. I bet within a week he'd beat me at every game.
Or we could go to the movies. Pony likes to go to the movies, but Soda and I rarely take him. I'm usually working, but mostly I feel kinda dumb at the movies seeing guys I knew in high school there with their girlfriends or talking about college. I wish I had a girlfriend or was in college, but I need to make money, so I roof houses during the day and work at a grocery store most nights. Definitely not what I thought I'd be doing at age twenty, but I'm usually too exhausted from working to think about it and be bothered by it. Plus, I'm used to it.
My parents were killed in an auto accident eight months ago, so I'm the legal guardian of Sodapop and Ponyboy. I can't imagine how many times I'd have been beaten up in the school yard if I'd had either of their names. Luckily for them, they had me around. My name is Darrel, but my brothers call me Darry. I don't so much care for my name. You'd think with a name like Darrel I'd have brothers named Billy Bob and Skeeter. I got the redneck name; they got the imaginative names.
Still, Darrel was my dad's name and because of that I'm proud of it. I loved my mom and miss her terribly, but my dad was my favorite person in the whole world. If you want to know the truth, I'm dying without him and my mom around. Sometimes I think I'll go crazy, but I've got to stay focused for my brothers' sake. I owe it to my brothers, and to my parents, to be strong for them and get them to adulthood. Sometimes it's not so bad, but the rest of the time it seems like I can't do anything right. I used to be able to do everything right in high school -- I made good grades, I was good in sports, I had a lot of friends -- but I just wasn't ready to run a family without any help. At least Mom and Dad had each other. I'm pretty much on my own.
They're good kids, though, my brothers. Sodapop is basically my exact opposite. He's loud, impulsive, emotional and can be kind of irresponsible. School was never his thing. We don't look alike either. I have dark brown hair and blue-green eyes; Soda has dark blond hair and brown eyes. Girls go crazy over him, and he knows it. He's a total charmer, though. He can get along with anybody, and he has an amazing ability to make people feel like they're the most important person in the room. He's not as dumb as he pretends to be, and that kills me sometimes. But he has a heart of gold. He dropped out of school so he could get a job and help me with the bills. I begged him not to, but he did have a point. We needed the money, and I couldn't afford to be going to school every time he got himself into trouble, which was fairly often. He looks out for me when he remembers to, and he's very close to Ponyboy.
I, on the other hand, have a hard time with Ponyboy. He can't stand me. I'm much more like him than Soda – he gets good grades in school, he's athletic and he never gets into trouble – but he and I are always bickering about something stupid. I swear, I act like I'm twelve years old when I'm around him. Soda always takes Ponyboy's side, which I suppose is fair since I'm older and should be more mature. I don't know why I'm like that because I consider myself a rational and levelheaded person. I guess I just wasn't prepared to raise a little brother.
I miss being a big brother. Pony and I used to get along fine when I could tease him or play football with him or help him with homework. But once I had to start telling him what to do, he treated me differently. I can't have it both ways, I guess. I'm responsible for him and if he hates me for looking out for him, there's not much I can do about it. Sometimes I think that if I just spent time with Pony while Soda wasn't around he'd open up to me a bit. That's why I'm getting so excited about this extra hour, which I may not have because it's not raining all that hard.
And then it came, as if straight down from heaven to save me: lightning. Only heavy rain gets you away from the roof, but lightning is an absolute deal breaker. I put the materials away as quickly as I could and was on my way home in minutes.
On my way back I stopped off at the convenience store for a snack. I'm always hungry, and it didn't matter that'd I'd be eating dinner in less than two hours. Some guy was selling records outside the store so I bought a few for Soda. He had really wanted one last week, but it was right before I got paid and he didn't have the money on him. His seventeenth birthday is coming up, so I figured I'd give him one record today and save the rest.
