12. Avoidance

The days dragged, yet at the same time, passed in a blur that was hard to pick apart. I was getting familiar with the city, finally, and could find my way to grocery stores and other shops around that I couldn't afford to buy anything from. On Monday, I woke up early and made eggs first thing, but when I sat down to eat, staring down at the breakfast I'd made, all I could think of was Darry, waking up before the rest of us to make breakfast. It had always been our parents before who'd made breakfast. Our mom usually, but sometimes Dad.

The first day after they'd died, Darry had woken up early, then Soda, and together they'd made breakfast. Then Darry had come in and shaken me awake, ruffling my hair and putting an arm around me when I remembered what had happened the night before. He'd told me that it was going to be okay...that he wasn't gonna let anything happen to me. I'd cried for a long time, and he'd just sat on the bed holding me, his hands rubbing my back, assuring me over and over that it was going to be okay. And then he'd led me into the kitchen where we'd all eaten, totally alone together for the first time. It had been rough, but I'd had my brothers. I hadn't been alone.

I'd been alone for almost a year now. No gang to watch my back. No brothers to take care of me and watch out for me. Just a bunch of kids at a boy's home that didn't care about me, then Richard and Tammy. At first, I'd thought that place would be okay. I'd thought they would be...if not nice, at least tolerable. I'd been so focused on getting back to Darry and Sodapop…so focused on never getting into trouble that I hadn't paid much attention to them. Then that first night, Tyler and Mark had tried pushing me around and I'd pushed back. I didn't want to start fights, but I wasn't about to let them screw around with me. I was a pretty good fighter for my size.

I'd gone outside to smoke after that. He hadn't caught me that time...it had taken him three days to catch me on the porch. He wasn't around a lot, so I didn't get a read on him until that night when he saw me smoking. He hadn't said anything, just walked up to me. I'd been about to throw it down...maybe even apologize. I hadn't wanted to cause trouble if the guy letting me live with him didn't want me smoking on the porch. Then he'd grabbed my wrist, snatching the cigarette away and holding it to my skin, ignoring the startled scream that had ripped from my throat.

James came into the kitchen about then, pausing when he saw me with a plate full of uneaten eggs and yanking me out of my thoughts. "You uh...gonna eat that or just stare at it?" he asked, looking almost concerned. I shook my head, pushing the plate toward him and standing.

"Not hungry," I told him, hurrying off toward the bathroom and ignoring the look he was giving me. After I took a shower, dabbing my face with alcohol and the cut on my side too, I stared at myself in the mirror. The cut on my side looked mostly okay…still kind of red, but I couldn't do much about that, and the cut on my face didn't hurt so much, but I couldn't bring myself to really look at my arms. They were red and painful still, covering my arms from my elbows to my wrists, with one on the back of my hand. I pulled my shirt over my head, hurriedly yanking the sleeves down to my wrists. I didn't want to look at them. I didn't want to think about the asshole who'd given them to me, or the fact that every time I thought about grabbing a cigarette, I got a terrible nauseous feeling in my stomach. Pushing those memories away, I stepped out into the living room and found him eating the eggs at the kitchen table.

The phone rang as I was pulling my shoes on, and James hurried over, picking it up and dropping onto the couch beside me. He glanced over at me when he answered, and I took that as my cue to leave. I yanked my shoes on, tying them and giving a half wave as I hurried out of the apartment.

"Yeah? Okay, we need to get T and…"

I shut the door halfway through his sentence, not bothering to try and make sense of it. I didn't want to make sense of anything. I wanted to go home. Every day it got worse, and it was getting harder and harder to push it away. I did my best though, running a hand through my ungreased hair and hurrying down the sidewalk to keep pace with everyone else.

Wandering until I hit the crowded movie house, I snuck in the back, taking a seat amongst the couples that sat together in one seat and paid no attention to me. For about two hours, I managed to forget about everything, but it wasn't like before. Back home I'd gone to the movie house with my friends or, just as often, alone, and I'd lost myself in the stories and the actors, but now… as soon as the lights came back on...heck, a few minutes before, I remembered that night with Johnny and Dally. I remembered how Dallas had been bugging that Cherry girl and how he'd stormed out and then getting home late after falling asleep in the lot. I remembered Darry, and how I'd yelled and he'd hit me and I'd run even though Darry had yelled that he was sorry and that he hadn't meant to. I knew that. I knew he hadn't meant to hit me. Darry had never hit me before. I knew he'd never do it again. He'd said he was sorry! But I'd run anyway. Why? Why had I run? It was a question I couldn't answer, and one I hated to even think about.

