Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns the characters you recognize and Billy Joel owns the song "And So It Goes," which serves as my chapter title.
When the final bell of the day rang, Steve gathered up his books and headed for the back stairwell. Being a sophomore, his locker was on the second floor, down the English department hallway and absolutely as far as it could possibly be from the class he had just exited.
That always seemed to happen, he noticed.
From as far back as Steve could remember, no matter what grade he was in or what class he was taking, he always had to trek across half the damn building just to put his stuff away. It never failed to hold him up day after day, semester after semester, year after year … Keeping him from leaving the school and going home as quickly as possible—not that home was anything to sing about.
As he approached the dimly lit English corridor, Steve lowered his eyes and sulked over to his locker. Although there was a fairly even distribution of upper and lower class kids, the hallway seemed to be buzzing with the exceptionally fortunate, sickeningly elite Westside Socials. Leaning coolly against their lockers, chatting as if they didn't have a care in the world, a couple of the Soc boys eyed Steve suspiciously as he passed. Dressed in their khaki pants with button down shirts and wooly sweaters, they represented everything that Steve hated about the world. They were the straight "A" students, the class presidents, the team captains, and they made it look so damn easy. Didn't they have to work at anything? Didn't they have family issues back at home or problems at work? Did they ever catch a bad break like so many of the guys Steve knew?
Probably not.
It must be great having rich parents, Steve thought to himself as he casually made his way to his locker at the far end of the hall. He could feel their smug eyes following him—looking down on him as if he was going to pounce at their girls or something. As if he was going to touch each one of them with a dirty hand and spread his East side disease to their kind. It was ridiculous. For being so smart, they certainly were a bunch of idiots.
Steve threw his locker door open with a bang and shoved the books that he was carrying inside. He pulled out his math notebook and tucked it under his arm as he rummaged around. Finally, finding the worksheet he was looking for, Steve closed the locker and gazed down the hall toward where the group Socs had been standing.
In their place was Tim Shepard, staring gloomily into his locker as he shoved some papers deep inside. Catching Steve's eye, he gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then headed on his way.
The lockers were arranged alphabetically up until senior year. Steve always loved watching that same group Socs on the first day of school each year, when they realized that Tim hadn't dropped out and would be—yet again—smack dab in the middle of their little group. Steve wondered if that was the only reason Tim kept showing up at all—to piss them off. It was something that Dally would have done too, had he not gotten bored with school as a kid and dropped out then.
Steve smiled to himself and headed down the hallway. He rounded the corner toward another row of sophomore lockers and saw Sodapop chatting lazily with Johnny Cade. Johnny was a year younger than they were and was a freshman, so his locker was one floor below. Even so, it was commonplace to find him talking with Soda at the end of any given day. He was a small kid and it would probably be an easy target if it weren't for the rest of the gang—especially Dallas—who always had a constant eye on him.
"Hey, Johnny," Steve greeted once he had joined them. "How's it going?"
"Not bad," Johnny replied quietly. "Just thought I'd stop up here to see what ya'll are doin' this afternoon."
"I already told him that I ain't busy," Soda said, looking at Steve and closing his locker without taking any text books or notebooks out of it.
"Well aren't you the lucky one, Sodapop?" Steve grinned. "Unfortunately, Johnny, tonight's my night to run the station. George is givin' me a trial run. To see if I'm up to the challenge of bein' in charge."
Johnny's expression changed ever so slightly. It was hard to read him sometimes. "That's great … I wish I had a job."
Sodapop laughed and placed a heavy hand on Johnny's shoulder, looking him square in the eye. "No you don't, kid. It just makes the day shorter, that's all."
Steve looked at Soda and wondered how he could be outside talking about dropping out and working full time one minute, and then inside discouraging Johnny from getting a job the next. Maybe he had given it some more thought and decided against it. Steve could only hope.
"You ready?" Steve asked. "Let's get outta here."
Johnny nodded, and the three of them set off down the hallway towards the back stairwell. As they neared the first floor exit doors, they caught a glimpse of Two-Bit Mathews through the small window, having a smoke.
As soon as they pushed through, Two-Bit practically jumped on them.
"There they are!" He announced to no one in particular. A couple of students that had been milling around looked in his direction and then went on their separate ways. "If it ain't my three favorite greasers!"
"Cut it out Two-Bit," Johnny protested, as Two-Bit attempted to put him in a headlock and ruffle his greased hair.
