"BUT ONE COULD NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL. NOT IN TULSA."
Just when I thought east-side hoods couldn't get any stupider, he manages to surprise me.
I thought I was prepared when he knocked on my front door, cigarette behind his ear and collar popped to his jaw. His eyes were sarcastic and cold - just as they had always been. I was anticipating the I'm-too-cool-for-this facade, I even had a few comebacks - by that, I mean blackmail - of my own. By the time our hour was up, Tim Shepard and I had successfully made it through a whopping two pages. But now, I had his textbook hidden under my bed, the covers frayed edges barely noticeable from my vanity and taunting me like some sick rendition of The Tell-Tale Heart.
It caught my eye as I sat there, slowly weaving my fingers through my hair and untangling the braids from the night before. I guess my only saving grace was that Tim wouldn't be coming back for it any time soon. Lord have mercy, the idea of Tim coming back for his textbook when the house was full was enough to make my skin crawl.
I found myself raking my fingers through my hair harder than I meant to. The sudden sound of my hair ripping and coming away in clumps stuck to my nails was enough to drag me back to reality just in time to hear a knock at the door. "You awake yet? The boys and I are almost all packed." I could hear the smile in my dad's voice as he spoke, leaning close against the wood so I didn't miss a word. I really do love my brothers - my dad, too, but there was something nice about November. Hunting season was on, bullets were cheap, and the skies were waiting. Daddy wouldn't let his boys miss it for the world, either. It was perfect timing though, meat was getting expensive as the weather got colder, and the icebox was almost empty.
I yanked the last bit of my hair free and kicked the textbook a little further under the bed before I opened the door. Just as I expected, Daddy was leaning against the doorframe, his rifle hung on his shoulder. His lips split into a smile identical to Sodapop's as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him. The weight of the rifle swinging on his shoulder - occasionally whacking me between the shoulders - was enough to keep my arms pinned at my sides and my face turned towards his side while he lead me down the thin hallway. I didn't mind it though, Daddy was one of the decent fathers in the neighbourhood, and I tried not to take that for granted. He didn't drink much, stuck around and helped raise us, he never hit us or Momma, either. Besides, even if he'd only be gone the day, I tried to remember the way he smelt - old spice, sandalwood, and tobacco - because he'd smell like gun powder and blood the next time he held me this close.
Momma still had her hair in curlers when we came down the hall. She stood in front of the sink, washing a few apples before dropping them into the boy's lunch bags. Darry stood a few feet behind her, leaning against the icebox with his arms crossed over his chest. Sodapop was rifling through the backpack Daddy sat at the table, chock-full of their knives, bullets, and extra gloves. Ponyboy stood beside Darry, a notebook and pencil in hand. He never enjoyed hunting the way our brothers did, he preferred to sketch the ducks in their flocks before Darry or Daddy shot 'em outta the sky.
"Well well, welcome to the land of the living, Miss Marley," Darry snickered before tugging on a piece of my hair. I gave him a half-hearted shove back, clearly not remembering a damn thing from the last time we bickered. In an instant, my arms were pinned at my sides again, Darry's arms completely trapping me. Fighting back was pointless, so I let my head tip back against his chest. "Can it, it's barely nine o'clock on a Sunday, this is supposed to be our day off."
Daddy and my older brother could pass for twins. Both were tall and strong, Darry's been playing football lately and Daddy's been roofing houses for years now. They had the same eyes, too. They were an awkward mix of blue and green, I liked to think of it as the colour the sky turned when all it could reflect off of was the thin layer of frost coating the ground in late January. It didn't help they were wearing identical green ski jackets, either. The only similarity I had to both of them, was the mousy brown hair - even if mine reached the middle of my back and theirs' could barely reach their ears.
Sodapop on the other hand was Momma's dead ringer. They had the same sun-kissed skin, no matter the weather dotted with a million freckles. They had the same sandy blonde hair, too. The only thing they didn't share, was their smile. Daddy and Sodapop both smiled wide and lopsided, damn near all their teeth out on display when they did so. Momma and Darry's smiles were tight-lipped and somewhat serious, it didn't take much for them to fade to large smiles like the rest of us, though.
Ponyboy was the oddball - and the one I looked the most like. I had my Momma's tanned skin and freckles, my Daddy's hair and smile. But Pony and I, we had our Grandma Jean's eyes. They were a mix of green and grey, but it changed depending on the lighting, weather, or even what we were feeling. For Pony and I, they always looked more grey than green when we were about to cry and wouldn't go back to normal for an hour at least.