When the movie was over, I had to fight the urge to buy a soda or some popcorn. I was constantly stuck between my stomach growling and feeling sick, and I didn't have any money on me, so I just walked some more, hands in my pockets, until there was nowhere left to go and I was too exhausted and hot and hungry to keep going, so I went back to James's apartment, which was empty. I made some pasta, managing to eat about half of it, and then dropping onto the sofa and falling asleep. I was getting pretty good at sleeping all the time.

On Tuesday, I pulled out the sketchpad and the pack of pencils I'd gotten on Sunday and left the apartment. I couldn't go to the library every day. I was too afraid of that librarian asking more questions or somehow figuring out that I was lying about who I was. And I couldn't get a library card to check books out, nor could I afford to buy books, but I could draw. It was something. Johnny used to tell me I was real good at drawing...I'd drawn him once and he'd liked it so much I'd just let him keep it. Sodapop told me I was good too, and Two-Bit liked to flip through my sketchbook and pretend to find naked girls just so everyone would laugh and to watch my ears get red.

Darry always told me I drew and read too much...that I needed to work on my homework or come out with the guys more, but looking back, I don't think he was trying to be mean. I think he was just worried I was pulling away from everyone...spending too much time alone after our parents died. To be honest, I kind of had. After our mom and dad had died, especially those first few months, I'd quit talking much, just staying off on my own and drawing or reading a book or going to a movie. Anything to escape. Darry had worried about me a lot, and I missed him so much. He must be so worried about me now. I hated to even think about it, so I tried to shove the thought away. It sort of worked, the thoughts of my brothers hiding in the back of my mind as I did my best to think of anything else.

I spent the day walking around, trying to memorize more and more of the city and to keep my mind off of how hungry I was. Rationing the food was sort of working, and I knew I needed a job soon...I figured I'd call Dally and ask for his advice about that. But I didn't know how often I ought to call Dally, or when it would be safe to call my brothers. I missed them more every day, somehow. They knew I was missing and they'd be scared. I hoped Dally found a way to tell them I was okay soon. I didn't want to bug Dally though, so I figured I'd wait a few more days to check in.

Every time I passed a burger joint or a hot dog stand, I had to look away, my mouth watering against my will, my stomach aching in a way I'd gotten used to. I tried to ignore it, along with the laughing guys and pretty girls that sat at the tables together, all talking and messing around. I'd done a pretty good job ignoring hunger when I'd lived in that hellhole. A lot of the time when I ate, I just felt sick anyway. A few times at the boy's home, I'd thrown up after eating, so I'd stuck to just nibbling at sandwiches and giving away the rest of my food, which had actually won me a few friends, or at least allies. Not that there had been a ton of danger there. No one had bothered me much. And I hadn't been the only kid not allowed to visit his family...I just might have been the only one who was upset by it.

Finally finding a tiny park on my walk, probably smaller than a city block, I sat down on a bench with the new notebook and the pencil and had bent over my work, first just sketching a squirrel that was sitting a few feet away, scavenging through a trash can for something to eat. It wasn't great, but it was okay, and it felt good to have something to do. Then I drew the trashcan it sat on, working my way over the paper until I had drawn the whole scene. Still, even when I was drawing, I kept thinking of my brothers…about Darry asking if I'd finished my homework or Sodapop asking me how school had been. I hadn't thought about school for a while, not since seeing what they had done to Lianne. I'd run away about a week or so before the semester had ended, so I hadn't taken any of my final tests. Closing my eyes for a second, I turned the page in my notebook and started a new drawing, not wanting to think about that either.

When I was finished, it didn't look just like her. A few things were off, but it was a start. She was standing on the front porch across from me, leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She was rolling her eyes, staring up at the ceiling of the porch and smirking. She'd been thirteen. And they'd...I closed my eyes again, putting the notebook down on my lap and trying not to think about it. I didn't want to remember what they'd done. I just wanted to forget all of it.

Looking around and realizing it was getting dark, I headed back to the apartment, ignoring James in the kitchen and my growling stomach and dropping onto the sofa to sleep. I wasn't tired, but I could pretend to sleep and think about my brothers...even pretend that I was at home, laying on the sofa, listening to Darry and not James in the kitchen. Soon Soda would come home and ruffle my hair, asking if I was okay, and I'd sit up, nodding and assuring him I was fine. Steve would make a crack that I'd pretend didn't hurt, only now it really wouldn't. Not after everything else. And maybe Johnny would come over too...we'd all eat together and it would be fine.

Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, because I woke a door slamming, jerking upright and looking around. I'd been dreaming about Lianne, so it was a welcome intrusion, but still, I had to rub my eyes and squint at the brightness. "You still asleep?" James grumbled, rubbing his own eyes as he stepped into the apartment. I hummed in agreement. "It's almost noon, kid."

"You just getting home?" He lifted an eyebrow and I took it back immediately. "I uh...never mind." I mumbled, dropping back down onto the sofa.