Two-Bit grinned, draping his arm across Johnny's shoulder instead as he leaned on him for support. "So, who's up for joining me at the Dingo or Jay's or somewhere? It was a dull day so far and I think we should make it a little more interesting …"
"Sorry, Two-Bit," Soda replied with a shrug. "I promised Darry I'd swing by the junior high and walk home with Pony. You know how he's been worryin' lately …"
The smile slightly faded from Two-Bit's face and he nodded. "Yeah, I know …" he replied, turning his attention over to Steve. "What about you?" he asked hopefully.
"I can't tonight. I'm workin' remember?" Steve sighed. "Maybe tomorrow or something, though." He shot a look in Sodapop's direction and then smirked. "Soda's spendin' all his free time with Sandy, but my weekend is open. No girl's gonna keep me from enjoyin' myself."
Two-Bit glanced quickly from Soda and then back to Steve. "That ain't the way I heard it," he said. "Soda's been tellin' me that you were thinkin' of asking Miss Evelyn Roberts out one of these days."
Steve glared at Soda and then turned back to Two-Bit. "Glory, Two-Bit!" he exclaimed with a shake of the head. "You should know by now that Soda's full of more shit than a cow pasture …"
Two-Bit cocked an eyebrow and looked over at Soda. "You ain't gonna take that, are you?" he asked, egging Soda on. He knew as well as anyone that Soda was a sucker for a fight—friendly or otherwise.
Soda smiled brightly. "Aw, he don't mean it," he replied. "And besides, I don't got much time. I gotta make it to Ponyboy before too long or Darry'll have my hide. I'll see ya'll later on. And Steve … Just think about it, huh?"
Steve shook his head in disbelief. Sometimes Soda could be so difficult. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered.
Soda turned and headed down the walkway towards the street. It wasn't as cold as it had been earlier in the afternoon, but it certainly wasn't a comfortable day for walking. If only one of them had had a car that started up on a consistent basis. Cars, especially beaters like theirs, were just more temperamental in the winter.
"What are you doing tonight, Johnny?" Two-Bit turned his attention back to the smaller boy.
Johnny shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."
"Good, then you an' me can get some Cokes and some fries or something … And get indoors to warm up a little. I'm gettin' chilly just standing around here. You sure you can't hang with us for just a little while, Steve?"
Steve shook his head. "Nope, not today," he replied. "But maybe Friday, like I said. I really ain't doing nothing, so keep it open, okay?"
Two-Bit nodded as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Okay. Sounds good to me. Maybe we can get Dallas to come with us too. He's been in a bad mood these last couple of days since he found out that Sylvia was cheatin' on him."
Despite his desire to get out of the cold and get on with his day, Steve was intrigued. "Is that so?"
"Yeah," Two-Bit pressed on. "Found her with one of the guys from the River Kings—you know how they operate. Dumb broad forgot that old Dal hasn't been in school since the ripe old age of ten, and she was hangin' around with the guy at The Dingo right smack in the middle of the day. I wish that I had been there to see it. I'm sure it was a sight to behold."
Steve nodded. "I'll bet it was … Now do you see why I ain't botherin' with askin' that friend of Sandy's out? It ain't worth it. Maybe now Dallas will wise up."
Two-Bit laughed. "Ain't no one wiser than Dallas."
Steve noticed Johnny perk up a little at that. The mention of Dallas Winston seemed to have an effect on the poor kid. Sometimes Steve couldn't tell if Johnny was afraid of Dally or if it was something else entirely. Out of the gang, Dally was definitely the roughest around the edges. He didn't give a shit about what anyone thought about him, and that was something that Steve had to respect.
"Well, I'll see you boys later on," Steve said.
"Okay, will do," Two-Bit called out.
"Bye," Johnny piped up.
Steve turned and walked across the school grounds, which were dusted with a thin layer of crunchy snow. He flipped up the collar on his jacket to give his neck and ears a little relief from the cold winter air and headed toward home.
Will Roger's High School was situated right between the unofficial East and West boundary lines. It was in a somewhat neutral part of town, where the middle class kids came from, and it was close to the downtown area of Tulsa where most of the shops and restaurants were. From the school, it was about a ten minute walk to the East side. From there, it was another five or ten until Steve reached his front door step.