My hopes of a relaxing afternoon were shattered when I entered the chaos that is our house. We typically manage to keep it decent in case the social workers happen to drop in. On this particular day, it looked like a tornado had struck. Furniture was overturned, anything that had been in drawers or cabinets was out, and there were bits of food everywhere. I slammed the front door in frustration and was met with four simultaneous and strangely gleeful shouts of
"DARRY!"
Dallas, who was standing closest to me, punched me lightly in the arm and said, "You're just in time."
"In time for what?" I asked, not quite sure I really wanted to know the answer.
Raucous laughter. "Foodfight-legwrestling!"
"Oh. Obviously." That at least explained the scene. I wanted to knock all their heads together, but I had to grin at the absurdity of five tough greasers clowning around like third graders, and their overexcitement at my unexpected presence. No doubt Soda and Two-Bit were behind this. Two-Bit and Dally started to demonstrate as I grabbed a lamp perched precariously on the edge of the only remaining upright piece of furniture.
Sensing I might have been about to blow or pass out, Soda jumped up and ran over to me. "Don't be mad Darry, nothin's broken and we're gonna clean it all up."
I nodded absentmindedly.
"Hey," Soda asked, "why you home early?"
"Lightning."
"No kidding? It's sunny out now."
"Looks like it's my lucky day," I replied, with my eyes still fixed to the mess.
"Seriously, Darry, we'll clean it. We'll do it right now if you want."
And that's why I could never get mad at Soda. He didn't care if everyone in the room hated him for ruining their fun. He didn't want me to get upset. "Nah, it's okay. I just wished you'd done it outside."
During our little conversation, Two-Bit had scraped some food off of the wall. I got along with Two-Bit just fine. Everybody did. He was easygoing and funny and never got people mad intentionally. He adored Soda and was real good with Ponyboy, so that made him fine with me. When not at our house (which seemed like all the time) he lived with his mom and little sister. He had no job or plans to get one, but his mom didn't seem to care. He drank and shoplifted quite a bit. I wouldn't say we were close friends – I don't have a ton of respect for people with no job or work ethic – but I enjoyed his company more than anyone else's in our little gang.
Dallas and I had a strange relationship. We treated each other like friends, but neither of us could stand the other. He thought I was a self-righteous know-it-all and I thought he was a gutless loser. He stole, jumped people, got into trouble with the law, and had a violent temper. He wasn't exactly the person I wanted my kid brothers hanging out with, but I couldn't deny that he was a useful guy to keep around. If you were ever in trouble with the law, ol' Dally could get you out of it or at least tell you where to hide out. And he was surprisingly loyal. He belonged to some pretty rough gangs in New York and had been jailed at the age of ten, so it was fair to say that he came from a different world. Sure, the rest of us shoplifted or got into fistfights, but we were just poor and bored; Dally always seemed like he was out for blood. I have a huge physical advantage over pretty much everyone in our neighborhood, but I watched my step around Dallas – he was enough of a hothead that he'd pull a weapon on me if he felt like it.
His life consisted of pissing people off, breaking the law, and crashing at our house when necessary. He's not my brother, so it's not my business to say anything to him, and I don't. I let him come and go as he pleases, and even give him money when I can spare it. In exchange, I know that he'd fight to the death for either of my brothers. And for that, I'm grateful.
Steve Randle and I have a love-hate relationship. He's a few months older than Soda and they've been best friends since grade school. They do just about everything together, including working at the gas station on the corner. They've even dated the same girls. Steve is actually a pretty smart guy, and he's a genius with cars. His father is a total dick, a drunk who treats him like crap, so I sorta feel bad for him. It bothers him, getting kicked out of the house about once a week. In different circumstances, I bet that he could've grown up to be a politician. He can usually lie, cheat and steal without getting caught, and he's smart enough to manipulate people. I'm not entirely sure why Soda thinks the world of him, since he's not warm and understanding like my brother, but they're both kind of immature and playful. Steve is there for Soda when I can't be, and they're loyal to each other.