Daddy was rubbing Momma's shoulders through her robe, Darry was rocking back and forth on his toes and threatening to crush me. Before I could try and struggle, Daddy suddenly clapped his hands together as Momma pushed him away. "Alrighty boys," he exclaimed, "get your things, we're burning daylight!"
Darry gave my hair one more affectionate tug before pushing me away and throwing his arm around Pony's shoulder instead. As soon as the boys stood in front of the door, Momma moved to stand beside me, hands on her hips. "Don't think about coming home 'til that box on your truck is full, you hear?"
Our house - like usual - was a disastrous cacophony as the boys shouted their final goodbyes and Darry reached over our baby brother and gave my hair one final tug. I scowled at him, tried to, anyway, while Daddy pushed a quick kiss on Momma's temple, right where her hair fell across her forehead in soft ringlets. "Yes ma'am. We'll be home by sundown, so don't go changing the locks just yet."
He left us with a signature smile, a wink, and my brothers at his heels. Momma was quick to wipe down the counters as we heard the low rumble of the engine rattling down the road. I took Darry's spot at the fridge, leaning against it and ignoring the handle digging into my shoulder. Lord, how could he do this all the time so comfortably?
"Hey, Momma?" She glanced over her shoulders, curlers bouncing while she turned to face me and cross her arms under her chest. The cock of her head and the slight raise of the eyebrows were all I needed to continue. "If they don't come back, can I have Darry's room?"
"Marley Elizabeth!" I had enough sense to put my hands up in surrender as she twirled the dishrag in her hands, turning it into a weapon. I ignored the weak sting wrapping around the forearm. Momma was shaking her head and turning back to the sink, but it wasn't enough to hide the slight twitch of her lips. "Go get dressed, yeah? Those boys of ours are eating us outta house and home. I need to refill my prescription, too."
"The condoms are one aisle over, Curtis!"
I woulda flipped the boys the bird if it weren't for the clerk three feet away behind the counter. The boys - three Socs, one I recognized as the guy responsible for Soda's latest black eye - stood around the magazine rack, cackling back and forth like the coyotes that prowled the outskirts of town. My knuckles were turning white around the wrinkled slip of paper grasped in my fist. Just my luck, the things Momma sent me to grab were in the same aisle they pointed out. Which genius decided condoms and toothpaste belonged together, anyhow?
Their laughter followed me like a stray dog. It didn't matter how many times I paced the bland, cold tiles and stared at the merchandise. I found what Momma sent me here for immediately, but my fingers refused to uncurl from my fists or reach forward from my side.
Barely any shops were open on Sunday - especially before noon- except for the general store smack dab in the middle of town. Stores like these were always the most difficult to understand. The clerk could be a greaser, like I was, or a Soc like the boys. But because of its placement, it was crawling with kids of all backgrounds. Usually, it just meant we got blamed for stolen cigarettes and busted windows. Before I knew it, I was tapping my toes against the floor as I walked towards the back of the store, where the pharmaceutical counter was waiting.
"Bunch of pricks, ain't that right, Katie-Cat?" The familiar voice was all I needed before the wave of anxiety crushed my heart lessened. Patrick Macrorie wasn't my friend - hell, we were barely acquaintances- but in Tulsa, greasers watched out for each other. For one of the guys in town known for running with Tim and his "outfit", Pat didn't really seem the type. Sure, he was tall and had a decent amount of muscle, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet while he held a bundle of pink blankets didn't do much for his image. It would be a cold day in hell before I pointed it out though, I still couldn't get Micheal Jacobs' face outta my head after he decided to say something similar. Poor guy was eating outta straws all summer.
"Long time, no see," I said casually as he and Katie stepped back from the counter. Pat shrugged lazily, the corner of his mouth twitching towards the fluorescent lights as I hastily muttered my request to the pharmacist behind the counter. Let me tell you something, alright? Bobby Smith may be the son of the owner, but that guy was no more a man of science than I was a girl scout. I'm sure there was someone back there with him and doing all the actual work, Bobby was just the pretty face responsible for Smith and Son's booming business. I know, real original name, too. "What're you doin' this far west anyway?"