Walking at a brisk pace to get out of the cold, Steve ended up at his house in just under twenty minutes. He walked across the front lawn, which was brown and dead and iced over, and then up the driveway. He eyed his car which was parked in front of the decrepit garage. He wondered if he'd be able to get it started so that he wouldn't have to walk to work. It was always a pain when the weather cooled down for the winter.
He pulled open the screen door at the side entrance of the house and then pushed through the wooden interior door. It wasn't ever locked because the old man was usually always at home, and besides there was nothing worth stealing anyway. Steve poked his head through the doorway and peered into the kitchen. All was quiet, just the way he liked it.
Quietly, the closed both doors behind him and made his way through the tiny kitchen. He set the math notebook that he had been carrying down on the table and then slowly made his way towards the living room.
The TV was on and he could make out the shape of his dad, passed out on the couch in the dimly lit room. The air smelled like beer and cigarettes and there were bottles littered across the floor. Steve shook his head, feeling anger bubbling up inside of him. Why did his dad have to be such an asshole? Why couldn't he just leave for good or be out working like other, normal, greaser fathers?
Steve balled his hands into fists to relieve some of the tension he was feeling and made his way toward his bedroom. He pulled off his jeans jacket, tossing it onto his unmade bed, and then grabbed his DX uniform shirt from his closet. He put it on over the T-shirt he was wearing and then grabbed his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. Next, he headed into the bathroom and checked out his appearance in the small mirror that hung over the sink. He looked back at his tired reflection and then cocked his head, getting a better view of his hair. The wind had ruffled it up a bit, so he pulled a comb out if his back pocket and did his best to fix it. Satisfied, he left the bathroom and wandered back down the hall.
"Steven?"
He stopped for a moment to listen.
"Steven?"
It was his mother.
Steve walked toward his parents' bedroom—though it was really just his mother's now because his father never used it anymore—and leaned against the door frame. His mom was lying in bed with the covers pulled up to her chest. She looked tired and confused and he couldn't tell if it was because she had just woken up, or because today was a bad one.
"What do you need, mom?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Steven?" She asked again. She always seemed a little out of it, nowadays. Steve remembered when she had been as sharp as a tack, but those days were a distant memory.
"Yes, mom?" he asked again.
"I think it's about time for my medication, and I don't feel like I can get out of bed today. I tried to get a drink of water and go to the bathroom earlier, but I almost fell down …"
She looked sad, defeated. Steve hated seeing her like this. She wasn't even fifty yet and she acted like an old woman. He nodded. "I'll grab your pills for you, mom. Do you need anything else while I'm at home? I've got to work tonight, remember? I told you yesterday afternoon how the boss is putting me in charge for the night."
She looked puzzled. "I … I … Of course I remember, Honey," she lied. Her memory had been going little by little as the months dragged on. It seemed that she could only recall things that happened all the time or things from a long time ago. Steve did his best not to notice. Sometimes it was easier to pretend …
Steve walked back to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. He pulled out two bottles of pills and poured out the correct dosage from each one. After quietly grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom and walked over to the side of the bed where his mother was. He sat on the edge and placed the glass on the bedside table. "Here you go," he said, holding out the pills in his hand. "Do you want me to help you sit up?"
His mom smiled as she reached out to him. Steve grabbed her close to the shoulder and helped to pull her up. She was a small woman, so it was easy. She leaned against the headboard and held out her hand. Steve dropped the pills in her open palm and then handed her the glass of water.
He watched as she swallowed the pills, one by one. "Better?" he asked.
She handed the glass back to him. "For now, I suppose," she replied. "Thank you, Steven."
Steve forced a smile. "You're welcome," he said. "I've gotta run, but if you need anything else, dad's sleeping on the couch. He should be able to hear you if you holler loud enough."
Steve's mom nodded and scooted back down under the covers. "Okay," she replied. "Have a good night at work … Will Sodapop be there too?"
"No, not tonight."
"Oh, well," his mom hesitated for a moment as if she was trying hard to remember something. "If you see him, tell him to tell his mother that I said hello. I'd really like to get together with her again, but …"
"It's okay, mom," Steve cut her off. "I'm sure she understands how things are. Now, why don't you go back to sleep? You look pretty tired."
Steve left the room and pulled the door closed behind him. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned against the wall, clenching his hands into fists again. He wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at the top of his voice, but all that would do was wake the old man—and nothing good ever came of that.
Why the hell did his life have to be so God damned difficult?