Steve can be a bit of a jerk to Ponyboy. I don't think Pony likes him at all, actually. Steve can't stand that Soda drags Pony with them everywhere, so he really resents Pony for this since no one can ever seem to get mad at Soda. Soda will go out of his way to do what Steve wants, but I'm sure I'll never see Steve do the same for Soda. Steve can be real selfish, and sometimes likes to get people mad just for the heck of it. I've almost flattened him for some of the dumb stuff he's said to me, but didn't only because Soda would never forgive me. Still, I've seen sides of Steve that even Soda hasn't. I'd seen Steve cry to me out of frustration or desperation and I've tried to talk some sense into him or calm him down. Sometimes, if only for a few hours, he'll stop being so hateful when someone does something nice to him.
Johnny Cade was the only being in the room who had not spoken nor stirred since I entered. He's sixteen and he's always been a shy kid, but after he got jumped a few months ago he's been extra withdrawn. He and Pony are tight, which is fitting because they're both so quiet. But Pony is bright and has more of a spark to him, and he seems to get Johnny talking. Johnny has it rough at home, too. His parents should never have been allowed to have kids. It seems so unfair that my parents are dead when people like Johnny's mom and Steve's dad are out there doing fine. We all like looking out for Johnny, I guess. It sort of gives us justification for picking fights and stuff. You'd have to be a pretty rotten person to not like Johnny. Even Dallas has never given Johnny any trouble, and for that Johnny pretty much treats Dallas like a god.
"Darry, what's in the bag?" Soda asked.
I'd almost forgotten. "Oh, Merry Christmas."
"It ain't Christmas."
"Well, shit, that tree I got is non-returnable."
Two-Bit and Soda laughed.
"Fine then. Early birthday present. Just open it."
Instead of opening the bag Soda ripped through it like he really was a kid at Christmas. Seeing him get all excited over a stupid record made the inevitable hour-long cleanup worth it.
"Darry! All three? Thanks so much."
"No problem, little buddy. Say, where's Ponyboy?"
Soda looked slightly worried. "I don't know. He probably stopped by the movies after school."
"It's not all that late, you know," Dallas muttered.
"Any afternoon movie would be done by now. Did he call here for a ride?" Blank stares. "Would you have even heard the phone?" I asked angrily and stormed outside.
Soda ran out after me and I could tell I was getting him mad. "Darry, he's fourteen, he's not a baby. If you'd just relax and enjoy yourself for like ten minutes . . ."
I wasn't listening. I was halfway down the block when I heard Ponyboy shouting for Soda. It was the Socs. "Soc" is sort for social set, the high society crowd, which clearly did not describe me or my gang. Truthfully, all this animosity based on where you live or how you dress or how much money your folks made didn't make sense to me. I didn't act or dress like a greaser or a Soc, but I lived in a greaser neighborhood so I had no choice but to take that side. At school I got along with all kinds of people – jocks, brains, greasers. There were plenty of Socs that tried to give me a hard time, but enough of them were friends with me that I never had any trouble. My brothers have had a harder time with this greaser versus Soc thing. I guess being quarterback and captain of the football team worked in my favor. Just about all the athletes and cheerleaders were Socs, and I got along with people on and off the field. Football was my in. Soda didn't have that once I graduated, and Pony is pretty much there on his own. He's got all the smart classes with the Socs, but he's more quiet than I was and doesn't try to make friends if he doesn't have to. Besides, he and Soda are proud to be greasers. I can't say I'm ashamed to be a greaser because I can't say that I'm a greaser. I'm me.
I reached Pony first since everyone else chased after the scrambling Socs. His eyes were open but he was staring blankly at me, as if he didn't know who I was. He'd been bloodied a bit, but it didn't seem to be anything too serious so I picked him up off the ground.
"Ponyboy. Hey, are you okay? Look at me." He still didn't respond so I shook him a bit. "Are you all right, Ponyboy?"
"I'm okay. Quit shaking me, Darry, I'm okay.