I turned on my heel and watched over my shoulder as Bobby and his white coat vanished through the door behind him. Katie was busy squirming in her daddy's grip under her three-sizes-too-big jacket, green eyes wide and full of glee. "Forgot to stock up on formula before Sunday," Pat grumbled in response. "Now they've moved the bottles behind the counters, can barely fucking see 'em anymore- thought they ran out." He went on to call Mr. Smith every name in the book - none of them good ones, either. After that, we made the kind of awkward small talk you'd have in the back of a general store. We talked about the weather, Katie's first word, who kissed who, and who got beat up after school Friday evening. Just when we began to run out of topics and started averting our gazes to the tiles beneath our converse, Bobby reappeared and slid the two white bags across the counter.
Katie twisted in his arms again, auburn curls bouncing as she turned her eyes to the small silver bell jingling above the door. Around us, the November wind wrapped around us, thicker than any of our old and ragged jackets. We stood there on the pavement for a few moments, listening and waiting for the three boys from the front to reappear. I doubted they would be stupid enough to jump Patrick - especially with a baby, but one could never be too careful. Not in Tulsa.
"What were you an' Tim talkin' about the other day?"
Once his words registered in my freezing ears, I realized I would have rather taken my chances with Bob and his cronies. The wind pulled at the bag in my hand and for a moment, I considered letting it go. At least that way, I'd have an easy excuse to leave. But then I would have to risk Momma's pills coating the sidewalk. "Nothing," I lied through my teeth. "Curly and Pony- just bein' idiots. Tim was just letting me know."
The way he looked at me - like he was already suspecting something else was somehow more unnerving than the cops eyeing me up when I walked home with my brothers. The back of my hand brushed against my skirt and before I knew it, I was raking my eyes up and down the street watching for Momma - my escape route. He chuckled and I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. Not far enough to draw blood, but just enough to stop me from saying something I know would come back to haunt me. Small towns, man. Tulsa ain't even that small, but you hear about everybody's business before they even know it's out.
"So you haven't seen 'im lately?" Pat inquired again. I shook my head and quickly brushed my hair off my shoulders before the wind could blow it into my mouth. "Not since history class with Mrs. Graham."
"History? Tim told me ya'll had english.
"We have 'em both." Lord, please forgive me for lying on your day of rest, but I really don't wanna meet you yet - and that's exactly what's gonna happen if people find out Tim Shepard is getting tutored. With Katie in one arm and a paper bag tucked under the other, Pat shook his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Christ almighty, Tim's a hood and he can't even come up with a good alibi." He clucked his tongue before turning away - y'know, the disappointed way our parents do it. Then, he walked away and I did the same. I managed to cross the street and head towards the only grocery store open on Sundays when Pat called out, "if you two are sneaking around, just make sure he uses a condom!"
The lord works in mysterious ways. I don't know how, but a miracle is the only way I could describe my Momma walking up behind me and not hearing a word of what Pat just shouted. She staggered towards me - slightly blinded by her hair brushing over her eyes and the overflowing bag of groceries in her arms. Nevertheless, Momma dropped the bag to the ground and wiped the back of her hand over her lips before she looked me up and down. "You got my pills like I said?"
"Yes ma'am." I passed the bag forward automatically before she ripped it from my grasp and immediately tore the seal responsible for keeping the bag closed. A small orange pill bottle with Momma's name pasted to a sticker on the side, with a little less than thirty pills inside. I didn't know much about what they did, just that Momma cries and sleeps a lot more when she doesn't have 'em. We've all asked her about them once or twice - all she says is they help keep her stable whatever that's supposed to mean. I was running my hands up and down my arms, even hidden under Darry's old sweatshirt I could feel the chill leaking into my bones. A small pop was all I needed to pull back to reality as Momma dropped a pill onto her tongue and swallowed.
Lord, did she look that tired when we left?
"W-why don't we head home, Momma? Make some cake for when the boys get back?"
We didn't make cake when we got back, I did. I put the groceries away and folded the laundry, I cleaned the rest of the dishes and even scrubbed the floors. By two in the afternoon, Momma was asleep in her bedroom, the orange bottle of pills still clutched in her hand.
Being the oldest daughter, you learn how to take care of things pretty early on. I know how to cook and clean, sew and knit. I know what to do when you're sick, or how to wrap a sprained wrist. But after pulling the bottle from Momma's frail fingers and placing it in the medicine cabinet, I realized I couldn't tell you the first thing about lithium, or what it's used for.
I couldn't tell you why Momma was so worked up about Frank Shepard coming back to town, either.