"You ain't sick, are ya?" James demanded, ignoring my question.

I shook my head, even if I didn't feel great. It didn't matter. I hadn't felt great for weeks, so I figured it was just stress or shock or whatever I was dealing with. I missed my family more than anything. I missed my friends and my city and the house I'd grown up in. I missed having an actual place to live, not just some guy's couch. That was all that was wrong, surely. Plus I hadn't been eating much, so that couldn't have helped, but the thought of food just made me sick most of the time. I was too scared to eat more than a sandwich or a cup of pasta at a time anyway. When I ran out of money, that was it, and I couldn't bring myself to go out looking for a job in New York all by myself just yet.

James headed back to his room, shrugging and apparently going back to ignoring me. That was fine with me. At the boys home, no one had paid any attention to me as long as I did whatever I was told. So I had. I'd still thought there was a chance I'd get to go home back then, but every day that passed with no word had made it harder and harder to hold onto that hope. I'd only been able to call Soda from the boy's home twice and he'd assured me that Darry was working on it. I believed him...it was just hard to hold onto any hope when other boys were being sent to homes or finally picked up by their own families. Or turning eighteen and being turned out to fend for themselves.

A few times, I'd thought that I would be stuck there until I turned eighteen. The older you were, the harder it was to get adopted or fostered out, not that I wanted that. Eventually, though, my brothers would get visitation, and when I turned eighteen, they'd let me go back to them. Then I could...well, I didn't know, but at least then I'd be home. That thought...the thought of being home, had been like a vice around my heart, and there had been more than one night when I'd curled up in my bunk, shaking and sobbing with my fist in my mouth, desperate not to let anyone else hear.

I shook those thoughts off, heading into the kitchen to eat some toast, then headed back into the living room where I pulled out my notebook, drawing a half-decent picture of the sofa, then sketching Sodapop, wishing I still had that picture of him from my jacket that I'd lost when they'd tried to grab me behind the bar. Still, I could remember his face as clear as anything when I closed my eyes. The hat pulled over his eyes, the way he'd push his hair out of his face...how he'd grin over at me sometimes, knocking his shoulder into mine or throwing an arm around me when we would drop into bed at the end of the day.

I headed to the library at three. I couldn't stand sitting around the apartment anymore, trying to push away thoughts of home. I was dying to get out, and I could only aimlessly wander the streets for so long. I assumed James was asleep since I hadn't heard him come in the night before from wherever he'd been with that guy I'd met about twice and still didn't know the name of. I didn't care much. He didn't seem to care where I went anyway, as long as I stayed out of his way. I wondered briefly what they were up to as I left the apartment but figured it was better not to know.

The streets were actually more crowded than I'd expected for the middle of the week, but school was still out for the summer, so I joined the groups of people on the sidewalks, sweating immediately in the humidity that almost took my breath away. Teenagers and little kids ran the streets, some disappearing underground as they took the subway, and others waiting around at bus stations. I hadn't tried the subway yet, and doubted I would. It wasn't like I could afford a ticket anyway. A few of the teenagers went into the library, and I joined them, slipping in and avoiding the front desk. The librarians were all busy with people wanting books, so I found the book I'd been reading, picked a chair in the quiet back corner, and started reading again where I'd left off.

For a while, I was lost in the best possible way.

The building closed at seven, which I learned when the librarian from before came over and stood by my chair until I looked up. It was still light outside, so I could see just fine by the windows, and when I looked around, I found that I was the only person still there. "We're closing up, honey," she told me, the smile tired but genuine.

"Oh…" I looked around for a clock but couldn't find one.

"We close at seven during the week," she informed me, and I resolved to find a watch at some point.

"Right...sorry," I mumbled, climbing to my feet and glancing down at the page number, memorizing it for next time. "I'll put this up."

"I can do that," she assured me, and I reluctantly handed the book over. "Have a good night."

"You too," I called, hurrying outside so they could lock up and, once more, heading back to the apartment. I was staring at my feet as I walked, having almost memorized the route to and from the library after the first trip. Thankfully it wasn't too hard. No one around gave me any trouble, and I wondered if that was because of James or because I was always in by the time it got dark.

It wasn't until I reached the steps of the apartment that I really looked up, and what I saw had me stopping in my tracks. The guy in front of me stood and grinned, leaving his bag on the steps and crossing his arms. I was frozen in place for a long time, up until he came down to stand in front of me, the smile I remembered the same, even after almost a year.

"Hey, Pony."

Something broke inside me, and I threw my arms around him, feeling my chest constrict at the words. He hugged me just as tight, patting me on the back and squeezing. I wanted to talk, to say hello or thank you or at least stop bawling like a baby, but all I could think was, 'I'm not alone anymore.'