I stopped. "I'm sorry." And that's pretty much the way it was with me and my youngest brother. He never looked me in the eye, always had some sort of attitude to give me. I was the only one who went to him, to see if he was okay, and he got all tough on me. It bugged me, even though it's exactly what I would've done if I were him. He looked a little dizzy so I steadied his arm but he pulled away and sat down and started rubbing his swollen cheek.
He was going to have a black eye and would probably be sore for a few days, but it could have been a lot worse. It could have been like Johnny. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they?"
"I'm okay," he said quickly. I could see his hands shaking nervously and he looked like he was going to cry, but I know how he likes to act tough around me. I went to sit down next to him but Soda came up from behind me and plopped down next to Ponyboy.
"You got cut up a little, huh, Ponyboy?"
"I did?" Suddenly Pony had all the words and time in the world for Soda. I sighed. Watching the two of them carry on like they were in a Hallmark commercial while I stood there like a log was an everyday occurrence, but I was growing weary of it. So, I just watched them, thankful that Pony really was all right.
Tears welled up in Ponyboy's eyes as he turned away from me and Soda put a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Ponyboy. They ain't gonna hurt you no more."
He was crying now. "I know. I'm just a little spooked, that's all." He hurriedly wiped his tears and glanced over at me.
Soda rubbed his hair. "You're an okay kid, Pony."
He smiled at this. "You're crazy, Soda, out of your mind."
This was getting old. "You're both nuts," I said tiredly.
Soda cocked an eyebrow at me, a trick he'd picked up from Two-Bit. "It seems to run in this family."
I was about to give him some smart-mouth answer, but I didn't have any so I just grinned at him.
The rest of the gang had come back over by now. Pony hastily wiped his eyes. "Didya catch 'em?"
"Nup," said Two-Bit, "They got away this time . . ."
I studied them all closely as the six of them sat down to talk and have a cigarette. I hate smoking and I can't stand that my brothers do it, but even my parents didn't seem to care too much, so that's one battle I choose not to fight.
Steve's voice caught my attention. "What were you doin' walkin' by your lonesome?"
"I was comin' home from the movies. I didn't think . . ."
"You don't ever think," I said with irritation, "not at home or anywhere when it counts. You must think at school, with all those good grades you bring home, and you've always got your nose in a book, but do you ever use your head for common sense? No sirree, bub. And if you did have to go by yourself, you should have carried a blade."
Soda was glowering at me with annoyance. He hates when I get on Ponyboy's case about anything. "Leave my kid brother alone, you hear? It ain't his fault he likes to go to the movies, and it ain't his fault the Socs like to jump us, and if he had been carrying a blade it would have been a good excuse to cut him to ribbons."
Soda never cuts me any slack. "When I want my kid brother to tell me what to do with my other kid brother, I'll ask you – kid brother." But I shut my mouth after that since I was already sounding dumb and I shouldn't have scolded Pony in front of the gang. My dad did that to me once and I was horrified.
"Next time get one of us to go with you, Ponyboy," Two-Bit said. "Any of us will." That was probably true except for Steve and Dally.
"Speaking' of movies, I'm walking' over to the Nightly Double tomorrow night. Anybody want to come and hunt some action?" Dally asked.
"Me and Soda are picking up Evie and Sandy for the game," Steve said, glaring at Ponyboy as if to dare him to ask to come along.
It was fruitless to even ask me. "I'm working tomorrow night."
Dally turned to everyone else. "How about y'all? Two-Bit? Johnnycake, you and Pony wanta come?"
"Me and Johnny'll come," Pony piped up. "Okay, Darry?"
"Yeah, since it ain't a school night." My parents had been pretty lenient about letting us go out any night we wanted, but were surprisingly strict about how much of our weekend we spent away. As long as no one got into trouble, I didn't care.
While the rest of them hung around, I slipped away unnoticed to deal with the aftermath of food-fight leg-wrestling and start dinner. We take turns making dinner and having the other two do the dishes, but I'm almost always the one who ends up cooking. Pony doesn't really know how, and frankly, I can't stomach most of what Soda puts on the table. I ate while I cooked, threw it on the table for Soda and Pony, and headed over to Two-Bit's to move the dresser.
The moving of the dresser turned out to be an hour and a half ordeal. Two-Bit is a pretty strong guy, but the two of us were really struggling. He didn't quite get what I meant about angling the dresser and I had to keep stopping to show him. He let go a few times without telling me and had me pinned to the wall or dropping the thing on my foot. I would've punched him a few times were it not for the three ton dresser between us. Two-Bit was grateful, though, and made me hang around for a while and play darts with him while he had a few beers.
By the time I got home I was exhausted. And I hadn't even started the laundry. White-hot pain shot through my side as I bent down to pick up some towels off the bathroom floor. I winced and jumped up. I pull muscles all the time at work, but this was pretty bad. I grabbed my side. The pain was making me a little lightheaded.
Soda saw me. "Darry? You okay."
I closed my eyes and nodded.
"Sit down, Darry, please. Relax. I bet you haven't sat down since breakfast."
It was the truth. I shrugged it off. "I'm fine. I've got to do laundry."
Soda just laughed. "Now? Pony's finishin' up his homework and you look about ready to pass out."
"We have no clean clothes," I insisted.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Well I guess we'll all be stinky and dirty tomorrow. If we travel together, no one will know if it's one of us or all three. C'mon. Let me give you a back rub."
"I don't need one. Look, I'm working two shifts tomorrow."
"Not if you can't move. Darry. Lie down."
"Fine. But quick because I really have to do laundry." I hate it when my kid brother tells me what to do. He tugged on my arm as I staggered to my bedroom and flopped down onto the bed. I must say, though, Soda gives great back-rubs. You just have to not mind him rambling on about whatever is on his mind. I was barely hearing him tonight as he went on about his last date with his girlfriend Sandy. "Rub harder, Soda, you're gonna put me to sleep."
"Quiet, Darry." For all the talking he does, Soda can be downright pushy when someone else talks.
"Is Pony okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine. Just a little bruised."
"You know what I mean. He's never been jumped before. Has he?"
"No. But he probably felt worse about you hollerin' at him than anything the Socs did to him."
"I know. I feel really bad about it."
"Then show him. Tell him. Apologize."
"It wouldn't do any good. He hates me."
"No, he thinks you hate him. And you don't give him a reason to think otherwise."
"I don't hate him," I whispered, feeling hurt. "I wasn't mad at him. I was mad at myself for letting it happen. It made me think of the first time you got jumped.'
Soda paused and sat on the edge of the bed. "Darry, that was years ago. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, and it would have happened eventually. You can't be there to save me and Pony every time we get into some trouble. You have to trust us."
"I trust you . . ."
"And Ponyboy too." Soda was rubbing my forehead. That always puts me to sleep. "Give him a chance. Stop treating him like a little kid."
I sighed, tired as hell but about to cry in frustration. "I really am sorry. I was too hard on him and I feel lousy. I shouldn't have gotten on his case when he was already down. I just worry about him. I don't know, I guess ever since you got jumped I felt like I failed you. I thought that maybe if I could stop it from happening to Pony, it would make things seem right. Give me a purpose for stayin' in this crummy neighborhood."
"Darry, Pony and I are lucky to have you. Pony doesn't always realize how much you do for us." He paused for a second. "Never tell him I said that, okay? I know you love him, but you gotta make sure he knows too."
I wanted to tell him Soda how hurt I get when Pony always heads straight for him and never me, but I didn't know how to say it without sounding bitter and jealous. While I tried to think of something to say, Soda changed the subject and went back to rambling on about his girlfriend. I listened and chimed in when he asked me something, but soon my eyelids got heavy and I let him do all the talking. For a split second before I fell asleep, I remembered that stupid hour and cursed it.